1 50 1084 https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/49a32d11f06a608d1ce1aaf86e2c0092.pdf 2d2a55e6ca52661774c3f662469f0c7d Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2842 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2000 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2649 Title A name given to the resource Witkacy's Essential Conversations. A Polemical Dialogue=Rozmowy istotne Witkacego. Dwugłos polemiczny / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4, s.370-383 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Michalski, Bohdan Language A language of the resource pol., ang. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Bohdan Michabki B O H D A N • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS very much, and we immediately took to each other immensely. O n the othet hand, discussion with Sobociński was impossible". (22 August 1936): "Ingatden is here, and for three consecutive days we held an evening conference". (1 August 1938): "Conversations with Ingarden cheer me up somewhat". (8 September 1937): " I am comforted by Ingarden, with whom I conducted ontological conversations". (18 July 1938): " I delivered a lecture - a success. Followed by a conversation with Ingarden, mainly in a cafe". (14 September 1937): " I am consoled by Ingarden. He approves of my work about Wittgenstein]. Actually, he only wants a short sketch which Twardowski could publish i n 'Studia Philosophica'". M I C H A L S K I Witkacy's Essential Conversations A Polemical Dialogue „In the last few years preceding the war we met chiefly in Zakopane", wrote Roman Ingarden, an outstanding phenomenologist and a student of Husserl, "and in Warsaw only occasionally, and i n passing. We talked earnestly during long walks in the closest environs of Zakopane (...). We also spent quite a few evenings drinking beer in a small restaurant i n Bystre. Witkiewicz, who at the time was dealing almost exclusively with philosophy, always conducted so-called essential conversations on assorted, albeit rather haphazardly chosen, philosophical topics (...). O f the three different forms of intellectual contact with him, conversation appeared to be relatively the most instructive. He too seemed to be more concentrated during these 'essential conversations' and more keenly strove to the essence of the question than he did in writing (...). In a strictly scientific conversation Witkiewicz was capable of being unselfish (...)managed to forget about himself and various human considerations, and totally devoted himself to the theoretical issue at stake. I recall with true regret those valuable hours of conversations held in a state of complete absorption in a given question, and concerned with a single goal: to reach the studied object and to discover its essential features. In my life, I have met only a few people with whom it was possible to be so alone while tackling problems" (R. Ingarden, Wspomnienia o Stanisławie Ignacym Witkiewiczu /Reminiscences about Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz)/ i n : Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz- Księga pamiątkowa/Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz. A Commemorative Book/, ed. by T. Kotarbiński and J. E. Płomieński, Warszawa 1957, pp. 172-173). The time spent with Ingarden during the "essential conversations" was recalled by Witkiewicz (in the still unpublished letters to his wife, Jadwiga, which will appear i n successive volumes of Pisma zebrane /Collected Writings/ by Witkiewicz, prepared by Anna Micińska and published by PIW). (25 July 1936): "Ingarden has arrived - a discussion. I like this bloke The participants of the "essential conversations" included primarily philosophers, although not solely. Ingarden was accompanied by Tatarkiewicz, Leśniewski, Kotarbiński, Metallmann, and Szuman as well as a numbet of representatives of the artistic-scientific world, who had nothing i n common with philosophy. Apparently, "essential conversation" was a term used by Witkiewicz to describe every discourse which met the harsh requirements of "conceptual discipline". Their topic, alongside philosophy, were also so-called every day issues. From the time of his youth, Witkiewicz was taught such discourses in contacts with a group of peers, composed of, among others the painter and philosopher Leon Chwistek, the poet and writer Tadeusz Nalepiński, the playwright Tadeusz Szymberski and the composer Karol Szymanowski; their patron was Tadeusz Miciński, older by half a generation. A separate place among the participants of the "essential conversations" was held by Bronisław Malinowski, a childhood friend of Witkiewicz, and later an ethnographer and professor of social anthropology at London University. The conversations conducted during his numerous visits i n Zakopane, and then in the course of a joint journey to Australia, pertained more to personal-existential themes than to theoreticalscientific ones. O n the other hand, this may not be quite true, considering that in an introduction to one of his works Malinowski thanked Witkiewicz for reading his manuscript. Malinowski is also the prototype of Prince Nevermore in 622 upadki Bunga (The 622 Downfalls of Bungo), a novel by the young Witkiewicz, whose first chapter is entitled Essential conversations; actually, the whole novel is composed entirely of such conversations. They spent their time together debating, persuading each other to accept assorted reasoning, and treating conversation as a lifestyle and a way to gain maturity. These intellectualised young men took to controversies and provocation as fish to water. In this way, they 370 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE W I T K A C E G O „W ciągu ostatnich kilku lat przed wojną spotykali­ śmy się głównie w Zakopanem - pisał Roman Ingarden, wybitny fenomenolog, uczeń Husserla - wyjątkowo przelotnie w Warszawie. Mówiliśmy na serio ze sobą wy­ łącznie na długich spacerach w najbliższą okolicę Zako­ panego (...). Spędziliśmy też niejeden wieczór na piwie w małej restauracyjce na Bystrem. Witkiewicz, który wówczas zajmował się już prawie wyłącznie filozofią, przeprowadzał ze mną tak zwane przez siebie «rozmowy istotne» na różne, ale raczej przygodnie nasuwające się tematy filozoficzne (...). Z trzech różnych form myślowe­ go obcowania z Witkiewiczem rozmowa była stosunko­ wo najbardziej instruktywna. O n sam też wydawał się w tych «rozmowach istotnych* batdziej skoncentrowa­ ny i bardziej dociekliwie docierający do kwestii niż przy pisaniu (...). Witkiewicz umiał być bezinteresowny w rozmowie ściśle naukowej (...) umiał zapominać o so­ bie i różnych ludzkich względach i oddawał się całkiem toczącej się kwestii teoretycznej. Z prawdziwym żalem wspominam te cenne godziny rozmów w zupełnym zato­ pieniu się w zagadnienia, z jedyną troską: dotarcia do przedmiotu badania i wykrycia jego istotnych cech. Nie­ wielu ludzi spotkałem w życiu, z którymi można było być tak samotnym w obcowaniu z zagadnieniami". (R. I n gatden, Wspomnienia o Stanisławie Ignacym Witkiewiczu, w: Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz. Księga pamiątkowa, pod red. T. Kotarbińskiego i J.E. Płomieńskiego, Warszawa 1957, s. 172-173). Chwile spędzone na „rozmowach istotnych" z Ingarde­ nem tak wspomina z kolei Witkiewicz (w dotąd niepubli­ kowanych listach do żony Jadwigi, które ukażą się w opra­ cowaniu Anny Micińskiej jako kolejne tomy Pism zebra­ nych Witkiewicza wydawanych przez PIW). (25.VII.1935): „Przyjechał Ingarden - dyskusja. B[ardzo] mi się ten facet podoba i od razu zazębiliśmy się potwornie. Za to z Sobo­ cińskim nie było dyskusji". (22.VIII.1936): „Jest Ingarden, z którym co dzień od 3 dni mam wieczorną konferencję". (2.VIII.1938): „Rozmowy z Ingardenem trochę pociesza­ ją". (8.IX.1937): „Pociesza mnie Ingarden, z którym pro­ wadzę rozmowy on to logiczne". (18.VII.1938): „Miałem odczyt - udał się. Potem dyskusja z Ingardenem przeważnie w kawiarni". (И.IX. 1937): „Pociesza mnie Ingarden. O n uznaje moją pracę o W[ittgensteinie]. W istocie, tylko chce krótszego syntetycznego szkicu, który by Twardowski mógł przyjąć do «Studia Philosophica»". Uczestnikami „rozmów istotnych" byli przede wszyst­ kim filozofowie, ale nie tylko. Poza Ingardenem - Tatar­ kiewicz, Leśniewski, Kotarbiński, Metallmann, Szuman, ale także szereg postaci życia artystyczno-naukowego nie mających z filozofią nic wspólnego. Terminem „rozmowa istotna" określał Witkiewicz, jak się zdaje, każdy dyskurs, który spełnia ostre wymogi „dyscypliny pojęciowej". Na­ tomiast ich tematem poza filozofią były także sprawy tzw. życiowe. B O H D A N M I C H A L S K I Rozmowy istotne Witkacego Dwugłos polemiczny Szkołą owych dyskursów były dla Witkiewicza od mło­ dości kontakty z grupą rówieśników, do których należeli m.in. malarz i filozof Leon Chwistek, poeta i pisarz Tade­ usz Nalepiński, dramaturg Tadeusz Szymberski, kompozy­ tor Karol Szymanowski, patronował im starszy o pół po­ kolenia Tadeusz Miciński. Osobne miejsce wśród uczestników „rozmów istot­ nych" zajmował starszy o rok od Witkacego i zaprzyja­ źniony z nim od dzieciństwa Bronisław Malinowski późniejszy etnograf i profesor antropologii społecznej na Uniwersytecie w Londynie. Rozmowy prowadzone pod­ czas jego licznych wizyt w Zakopanem, a następnie w cza­ sie odbytej razem podróży do Australii, dotyczyły bardziej tematów osobisto-egzystencjonalnych niż teoretycznonaukowych. Chociaż może nie tak do końca, skoro Mali­ nowski dziękuje Witkiewiczowi za ptzeczytanie rękopisu we wstępie do jednego ze swych dzieł. Malinowski jest też prototypem postaci księcia Nevetmore z młodzieńczej po­ wieści Witkiewicza 622 upadki Bunga, której pierwszy roz­ dział nosi właśnie tytuł Rozmowy istotne i która cała wła­ ściwie z takich rozmów się składa. Spędzali więc czas spierając się, przekonując partnera do swoich racji, rozmowa była dla nich stylem bycia i spo­ sobem dojrzewania. Tym rozintelektualizowanym mło­ dzieńcom spór, prowokacja były potrzebne jak rybie wo­ da. W ten sposób wyptacowywali swój własny punkt w i ­ dzenia, formowali własny attystyczny i filozoficzny świato­ pogląd. Nie należy także ptzeoczyć ubocznej funkcji „rozmów istotnych". W 622 upadkach Bunga Witkacy pisał: „Powo­ li przy pomocy niezmiernie istotnych rozmów, nie mają­ cych pozornie żadnego z obserwatotem związku, wciągnął ją w swój system myślenia i uczynił z niej subtelny instru­ ment swych metafizycznych i perwersyjnych pożądań". Żarty na bok, główną funkcją „rozmów istotnych" nie by­ ło ptzecież uwodzenie, lecz zgłębianie Tajemnicy Bytu... Szczególne miejsce wśród interlokutorów dojrzałego już Witkacego zajmował filozof niemiecki Hans Corne­ lius, którego system filozoficzny, obok monadologii Leib­ niza, uważał Witkiewicz za główną inspirację swego „monadyzmu biologicznego". Z Corneliusem łączyły Witkace­ go poza filozofią także więzy przyjaźni. Młodszy o ponad 371 �Bohdan Michalski • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS the German philosopher to be his spiritual master and life mentor. In one of his letters addressed to Cornelius (26 July 1935) he wrote: "Please accept, dear master (in the Chinese meaning of the word - in which it signifies much more than in ours) words expressing supreme respect and love". (31 January 1939): "Together with L[eszczyriski] we dream that the three of us shall meet once again. Every time I pass 'Ryś' my heart quivers. Yes, those were truly beautiful days!". Those "beautiful days" are a recollection of the time when Witkiewicz played host to Cornelius in Zakopane, where they conducted endless "essential conversations", subsequently continued and "prolonged" in mutual correspondence. Upon his return to Germany, Cornelius mentioned, in an account from his stay in Poland, the time spent together with Witkiewicz, and exptessed, a fact worth noting, his admiration for the high intellectual level of the entire Polish philosophical milieu: "Mr. Stanisław I . Witkiewicz from Zakopane wrote that he considers himself to be an enthusiastic supporter of my philosophy with which he has been familiar for the past twenty years upon the basis of my books, although some 50% of him remains an opponent of my doctrine (...). A t the train station I was greeted by my friend Witkiewicz, who took me to a comfortable boardinghouse next to his home. We spent the next eight days, unfortunately marred by bad weather, partly conducting scientific conversations and partially paying Stanisław I. Witkiewicz z Janem Leszczyńskim; fot. Władysław highly interesting visits (...) I talked [in Lvov - B.M.] for Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. Ze zbiorów prywatnych more than an hour on Concepts and the method of the Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz with ]an Leszczyński, photo by Władysław ultimate clarity of cognition . The lecture was followed by Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. Private collection a long and lively discussion, and the whole meeting lasted for probably for three hours. I had the impression, to a degree even greater than during the lectures in Cracow and Warsaw, that the philosophical arrived at their own viewpoints, forming artistic and preparedness of my listeners represents a very high level, philosophical world outlooks of their own. and that especially at the university new German We should not neglect the incidental functions of the philosophy constitutes a foundation for the further "essential conversations". In 622 Upadki Bunga Witkacy development of philosophical thought and research. In wrote: "Slowly, with the assistance of extremely essential my opinion, the thorough knowledge of my own conversations, which at first glance have nothing in philosophy and understanding were such as I almost common with the observer, he drew her into his own never encountered at home" (H. Cornelius, Podróż, po system of thought, and rendered her a subtle instrument Polsce z odczytami - październik 1937. Niemiecka filozofia of his metaphysical and perverse desires". Joking aside, w Polsce /А lecture tour of Poland - October 193 7. the prime function of the "essential conversations" was German philosophy in Poland/. "Twórczość" 1974, no. 11, not seduction, but a penetration of the Mystery of pp. 77-78). Existence ... The group of "essential interlocutors", younger than A special place among the interlocutors of the adult Witkiewicz by a generation, was composed of Bolesław Witkacy was held by the German philosopher Hans Miciński, Mieczysław Choynowski and, predominantly, Cornelius, whose philosophical system Witkiewicz Jan Leszczyński. Witkiewicz was not an academic regarded as the main inspiration of his "biological scholar, and never had students in the strict meaning of monadism", next to Leibniz's monadology. Witkacy and the term. Nevertheless, although his philosophy had no Cornelius not only shared philosophical views, but were continuators, due to his theoretical accomplishments friends. The twenty years-younger Witkacy considered (not only the artistic ones) he remained an authority for 372 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY I S T O T N E W I T K A C E G O 20 lat, uważał filozofa niemieckiego za swego duchowego mistrza i życiowego mentora. W jednym z listów do Cotneliusa napisał (26.VII.1935): „Proszę przyjąć, drogi M i sttzu (w sensie chińskim - tam znaczy to o wiele więcej niż u nas) wyrazy najwyższej czci i miłości". (31.1.1939): „Marzymy sobie z L[eszczyńskim], że się jeszcze kiedyś we trójkę spotkamy. Ilekroć przechodzę koło «Rysia», dozna­ ję skurczu serca. Tak, to były piękne dni!". „Piękne d n i " są wspomnieniem chwil, kiedy Witkie­ wicz gościł Corneliusa w Zakopanem i kiedy odbywali niekończące się „rozmowy istotne" kontynuowane później i „przedłużone" wzajemną korespondencją. Cor­ nelius po powrocie do Niemiec w relacji z wizyty w Polsce też wspomina wspólnie spędzone z Witkiewiczem chwile oraz daje wytaz - co warte jest odnotowania - swemu podziwowi dla wysokiego poziomu intelektualnego całego polskiego środowiska filozoficznego: „Pan Stanisław I . Witkiewicz z Zakopanego pisał, że uważa się za entuzja­ stycznego zwolennika mej filozofii, którą zna od 20 lat na podstawie mych książek, pozostając jednak zarazem w 50 mniej więcej procentach przeciwnikiem mej doktryny(...). Na dworcu przywitał mnie mój ptzyjaciel Witkie­ wicz, który zawiózł mnie do wygodnego pensjonatu sąsia­ dującego z jego domem. Następnych 8 dni spędziliśmy, niestety przy niesprzyjającej pogodzie, częściowo na roz­ mowach naukowych, częściowo zaś na interesujących odwiedzinach (...). Mówiłem [we Lwowie - przyp. BM] ponad godzinę na temat: Pojęcie i metoda ostatecznej jasno­ ści poznania. Po odczycie wywiązała się długa i żywa dys­ kusja, całość wypełniła więc zapewne 3 godziny wieczoru. Odniosłem tu, w większym jeszcze stopniu niż podczas prelekcji w Krakowie i Warszawie, wrażenie, że filozoficz­ ne przygotowanie wszystkich moich słuchaczy stoi na wy­ jątkowo wysokim poziomie i że zwłaszcza nowa niemiec­ ka filozofia stanowi na tym uniwetsytecie podstawę dal­ szego rozwoju filozoficznej myśli i badań. Sądzę, że także, jeśli chodzi o moją własną filozofię, spotkałem się tu z tak gruntowną jej znajomością i takim zrozumieniem, na ja­ kie nie zdarzyło mi się niemal nigdzie nattafić w mej oj­ czyźnie". ( H . Cornelius, Podróż, po Polsce z odczytami październik 1937. Niemiecka filozofia w Polsce, „Twór­ czość" 1974, nr 11, s. 77-78). Młodszą od Witkiewicza o jedno pokolenie grupę „rozmówców istotnych" stanowili filozofowie: Bolesław Miciński, Mieczysław Choynowski i przede wszystkim Jan Leszczyński. Witkiewicz nie był uczonym uniwersyteckim i nie miał uczniów w ścisłym tego słowa znaczeniu. Z ko­ lei jego filozofia nie miała kontynuatorów, tym niemniej poprzez swoje dokonania teoretyczne (nie tylko artystycz­ ne) był dla początkujących filozofów autorytetem i w pewnym sensie ich mistrzem. Najbliższe związki filozoficzne łączyły Witkiewicza z młodszym od niego o równo 20 lat Janem Leszczyńskim (1905-1990). Ziemianin, po wojnie profesor Uniwersyte­ tu Jagiellońskiego, był także autorem najważniejszej w polskiej literaturze filozoficznej rozprawy o Corneliusie (Jan Leszczyński, Teoria świata w ujęciu Hansa Corneliusa. Próba krytyki, „Kwartalnik Filozoficzny", t. X V I I I , 1949, z. 1-2, s. 73-240) otaz napisanej po wojnie ważnej rozprawy o filozofii Witkiewicza (Jan Leszczyński, Filozof metafi­ zycznego niepokoju, w: cytowanej wyżej Księdze Pamiątko­ wej, s. 93-118). Jemu właśnie spośród wszystkich „roz­ mówców istotnych" poświęcił Witkiewicz zarówno w ko­ respondencji z żoną Jadwigą, jak i z Corneliusem najwię­ cej miejsca. Ten rozmówca Witkiewicza zasługuje na uwagę z kil­ ku powodów. Po pierwsze - prowadzone na przestrzeni kilkunastu lat „rozmowy istotne" (głównie w czasie poby­ tów Leszczyńskiego w Zakopanem) zaowocowały wspólną z Witkacym (dotąd nie wydaną) pracą filozoficzną zatytu­ łowaną Spór o monadyzm. Dwugbs polemiczny. Było to wy­ darzenie bez precedensu w polskiej literaturze filozoficz­ nej dwudziestolecia międzywojennego. Po drugie - miłość Leszczyńskiego i Witkiewicza do tej samej kobiety Inki Turowskiej, została sportretowana przez tego drugiego w Jedynym wyjściu, stając się wątkiem ostatniej powieści Witkiewicza. Po trzecie wreszcie — Le­ szczyński odegrał szczególną rolę nie tylko za życia Witka­ cego, ale także po jego śmierci, stając się „strażnikiem je­ go pamięci". Uratował przed niechybnym zniszczeniem pozostałą po Powstaniu resztkę jego tękopisów (wydoby­ wając je z piwnicy domu, w którym mieszkała w Warsza­ wie żona Witkacego). Był autorem pierwszej po wojnie wspomnianej wyżej rozprawy poświęconej ontologii Wit­ kiewicza, a także edytorem (wraz z niżej podpisanym) Pism filozoficznych i estetycznych Witkiewicza w Państwo­ wym Wydawnictwie Naukowym w latach 1974-78. Nie miejsce tutaj na ptzedstawienie istoty filozoficzne­ go sporu Witkiewicza z Leszczyńskim zawartego w Sporze o monadyzm. Można tylko zasygnalizować, że zasadnicze starcie dotyczyło przeciwstawienia idealizmu i realizmu. Na pracę tę składają się teksty obu autorów. Jana Le­ szczyńskiego trzy rozprawy teoretyczne: Próba idealistycz­ nej monadologii, Dowód idealizmu ze skali intencjonalności przeżyć oraz Podstawowe pojęcia idealistycznej monadologii, a także pięć polemicznych. Natomiast Witkiewicza - pięć ataków polemicznych, m.in.: Próba krytyki „Próby mona­ dologii idealistycznej", Odpowiedź Janowi Leszczyńskiemu na „Decydujące natarcie" oraz List św. Witkacjusza do niewier­ nych Tamowiczan. Całość obejmuje ponad 300 stron ma­ szynopisu. (Zainteresowanych odsyłam do kolejnego to­ mu Pism zebranych Witkiewicza: Spór o monadyzm. Dwu­ gbs polemiczny przygotowywanych do druku przez niżej podpisanego). 373 Chciałbym tutaj, wykorzystując częściowo nieznane dotąd źródła, prześledzić ciekawe losy wieloletniej i czę­ stokroć burzliwej przyjaźni Witkacego z Leszczyńskim. Niniejszy tekst wykorzystuje - ze strony Witkacego - �Bohdan Michalski • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS beginner philosophers who, in a certain sense, acknowledged him as their master. The closest philosophical relations maintained by Witkiewicz were those with Jan Leszczyński, exactly twenty years his junior (1905-90). A landowner, and after the war a professor at the Jagiellonian University, Leszczyński was also the author of the most important dissertation about Cornelius in Polish philosophical literature (Teoria świata w ujęciu Hansa Comeliusa. Próba krytyki /The theory of the wotld according to Hans Cornelius. A t attempted critique/, "Kwartalnik Filozoficzny", vol. X V I I I , 1949, fasc. 1-2, pp. 73-240) and of a meaningful postwat work on the philosophy of Witkiewicz ( Filozof metafizycznego niepokoju /А philosopher of metaphysical unrest/, in a forementioned Księga Pamiątkowa , pp. 93-118). Among all the "essential interlocutors", he was the one to whom Witkacy devoted most attention i n correspondence both with his wife, Jadwiga, and with Cornelius. Scale of the Integrity of Experience) and Podstawowe pojęcia idealistycznej monadologii (Fundamental Concepts of Idealistic Monadology), as well as five polemical studies. The works by Witkiewicz include, among othets Próba krytyki "Próby monadologii idealistycznej (An Attempted Critique of Attempt at Idealistic Monadology), Odpowiedź Janowi Leszczyńskiemu na "Decydujące natarcie" (A Response to Jan Leszczyńskie Decydujące natarcie /Decisive Attack/), and List św. Witkacjusza do niewiernych Tarnowiczan (A Letter by St. Vitkacius to the infidel residents of Tarnowiec). The whole work includes more than 300 typewritten pages. (All those interested are advised to await the successive volume of Pisma zebrane by Witkiewicz: Spór о monadyzm. Dwughs polemiczny , which I am preparing for publication). J. Leszczyński deserves our closer attention for a number of reasons. First, the "essential conversations" carried on for more than ten years, mainly during his stays in Zakopane, produced a philosophical work entitled Spór o monadyzm. Dwughs polemiczny (A Dispute about Monadism. A Polemical Dialogue), written jointly with Witkacy (unpublished). This was an unprecedented event in Polish philosophical literature of the inter-war period. Secondly, both Leszczyński and Witkiewicz were in love with Inka Turowska, portrayed by the latter in his Jedyne wyjście (The Only Solution), and the motif of his last novel. Finally, Leszczyński played a specially important role, not only during the lifetime of Witkacy but also after the latter's death, by becoming the "guardian of his memory". He salvaged from unavoidable damage the remnants of Witkacy's manuscripts, which survived the Warsaw Uprising and which he extracted from the house in which Witkiewicz's wife lived. Furthermore, Leszczyński was the author of the aforementioned first postwar study on ontology according to Witkiewicz, as well as the editor, together with the author of this essay, of Pisma filozoficzne i estetyczne (Philosophical and Aesthetic Writings), published by Państwowe Wydawnictwo Naukowe in 1974-1978. This is by no means a suitable place for a presentation of the essence of the philosophical polemic between Witkiewicz and Leszczyński, contained in Spór о monadyzm. We may only point out that the basic confrontation concerned the contrast between idealism and realism. The study in question is composed of texts by both authors: three theoretical dissertations by Jan Leszczyński: Próba idealistycznej monadologii, (An Attempt at Idealistic Monadology), Dowód idealizmu ze skali intencjonalności przeżyć (Proof of Idealism from the A t this stage, I would like to resort to partially unknown sources, and to trace the fascinating course of the years-long turbulent friendship of Witkacy and Leszczyński. The following text is based mainly on Witkacy's letters to his wife as well as to Leszczyński and the Leszczyński family (the first unpublished letters come from the collection of Anna Micińska, and the remaining ones, also until now unknown, from the collections of Stefan Okolowicz and my own). Material pertaining to Leszczyński is founded on his unpublished correspondence with Witkacy (in my possession), which comprises a large part of Spór o monadyzm , and the interview I conducted with Jan Leszczyński in the spring of 1975. Valuable information about the mutual relations between Witkiewicz and Leszczyński is contained in the latter's publications as well as the published letters by Witkiewicz to Cornelius; admiration and adoration for the German philosopher additionally bonded the heroes of this text. In his recollections about Witkiewicz (published in the previously cited Księga Pamiątkowa ), Leszczyński wrote: "Apart from close friendship, it was precisely this domain [philosophy - В. M.) which bound me with Witkiewicz closest and strongest. This is the teason why the more than ten year-long coexistence always remained in the shade of philosophical strife - an incessant polemic, extremely intense and, at times, even violent". We learn about the meaning Witkiewicz attached to conversations with Leszczyński in the former's letter to Cornelius (31 January 1939): "Dearest and honourable Master! I have already arrived in Zakopane, and have had several conversations with Leszczyński. The dispute conducted with him is one of the few joys in my life, since it is becoming increasingly sad and hopeless (old age, fragility, a lack of money, an uncertain future, etc.); nothing radical can be done to prevent this, and one may only struggle to the very end, to the very last chance, in order to maintain a certain 374 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE WITKACEGO Sceny improwizowane - Stanisław I. Witkiewicz z Inką Janiną Turowską-Leszczyńską; fot. Władysław Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza Improvised scenes - photographic session, Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz with Janina Turowska-Leszczyńska, photo by Władysław Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okolowicz głównie jego listy do żony, a także listy do Leszczyńskiego i Leszczyńskich (pierwsze - niepublikowane ze zbiorów Anny Micińskiej, pozostałe ze zbiorów Stefana Okolowi­ cza i niżej podpisanego, także dotąd nieznane). Ze strony zaś Leszczyńskiego niepublikowaną jego kotespondencję z Witkacym znajdującą się w moim posiadaniu (będącą częścią Sporu o monadyzm) oraz wywiad, jaki przeprowa­ dziłem z Janem Leszczyńskim wiosną 1975 roku. Cenne informacje na temat wzajemnych relacji Witkiewicza i Leszczyńskiego zawierają publikowane prace tego ostat­ niego, jak również opublikowane listy Witkacego do Cor­ neliusa, dla którego to uwielbienie i podziw łączyły dodat­ kowo bohaterów niniejszego tekstu. W swoim wspomnieniu o Witkiewiczu (zamieszczo­ nym w cytowanej już Księdze Pamiątkowej poświęconej Witkacemu) Leszczyński pisał: „Poza bliskim stosunkiem przyjaźni właśnie ta dziedzina [filozofia - przyp. BM] łą­ czyła mnie z Witkiewiczem najbliżej i najsilniej. Toteż kil­ kanaście lat bliskiego współżycia stało zawsze pod zna­ kiem filozoficznych zmagań - nieustającej polemiki, bar­ dzo intensywnej i nieraz nawet gwałtownej". Czym dla Witkiewicza były rozmowy z Leszczyńskim, dowiadujemy się z listu tego pierwszego do Corneliusa (31.1.1939): „Najdroższy i wielce szanowny Misttzu! Jestem już w Za­ kopanem i mam już za sobą liczne konwetsacje z Le­ szczyńskim. Spór prowadzony z nim jest jedną z nielicz­ nych radości mojego życia, jako że moje życie staje się co­ raz bardziej smutne i beznadziejne (starość, słabość, brak pieniędzy, niepewna przyszłość itd.); przeciwko temu nie można niczego radykalnego zdziałać, a jedynie walczyć do ostatniej chwili, do ostatniej szansy, aby uttzymać życie na pewnym poziomie niezbędnym dla mojej pracy. W zimnym, zapluskwionym pokoju, głodny i odziany w szmaty nie mógłbym niestety żyć i ptacować (tj. filozo­ fować i wykonywać swoją kurewską robotę)". (Listy St.I. Witkiewicza do Hansa Corneliusa, z niemieckiego przełoży­ ła Helena Opoczyńska, podał do druku i przypisami opa­ trzył Stefan Morawski, „Twórczość", 1987 nr 11, s. 121). Osobę głównego polemisty Witkiewicza i interlokuto­ ra „rozmów istotnych" wspomina także Cornelius w cyto­ wanej wyżej relacji z wizyty w Polsce: „Gdy wieczorem przybyłem, by wygłosić prelekcję [w Krakowie - przyp. BM] pod tytułem Przedmiot i zjawisko, zdumiała mnie wielka liczba słuchaczy, których nie tylko zainteresował filozoficzny temat, ale którzy posiadali też konieczną zna­ jomość języka, dzięki czemu mogli słuchać niemieckiego wykładu. Także w dyskusji po referacie wzięło udział wie­ le osób. Po prelekcji korzystałem z gościnności innego długoletniego zwolennika mej filozofii, którego dotych­ czas nie znałem, szlachcica i obywatela ziemskiego Jana Leszczyńskiego oraz jego niezwykle uroczej małżonki. Państwo Leszczyńscy pożegnali mnie nazajutrz rankiem na dworcu" (s. 76). 375 Jan Leszczyński w roku 1985 w komentarzu do opubli­ kowanego przez siebie listu filozoficznego Witkiewicza (Jan Leszczyński, Nieznany list filozoficzny Stanisława lgną- �Bohdan Michalski • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS level of living indispensable for my work. Unfortunately, I would be unable to live and work, i n other words, to philosophise and carry out this cursed task i n a cold, bedbug — infested room, hungry and dressed i n rags" (Listy St. I. Witkiewicza do Hansa Comeliusa /Letters by S. I . Witkiewicz to Hans Cornelius, translated from the German by Helena Opoczyńska, prepared for publication and with footnotes by Stefan Morawski, "Twórczość" 1987, no. 11, p. 121). The prime polemicist of Witkiewicz and the interlocutor of the "essential conversations" was recalled also by Cornelius in the above mentioned account of his visit in Poland: "When I arrived in the evening to deliver a lecture [in Cracow - B.M.] on Object and Phenomenon , I was astounded by the great number of listeners, who were not only interested i n the philosophical topic, but were also sufficiently familiar with the language to be able to listen to a lecture in German. Several persons also participated in the ensuing discussion. I took advantage of the hospitality of another long-term adherent of my philosophy, whose acquaintance I had not made earlier, the landowner Jan Leszczyński-and his extraordinarily charming wife. The next morning, the Leszczyńskis bid me farewell at the train station" (p. 76). In 1985, Jan Leszczyński wrote i n a published commentary to a philosophical letter by Witkiewicz: "Witkacy's philosophical letter [of 2 May 1937 - В. M.) did not signal what was to take place later on: that it would initiate a lengthy written polemic between us, which lasted for almost two years, and that at its end Witkiewicz would launch the idea of publishing this polemic as a dialogue on monadism in the rough form in which it came into being (...) The polemic I mentioned had its precedent. In 1931-32,1 would meet Witkiewicz for philosophical conversations, held almost daily i n the course of the whole year with a few intervals whenever he left for his 'portrait sessions' outside Zakopane. In the following year, (i. e. 1933), certain events kept us apart, and our contacts remained severed until this philosophical letter. Nonetheless, this came as nosurprise to me. I deduced from assorted signs that the interval in our philosophical exchange of thoughts must finally end - and this is precisely what happened (...) None of us treated what took place as an official termination of contacts. It was actually only a state of frozen socialfriendly relations, to the accompaniment of mutual silence, which occurred after my marriage to Inka (Janina Turowska), courted also by Witkiewicz, whose wife Jadwiga had promised him a divorce" (Jan Leszczyński, Nieznany list filozoficzny Stanisława Ignacego Witkiewicza /An unknown philosophical letter by Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz/ "Pamiętnik Literacki", LXXCVI, 1985, fasc. 4, pp. 165-166). The history of the friendship: conflicts, break up, apologies and conversations, conducted with intervals, was recorded by Witkiewicz on an almost daily basis in his correspondence with Jadwiga. (2 September 1931): "A day-long conference with Jaś". (24 September 1931): "Today, Jaś Leszczyński proved to be a great comfort to me". (28 September 1931): "Jaś L[eszczyński] is here and is a great solace". (4 October 1931): "Jaś L[eszczyński] also took Eukodal". (19 October 1931): "Jaś L[eszczyński] and Truskolaski are cheering me up". (1 March 1932): " I spent the evening with Jaś. I have become so strange that it terrifies me = robustness and a simultaneous awareness of the unreal nature of the world". (7 Marchl932):" Keep the letters (by Bronio and Jaś)". (17 March 1932): "Jaś paid me a visit. I am reading Knickerback on the Soviets and Gąsiorowski about America. V[ery] interesting and outright mind bending". (30 March 1932): "A great misunderstanding with Jaś a propos the skis of that punk Witek L. The atmosphere has become generally tainted - my friendship with Jaś is finished. E[xtremely] sorry". (1 April 1932): "The misunderstanding with Jaś has assumed grotesque forms, but it seems that it will end felatively well, since our friendship has veered 175 degrees to the left (...) I shall send you the money as soon as Jaś returns it, since he borrowed it and now has none to give back". (1 May 1932): "Today, I climbed Goryczkowa Pass together with papusiek and Inka Turowska". (5 May 1932): "Yesterday, I was compelled to break up with Jaś. This is such a complicated story that it simply cannot be told. It is connected with the Turowskis and the last excursion". (8 February 1933): "Jaś and Truskolaski have arrived so don't worry about me; Chwiston is growing". (12 February 1933)" " I read Chwiston yesterday to Kotarbiński ,whom I visited and with whom I reached an understanding. Jaś and Truskolaski were pleased. It is a huge pile of 94 pages. Today, I shall finish reading". (18 February 1933): "Inka and Jaś are officially engaged, but both display horribly dour expressions (...) I read Chwistonto Jaś and he was pleased. I would like to publish it as a book". (20 March 1933): "Jaś married Inka and thus surreptitiously erased our friendship. He did not see me, and they left for the countryside". (23 March 1933): " I wrote old T[urowska] a letter about returning the books and received it back unopened, together with a letter in which she argued that the reason for everything is because I was a demon and tried to do all to prevent the marriage of Jaś and Inka. I replied that I am severing all relations with persons who fabricate extraordinary facts and engage in intrigues. This is the final epilogue of the issue. Just think what sort of monkeys they are, and what sort of an ass exchanged me for a tart. I should have protested then. My holy principle is to sever relations for always in 376 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE W I T K A C E G O Witkiewicza, „Pamiętnik Literacki", R. LXXVI.1985, - 4 s. 165-166) pisał: „List filozoficzny Witkacego [z 2 V.1937 - przyp. BM] nie zapowiadał jeszcze tego, co dopiero później miało nastąpić: że zapoczątkuje on długą pisemną polemikę między nami trwającą prawie 2 lata i że pod jej koniec zrodzi się u Witkiewicza myśl, by tę pole­ mikę wydać jako dwugłos dotyczący monadyzmu, i to jej surowym stanie, w takiej postaci, w jakiej powstała ( ). Polemika, o której tu piszę, miała już swoje prece­ densy. Przez przeciąg bez mała roku w okresie 1931-1932 spotykaliśmy się z Witkiewiczem na rozmowy filozoficzne prawie codziennie, z nielicznymi tylko przerwami, gdy wy­ jeżdżał na swoje «sesje portretowe* poza Zakopane. W następnym roku, tj. 1933, zdarzały się wypadki, które nas oddaliły od siebie, nasze kontakty urwały się aż do momentu, w którym pojawił się ten filozoficzny list. Nie był on wszakże dla mnie zaskoczeniem. Wyczuwałem bo­ wiem z różnych oznak, że przerwa w naszej filozoficznej wymianie myśli musi się wreszcie skończyć - i to właśnie się stało (...). Tego, co zaszło między nami, żaden z nas nie traktował jako oficjalnego zerwania. Był to właściwie tyl­ ko stan zamrożenia przyjacielsko-towarzyskich stosun­ ków, przy obustronnym milczeniu. Zapanował on po mo­ im ślubie z Inką (Janiną) Turowską, o której rękę statał się i Witkiewicz, mając przyobiecaną zgodę swej żony Ja­ dwigi na rozwód". c e g 0 nie". (12.11.1933): „Czytałem Chwistona wczoraj przy Kotarbińskim], u którego byłem i się z nim porozumia­ łem. Jasiu i Trusk[olaski] byli zadowoleni. Jest tego duża kupa 94 str. Dziś kończę czytanie". (18.11.1933): „Inka i Jaś zaręczeni oficjalnie, ale miny mają tak ponure oboje, że coś okropnego(...). Przeczytałem Jasiowi Chwistona i był zadowolony. Chciałbym to wydać w książce." (20.III.1933): „Jaś ożenił się z Inką i przekreślił milczkiem w Historię przyjaźni: konflikty, zerwania, przeprosiny oraz trwające z przerwami rozmowy z Jasiem odnotowuje Witkiewicz niemal dzień po dniu w korespondencji z Ja­ dwigą. (2.IX.1931): „Cały dzień konfer[encja] z Jasiem". (24.IX.1931): „Wielką pociechą jest dla mnie Jaś Le­ szczyński". (28.IX.1931): „Jest Jaś L[eszczyński] i to mnie b[atdzo] pociesza". (4.10.1931): „Jaś L[eszczyński] też za­ żył Eukodal". (19.X.1931): „Jaś Leszczyński] i Truskolaski mnie pocieszają." (LIII.1932): „Wieczorem byłem u Jasia. Jestem tak dziwny, że aż strach i się boję = spykniczenie, a jednoczesna nierealność świata". (7.III. 1932): „Listy (Bronia i Jasia) zachowaj". (17.III. 1932): „Odwiedź[ił] mnie Jaś. Czytam o Sowietach Knickerbacka i o Ameryce Gąsiorowskiego. B[ardzo] ciekawe, aż się w łbie przepraca". (30.III.1932): „Mam grube nieporozu­ mienie z Jasiem a propos nart tego gówniarza Witka L. W ogóle zaplugawiła się atmosfera - przyjaźń z Jasiem skończona. B[ardzo] mi przykro". (1.IV.1932): „Nieporo­ zumienie z Jasiem przybiera formy groteskowe, ale zdaje się, że się skończy względnie dobrze, bo jednak przyjaźń jest schwiana o 175" w lewo(...) Flotę Ci wyślę niedługo, jak Jaś odda, bo pożyczył i teraz nie ma". (LV. 1932): „By­ łem wczoraj z papuśkiem i Inką Turowską na Przełęczy Goryczkowej". (5.V.1932): „Musiałem wczoraj zerwać z Jasiem. Tak skomplikowana historia, że się opowiedzieć nie da. W związku z Turowskimi i ostatnią wycieczką". (8.II. 1933): „Przyjechał Jaś i Truskolaski, więc nie niepo­ kój się o mnie, że niby jezdem. wicie, sam Chwiston puch­ naszą przyjaźń. (Nie widział mnie i wyjechali na wieś)". (23.III.1933): „Napisałem do starej T[urowskiej] list 0 zwrot książek i dostałem list ten nie otwarty i list jej, w którym dowodzi, że tak się stało, bo ja byłem demonem 1 starałem się wszystko zrobić, aby nie dopuścić do ślubu Jasia z Inką. Odpisałem, że zrywam wszelkie stosunki z osobami, które zmyślają fakty niebyłe i robią intrygi. Jest to ost[atni] epilog tej sprawy. Ale pomyśl, co te małpy i ten osioł, który mnie sprzedał za kawałek dzifki. Trzeba było się wtedy nie godzić. Święta zasada - o najmniejszą rzecz zrywać na wieki, albo odstawiać na Haldebarana. Piszę powieść i czytam". Z kolei w rozmowie niżej podpisanego z Janem Le­ szczyńskim (nagranej wiosną 1975 r , dotąd nigdzie nie publikowanej), ten ostatni tak ptzedstawia powody ze­ rwania z Witkiewiczem. Jan Leszczyński: „Jest jedna par­ tia prywatnych listów jego i tam wspomina właśnie o mał­ żeństwie moim, że ma mi do zatzucenia, żeśmy go nie za­ wiadomili o ślubie. No trudno było w tej sytuacji go za­ wiadamiać, przypuszczając, jakie on zrobi nam wtedy przyjemności, jeżeli się dowie(...). Zrobiłby jakąś demon­ strację. Diabli wiedzą co, żeby wprowadzić niepokój, za­ siać pewne wątpliwości, nawet co do wyboru osoby, bo kiedyś moja żona się jednak kochała właściwie w Witkie­ wiczu. To była bardzo młodzieńcza miłość, podlotkowata. Więc mogło to wzbudzić w niej jakieś niepokoje, czy rze­ czywiście to właśnie nasza miłość jest ważniejsza. Więc on byłby to wszystko wygrał możliwie jak najsilniej, no a nam zależało na tym, żeby właśnie tego wszystkiego nie było. Zresztą on później, jak się dowiedział, przysłał takie listy, których się nie dało strawić długo (...). Tego dnia, kiedy myśmy się pobrali i już opuścili Zakopane, on przyszedł do «Małego Domku», pytał «gdzie są Jasiowie, bo ja już wiem, że...». Powiedział «Jasiowie», bo wiedział, że my się kochamy, ale nie liczył, żeby to doszło do skutku (...). O n się spodziewał ślubu, ale w każdym razie to go tak bardzo jeszcze zelektryzowało. Wtedy też napisał do nas listy za­ kłócające spokój. Ale takiej kotespondencji to już nie dam(...). Bo ja się dziwię, że dotąd nikt nie napisał jeszcze książki na temat życia, że tak powiem, erotycznego W i t kiewicza(...). Jedyne wyjście nie portretuje niczego. W ptzeciwieństwie do pierwszej powieści - 622 upadków Bunga, gdzie są portrety zrobione, w ostatniej książce ab­ solutnie portretów żadnych nie ma (...). Wszyscy mówią, że tam jest «alter ego» Witkiewicza. Na pewno jest, i to jest słuszna interpretacja. Z podkładu życiowego jest 377 �Bohdan Michakki • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS return for the slightest thing (...) I am writing a novel and reading". In turn, in my conversation with Jan Leszczyński (recorded in the spring of 1975 and never published) the latter presented his own version of the reasons for the breach with Witkiewicz: " I n some of his private letters to me, pertaining to my marriage, he mentioned that we had not informed him about the wedding. It would have been rather difficult to tell him, knowing well what sort of a scene he would have made once he found out (...) Probably some sort of a demonstration, Lord knows what, just to create a disturbance and sow doubt, even about the choice of the person, since for a long time my wife had been in love with Witkiewicz. That was a very youthful love, rather typical for a school girl. His reaction could have upset her, giving rise to anxieties whether it was really our love that was the more important. He could have exploited this as much as possible, and we were concerned precisely with avoiding all that. Later on, once he found out, he sent letters which I could not digest for a long time [...] The day we married and had left Zakopane, he arrived at 'Maly Domek' asking: 'Whete are they, since I already know that...'. He said 'they' because he was aware of the fact that we were in love, but did not take into consideration that this would end in marriage (...) He expected it, but it still affected him so strongly. It was then that he wrote those disturbing letters - the sort of correspondence I shall never make available (...) I am surprised that no one has yet written a book about the erotic life of Witkiewicz (...) Jedyne wyjście does not contain any sort of a portrait. In contrast to the first book - 622 Upadki Bunga , the last one is totally devoid of such portraits (...) Everyone claims that it contains the 'alter ego' of Witkiewicz. That is a correct interpretation. The themes borrowed from life concern our rivalry, the fact that we held philosophical conversations, and even some of my features, albeit only marked here and there. Someone who was well familiar with those times could have discerned some sort of an allusion (...) My wife was not Rustalka, Marceli's lover. This simply did not take place. Witkacy behaved in a highly correct manner as a suitor and observed social forms; obviously, she was never his lover. It would be unpleasant to read totally false interpretations. It is a pity that everyone interprets everything so directly and transfers literature into life and life into literature, mixing everything up". After this digression, so important to Jan Leszczyński, let us return to facts. The Leszczyńskis married in secret and left for their family estate in Tarnowiec. The Leszczyński motif returned once again i n correspondence with Jadwiga (23 May 1933): "Piliński (Jan Leszczyński)returned my book from Tarnowiec, and Rudnicki met Inka in Zakopane at Julia Sokołowska. Ugly and very freckled. Has Jaś already 'sent her back home', as I suspected." (29 September 1933): "Supposedly old Turowska's face has dropped considerably. Jaś had his appendix (?!) removed for the second time in Vienna during the Sobieski celebrations". For the next nine months, the letters to Jadwiga made no mention about the Leszczyńskis, whose theme returned in a single brief sentence in a letter of 27 August 1934 : "Inka has a son 60 cm.". Despite his frequent liaisons Witkiewicz was childless, and Jaś became the father of a son born to a woman to whom Witkiewicz had written not so long ago: "Dearest Intuś. Since you do not love me I stopped paying visits, because unrequited love is a luxury which I cannot afford. Yours for ever Staś" (an undated letter from the collection of Stefan Okolowicz, unpublished). In the above cited conversation Leszczyński declared: "He could never get over or bear the breach which he had caused himself. We met again in connection with the arrival of Cornelius (...) This took place inl937, four years, aftet the break-up. We had met once before by accident, but did not greet each other. I already do not recall the exact events. During a philosophical congress Wojtkiewicz and I met as lecturers sat a reception in the Hawelka restaurant, attended also by Bolesław Miciński, a participant of the congress and a reporter. Miciński made arrangements so that he could come and sit at our table. When Witkiewicz entered the room, he looked at him and said: ' I would like to talk to you'. Miciński disappeared. He was so terrified of Witkiewicz that he left with him, and so enthralled that he abandoned us at his order. In 1937, after the arrival of Cornelius, Witkiewicz began an official correspondence with me. He wrote that although we were at variance there were no obstacles for a philosophical 'understanding'. He aimed at reconciliation, telling me so i n the following way: 'Witkasiuk informs from the Chancery of the Master... that professor Cornelius is paying him a visit'. Later on, he held a meeting at Hawelka's. Next, we invited Cornelius, who subsequently recalled this event, to spend an evening with us. We lived in the Grand Hotel, and arranged a very pleasant supper i n our room. M . - Was Witkiewicz also present, since Cornelius did not mention him? L. - Witkiewicz was there, and conciliation ensued. When he entered the room, my wife walked up to him and kissed him; afterwards, Cornelius said to Witkiewicz: ' I did not know that it is the custom in Poland for women to kiss men. Witkiewicz answered that this was an exceptional occasion, and that he should did not treat it as the norm. These were unforgettable moments. The atmosphere of all such meetings simply cannot be recreated; some of it will be recaptured in the letters by Cornelius to us" (After the 378 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE W I T K A C E G O wzięte to, że była rywalizacji między nami, że prowadzili­ śmy rozmowy filozoficzne, pewne rysy nawet są wyjęte ze mnie, ale tylko rysy tu i ówdzie zaznaczone. Kto by bardzo dokładnie znał te czasy mógłby się tam jakiejś aluzji do­ patrzyć (•••)• Moja żona zupełnie nie jest Rustalką, ko­ chanką Marcelego. To nie miało miejsca. Witkacy bardzo poprawnie się zachowywał. Starał się o rękę z zachowa­ niem form i oczywiście nie było mowy, aby była jego ko­ chanką. Byłoby przykro, jakby człowiek czytał interpreta­ cje zupełnie fałszywe. Jest nieprzyjemne, że wszyscy wszy­ stko interpretują, tak bezpośrednio i przenoszą z literatu­ ry do życia i z życia do literatury, wszystko im się miesza". Po tej jakże ważnej dla Jana Leszczyńskiego dygresji wróćmy do faktów. Leszczyńscy pobrali się więc w taje­ mnicy przed Witkiewiczem i wyjechali do jego majątku do Tarnowca. Wątek Leszczyńskich znów wraca w kore­ spondencji z Jadwigą - Witkiewicz do żony (23.V.1933): „Piliński (Jan Leszczyński) odesłał mi książkę z Tarnowa, a Inkę spotkał Rudnicki w Zakopanem u Julji Sok[ołowskiej]. Brzydką i bfardzo] piegowatą. Czyżby Jaś już ją «odesłał» do domu, jak to przewidywałem." (29.IX. 1933): „Podobno starej Turowskiej już b[ardzo] zrzedła mina. Jaś poddał się (2-giej) oper[acji] ślepej kiszki (?!) we Widniu podczas uroczystości Sobieskiego". Następuje teraz w listach do Jadwigi dziewięciomie­ sięczna przerwa, całkowity brak wzmianek o Leszczyń­ skich, by w końcu w liście z 27.VIII. 1934 r. temat ten po­ wrócił w jedynym krótkim zdaniu: „Inka ma syna 60 cm". Witkiewicz pomimo tak licznych związków z kobietami dzieci nie miał. Natomiast Jasiowi urodziła syna kobieta, do której Witkiewicz nie tak dawno jeszcze pisał (list ze zbiorów Stefana Okolowicza, bez daty, niepublikowany): „Najdroższa Intusiu. Ponieważ mnie nie kochasz, więc przestałem bywać u Was, ponieważ miłość bez wzajemno­ ści jest to luksus, na który nie mogę sobie pozwolić, za­ wsze Twój Staś". Leszczyński, w przytaczanej już rozmowie, mówi dalej: „On nigdy nie mógł tak całkiem przeboleć i wytrzymać naszego zerwania, które sam zresztą spowodował. Więc nastąpiło spotkanie a propos przyjazdu Corneliusa(...). To było w trzydziestym siódmym, cztery lata po zerwaniu. Już raz spotkaliśmy się przypadkiem, ale nie przywitaliśmy się, już nie pamiętam, jak to było. Podczas kongresu filozoficz­ nego myśmy się spotkali z Witkiewiczem, znaleźliśmy się obok siebie jako prelegenci. Urządzono też raut u Hawełki. Był na nim Bolesław Miciński uczestnik kongresu, sprawozdawca. Miciński się umówił z nami, że przyjdzie i przysiadzie się do naszego stolika. Wszedł Witkiewicz na salę, popattzył na niego, powiedział: «chcę z tobą chwilę porozmawiać"... Miciński zniknął, i nie pokazał się. Tak się bał Witkiewicza, że poszedł z nim. Do tego stopnia był zafascynowany Witkiewiczem, że na jego rozkaz nas opu­ ścił. A później przyjechał Cornelius i wtedy Witkiewicz zaczął ze mną oficjalną korespondencję w trzydziestym siódmym roku. Napisał, że jakkolwiek jesteśmy skłóceni, to chyba nie przeszkadza, żebyśmy się filozoficznie [poro­ zumieli]. Dążył do pogodzenia, zawiadomił mnie tak: «Witkasiuk zawiadamia z Kancelarii Mistrza... że profesor Cornelius przyjeżdża do niego». Później zorganizował spo­ tkanie. Spotkanie odbyło się u Hawełki. Następnie my­ śmy zaprosili, o czym pisze Cornelius, na wieczór do sie­ bie. Mieszkaliśmy w «Grandzie» i w naszym pokoju urzą­ dziliśmy kolację. Było bardzo przyjemnie". M : - Czy Witkiewicz był tam, bo Cornelius o nim nie wspomina? L: - Witkiewicz był i odbyło się pojednanie. Jak Wit­ kiewicz wszedł, moja żona podeszła do niego, pocałowała go, a Cornelius po tym pytał się Witkiewicza: «nie wie­ działem, że u was w Polsce jest ten zwyczaj, że kobiety ca­ łują mężczyzn». O n odpowiedział, że to była wyjątkowa okazja i żeby się tym nie kierował. To były nie zapomnia­ ne rzeczy. Tego się nie da odtworzyć, tej całej atmosfery tych wszystkich spotkań, trochę z tego w korespondencji wyjdzie właśnie Corneliusa do nas". (Po śmierci Jana Le­ szczyńskiego archiwum jego znalazło się w rękach spad­ kobierców) . Po nawiązaniu z powrotem stosunków, przy okazji przyjazdu do Polski Corneliusa i w związku z rozpoczę­ ciem w tym samym 1937 roku wymiany listów filozoficz­ nych między Witkacym i Leszczyńskim (o czym wspomi­ na wyżej Leszczyński) zaczynają w korespondencji z Ja­ dwigą pojawiać się liczne wzmianki zarówno o samej po­ lemice, jak i o Leszczyńskich. Będzie to trwało już do sa­ mego końca, tj. do sierpnia 1939 г., kiedy korespondencja z Jadwigą urwie się na zawsze. Witkiewicz do żony: (28.IV. 1937): „Przeglądam Kryty­ kę poglądów Jasia Leszczyńskiego], którą ostatnio napi­ sałem. Powinien pod wpływem tego zostać realistą". (2.V.1937): „Dziś skończyłem odp[owiedź] Metallmannowi i Leszczyńskiemu (61 str.) z tego 30 parę napisanych po pijanemu, b[ardzo] ciekawe - krytyka fil[ozoficzna] С + Co (odrobinka płynu)". (5.V.1937): „Ciekawy je­ stem co Jaś Leszczyński powie na 66 str. Traktatu miażdżą­ cego zupełnie idealizm, który rekomendowanie na Chramcówki posłałem". We wstępie do „listu filozoficznego" z 24X1.1937 r. Witkiewicz tak pisze do Leszczyńskiego (list ten jest czę­ ścią Sporu o monadyzm...)•. „Kochany Jasiu = Nie wiem czy otrzymałeś (wysłane 5.XI) pracę o idealizmie i reali­ zmie drukowaną w «Zecie» i poświęconą «Pamięci smut­ nej dla mnie Jana Pilińskiego» (to należy do niepowrotnej przeszłości) i pracuchnę o solips[yzmie] i idealizmie (...). Dziękuję Wam Obojgu bardzo serdecznie za zapro­ szenie. Może kiedy z niego skorzystam przed Weltkatastrophą z r. 1938. Ale życie moje obecne jest funkcją tylu niewiadomych, że nic na pewno powiedzieć nie mogę (...). Łączę wyrazy prawdziwej przyjaźni i szacunku dla Was Obojga. Won Witkacjusz". 379 �Bohdan Michalski • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS death of Jan Leszczyński his archive became the property of his heirs). In the wake of their establishment of contacts during Cornelius' stay in Poland and the subsequent exchange of philosophical letters between Witkacy and Leszczyński (commenced in 1937), correspondence with Jadwiga contained numerous mentions about the polemic itself and the Leszczyńskis. This motif lasted to the very end; i. e. August 1939, when the correspondence in question came to an end. Witkiewicz wrote to his wife (28 April 193 7): " I am glancing through Krytyka (Critique) of the views of Jaś Leszczyński, which I wrote recently. I should turn into a realist under its impact". (2 May 1937): "Today, I finished my reply to Metallmann and Leszczyński (61 pages), of which 30 pages were written while drunk, exttemely intetestingphilosophical critique С + Co (a drop of liquid)". (5 May 1937): " I am interested to see what Jaś Leszczyński will say to page 66 of Traktat (Treatise), which totally crushes idealism and which I sent to Chramcówki". In an introduction to a "philosophical letter" (part of Spór o monadyzm . . . ) , addtessed to Leszczyński on 24 November 1937, Witkiewicz wrote: "Dear Jaś = I do not know whether you received the works on idealism and realism (sent on 5 November), issued in 'Zet' and dedicated to 'Jan Piliński, of mournful memory' (that is part of the irretrievable past) and my work in solips[ism] and idealism (...) Many thanks to both of you for the invitation. Perhaps I shall accept it before the Weltkatastrophe of 1938. A t the moment, my life is a function of so many unknowns that I cannot give any reply (...). I add assurances of my true friendship and respect for both of you. Von Witkacjusz". At the end of a "philosophical letter" of 28 November 1937 (fragment of Spór o monadyzm...) Leszczyński replied : "Now for everyday issues! How many reminiscences there are left to be recreated, how many cordial bonds to be reestablished! We decided not to put off the invitation until the spring, as had been arranged, but to ask you to come in the nearest future, as soon as possible. Inka wrote you separately, and I present the question from the viewpoint of reality. A detout from the road to Zakopane on yout way from Cracow would cost you only (third class) some 13 zlotys and 70 groszy, and thus telatively little. My thanks for the lettet and dissertations, which I read with a greatly polemical approach. Despite all, I do not find them convincing. Obviously, nothing can be done about this! In Zakopane, I read your Niemyte dusze (Unwashed Souls) and send several comments on enclosed pages. I find the style of Niemyte dusze and its literary side is not much to my liking. I'm afraid that this style could prove to be a hurdle for popularity (and in this case that could be the point!). A n average person fears jocose humour when the matter at stake is serious; he believes that the two are mutually exclusive. Please accept my assurances of respect and friendship. JL.". Witkacy accepted Leszczynski's invitation to Tarnowiec with certain reservations, and it seems that he would have pteferred to find himself there in the company of Cornelius, conceived as a shield against eventual attacks or perhaps temptation. He shared these doubts with Cornelius (5 January 1938): "Leszczyńska (Inka) wrote me once again. Perhaps I shall go there for a three day-long 'trial' stay on the way to Zakopane, where I want to arrive at the end of the month. Since in your opinion Jaś Leszczyński is much too deeply embedded in naturalism, then what about me (...). I implote you give a summer at the Leszczynski's serious thought. It would be wonderful. In your presence, my situation would not be so dangerous as regards assorted possible dirty tricks, to put it delicately. If the world catastrophe, which I anticipate, does not take place this summer you should realise this plan, and already now embark upon indispensable preparations (concerning your boys and othet complications). I feat that the Soviets will statt a war with Japan and then everything could happen". Witkacy to his wife (26 Febtuary 1938): "The Leszczyńskis stayed [in Zakopane - В. M.] for three days, she changing every half an hour into a different dress with puffed sleeves; today, they are moving for reasons unknown to Harenda. Tomorrow, a dinner at Langier, with Thumen and Bronek, and then off to Harenda. I have already started a reply to Jas's extremely interesting attack. We would like to publish all of it in a book; this could be exciting". (4 March 1938): " I continue smoking a pipe, cigars and cigarettes, and inhale. I wrote 53 pages of a polemic with Jaś, but the genetal results are terrible. Those three months of progressive smoking have turned me, robust for the past five years, into a misetable, depression-ridden flabby weakling". Witkiewicz to Cornelius (22 April 1938): "My misery has compelled me to write to the Leszczynski's a letter explaining our mutual relations. I must conduct a thorough revision of my attitude towatds everyone. That is all. I embrace you with love and respect. Your ever devoted Witcatius". Witkiewicz to his wife (3 May 1938): " W i t h the Leszczyńskis everything has gone awry for some foolish reasons". (13July 1938): " I made up with the Leszczyńskis. The whole world and everything has changed so strangely. I do not recognise the most ordinary things". Witkacy to Cornelius (19 July 1938): "Life has become a sequence of torment in which otherwise 380 �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE W I T K A C E G O Potwór z Dusseldorfu, Stanisław I. Witkiewicz z Janiną Turowską-Leszczyńską; fot. Władysław Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okołowicza The Monster of Dusseldorf, Stanisław I. Witkiewicz with Janina Turowska-Leszczyńska, photo by Władysław Jan Grabski, Zakopane, 1932. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okolowicz Leszczyński tak odpowiada Witkiewiczowi w zakoń­ czeniu „listu filozoficznego" z 28.XI. 1937 (ftagment Spo­ ru o monadyzm...): „A teraz do spraw codziennych! Ileż wspomnień pozostało do odnowienia, do nawiązania dawnych serdecznych węzłów! Postanowiliśmy więc nie odkładać zaproszenia aż do wiosny, jak to było ułożone, lecz prosić Cię, abyś przyjechał do nas w najbliższym cza­ sie, o ile to dla Ciebie możliwe. Inka pisała do Ciebie osobno, ja przedstawiam sprawę z punktu widzenia real­ nych aspektów. Otóż zboczenie z Krakowa w drodze do Zakopanego kosztowałoby Cię tylko (3 kl.) coś 13 z 70 gr, więc stosunkowo niedużo. Dziękuję C i serdecznie za list i za rozprawki, które przeczytałem z dużym zacięciem po­ lemicznym. Stwierdzam, że mimo wszystko mnie nie przekonywują. Na to już nie ma - jak widać - rady! W Zako­ panem wpadły mi w ręce Twoje Niemyte dusze. Kilka uwag przesyłam Ci na załączonych kartkach. Styl Niemy­ tych dusz, ich strona literacka nie bardzo mi odpowiadają. Obawiam się, że ich styl może być przeszkodą dla ich po­ pularności (a w tym wypadku o to by właśnie chodziło!). Człowiek przeciętny obawia się humoru tam, gdzie chodzi o rzeczy poważne; uważa, że się one wzajemnie wyklucza­ ją. Przyjm wyrazy szacunku i przyjaźni. JL". Witkacy nie bez oporów przyjmuje zaproszenie Le­ szczyńskiego do odwiedzenia Tarnowca, widać że wolałby znaleźć się tam w towarzystwie Corneliusa jako tarczy przed ewentualnymi atakami czy może przed pokusą?! Swoimi wątpliwościami dzieli się z Corneliusem. (5.1.1938): „Leszczyńska (Inka) znów do mnie napisała. Być może, że pojadę tam na 3 dni «próbnego* pobytu w drodze do Zakopanego, gdzie chcę się udać końcem miesiąca. Skoro w Twoim mniemaniu Jaś Leszczyński zbyt głęboko tkwi w naturalizmie, to co dopiero można by 0 mnie powiedzieć. (...) Ale proszę Cię usilnie, abyś po­ ważnie pomyślał o lecie u Leszczyńskich. To byłoby wspa­ niałe. Przy Twej obecności sytuacja moja nie byłaby taka niebezpieczna w sensie różnych możliwych świństewek mówiąc delikatnie. Jeśli światowa katastrofa, której z lę­ kiem spodziewam się tego lata, jednak nie nastąpi, powi­ nieneś koniecznie spełnić ten zamiar i już teraz przystąpić do niezbędnych przygotowań (dotyczących Twoich chłop­ ców i innych komplikacji). Obawiam się, że Sowieci roz­ poczną wojnę z Japonią, a wtedy wszystko jest możliwe". Witkacy do żony: (26.11.1938): „Leszczyńscy byli [w Zakopanem - przyp. BM] 3 dni - ona co pół godziny w innej sukni z bufami, a dziś niewiadomo po co wynoszą się na Harendę. Jutro obiad u Langiera - ja, Thumen 1 Bronka, a potem na Harendę. Zacząłem już pisać odp[owiedź] dla Jasia na b[ardzo] ciekawy atak. Chcemy to wszystko wydać w książce. Może być ciekawe". (4-III. 1938): „Dotąd palę fajkę, cygara i papierosy z zacią­ ganiem się. Napisałem 53 strony polemiki z Jasiem, ale w ogóle skutki straszne. Z kwitnącego byka, jakim byłem przez 5 lat, zrobiły ze mnie te 3 miesiące postępowego pa­ lenia nieszczęsnego, pełnego depresji flako-wymoczka...". Witkiewicz do Corneliusa: (22.IV. 1938): „Moje nie­ szczęścia doprowadziły mnie do tego, że napisałem do Le­ szczyńskich list wyjaśniający na temat moich z nimi wza­ jemnych relacji. Muszę przeprowadzić gruntowną rewizję mego stosunku do ludzi. That is all. Ściskam Cię z miło­ ścią i czcią, Twój zawsze szczerze oddany Witcatius". Witkiewicz do żony: (3.V.1938): „Z Leszczyńskimi wszystko się rozchwiało o głupstwo." (13.VII.1938): „Po­ godziłem się z Leszczyńskimi. B[ardzo] się dziwnie zmie­ nił dla mnie cały świat i wszystko. Nie poznaję najzwy­ klejszych rzeczy". 381 �Bohdan Michalski • WITKACY'S ESSENTIAL CONVERSATIONS pleasant things change to a nightmare. I live in twilight between life and death, and I think that I am inclined towards the former solution (in a postscript): What else is there in life for me, but old age, anguish, illness, poverty, etc. and physical suffering. I have made up with the Leszczyńskis". (18 Novembet 1938): " I do not drink or smoke, and finally have attained harmony with myself, since I do not commit any erotic ditty tricks, and do not lie or deceive. I owe all this to you. I finished the polemic with 'poor' Leszczyński and assume that I have crushed him completely". Finally, a happy end - the visit in Tarnowiec. Witkiewicz wrote to his wife (15 October 1938): "Yesterday, I arrived in Tarnowiec at eight in the evening, and was welcomed extremely warmly. Jaś and his wife are unusually kind and nice. Now, I'm off for a sightseeing excutsion". Soon after the stay in Tarnowiec Leszczyński ended one of his "philosophical letters" to Witkacy with the words (20 November 1938, fragment of Spór 0 monadyzm): "As regards my plans, the trip to Warsaw is off at the moment since it so happens that I am forced to stay at home for sometime, and as of 1 December we have already hired accommodation in Zakopane (the Koziański villa in Bystre). Therefore, we shall presumably meet in Zakopane - or perhaps in Cracow, at my lecture, which will take place probably in December. We recall your stay with great pleasure. Thank you for the portraits. We send best wishes and assurances of friendship . Jan Leszczyński. Tarnowiec. 29 November 1938". interlocutot and polemicist remains indisputable: "Our polemic cannot continue fulfilling its foremost task, namely, convincing the opponent, since Witkiewicz's theoretical opponent from that period no longer exists. Now, I am distant from subjective idealism (whose errors I perceive clearly). Let me add briefly: I have returned to realism. Yes, I have returned since now I have accepted, i n a philosophically thought out manner, the sort of realism which, as I see now, lies at the basis of each ontological system regardless whether its author is aware of this or not (...). I should also accentuate the skill with which W[itkiewicz - В. M . ] discerned so aptly in my idealistic views the outlines of realism and as if "predicted" what they could develop into in the spontaneous evolution of my philosophical thought. This too undoubtedly deserves my admiration" (pp. 166-7). Once again something went amiss in the relations with the Leszczyńskis, although it is difficult determine the precise reason. A t any tatę, Witkacy wrote to his wife (22 July 1939): " I received a second letter from Inka and Jaś, who insist on making up with me. I'm thinking about i t " Some time earlier, he wrote to Cornelius (18 March 1939): " I embrace you warmly and enclose assurances of my respect. Even at a distance, you remain someone exttemely important for me, and render my life more bearable. Relations with the Leszczyńskis are not as cotdial as in the past, and we have not conducted our discussions for a long time now. Your Sincerely devoted Vitcatius. The world catastrophe is looming evet closet. 1 doubt whether we shall find each other afterwards". It would have given Witkiewicz much joy to read the words written by his friend in 1985, i.e. 46 years later, in the already cited commentary to Nieznany list filozoficzny. Leszczyński admitted that he had abandoned tealism and assumed the stand of realism (!). True, he did not mention that this shift was the outcome of the "essential conversations" and philosophical lettets, but we know that the role of Witkiewicz as the Finally, I would like to cite one of Witkacy's last letters to the Leszczyńskis (from the unpublished Stefan Okolowicz collection), in which he announced an ultimate breach of personal relations, and treated the polemic with "Jaś" as a duty to "the history of mankind". This letter contains the sui genera credo of Witkiewiczthe polemicist ( 23 February 1939): "Dearest Jaś and wife. I reject all petty misunderstandings. Despite the fact that I usually talk with Jaś about philosophy, I would like you to know that I treat you as a ttanscendent and inviolate whole, just as objectively as towards others and myself. No one is capable of influencing my relations with others unless he himself does so - a certain degree of loyalty is necessary; it would be highly desirable for this principle to dominate in our society, eaten away by intrigue and slander. We must avoid petty hesitations stemming from our faults and strive to create a certain sort of petfection against the backdrop of overcoming them. It is insignificant that Jaś wishes to destroy me and I him. Battling as ruthlessly as possible we fulfil an obligation towards the history of mankind even if our words were never to be immortalised on paper The heart of the matter concerns the honesty of the struggle of which we are capable. Such is our destiny, and we should be able to attain it, but life ahead of us remains exceedingly difficult. We must harbour no illusions". Note I would like to thank Anna Micińska for making available letters written by Witkiewicz to his wife, and M r Stefan Okolowicz for the letter to the Leszczynski's and Inka Turowska. I owe the opportunity of citing fragments of Spór o monadyzm. Dwugłos polemiczny to Jan Leszczyński, who shortly before his death presented me with a typewritten text of the study, expressing the wish that I supervise its publication. 382 Translated by Aleksandra Rodzińska-Chojnowska �Bohdan Michalski • ROZMOWY ISTOTNE W I T K A C E G O Witkacy do Corneliusa: (19.VII. 1938): „Życie stało się dla mnie pasmem udręki, w którym skądinąd przyjem­ ne sprawy zamieniają się w koszmar. Żyję w półcieniu po­ między śmiercią a życiem i myślę, że skłonię się ku pierw­ szemu rozstrzygnięciu (w dopisku:) Cóż bowiem innego mam w życiu przed sobą poza starością, udręką, chorobą, nędzą i t d . oraz fizycznym cierpieniem. Pogodziłem się z Leszczyńskimi". (18.XI. 1938): „Nie palę, nie piję i nare­ szcie pozostaję w harmonii z samym sobą, bo nie popeł­ niam żadnych erotycznych świństw i nikogo nie okłamu­ ję ani nie oszukuję. A to zawdzięczam Tobie. Zakończy­ łem polemikę z «biednym» Leszczyńskim. Mniemam, że zmiażdżyłem go doszczętnie". I wteszcie szczęśliwy finał - wizyta w Tarnowcu. Wit­ kiewicz do żony: (15.X.1938): „Wczotaj o 8 w[ieczorem] przyjechałem do Tarnowca - gdzie byłem przyjęty nad­ zwyczajnie. Jasiowie są niesłychanie mili i uprzejmi. Teraz idę na wycieczkę krajoznawczą". Niedługo po wizycie Witkacego w Tarnowcu Le­ szczyński pisał do niego na zakończenie jednego z „filozo­ ficznych listów" z 20.XI. 1938 (stanowiącego fragment Sporu o monadyzm): „Co się tyczy spraw życiowych, to z zamierzonej wyprawy do Warszawy na razie nic nie bę­ dzie, gdyż tak się składa, że teraz muszę jakiś czas pozo­ stać w domu, a od pierwszego grudnia mamy już wynaję­ te mieszkanie w Zakopanem (Willa pp. Koziańskich, By­ stre). Spotkamy się zatem prawdopodobnie dopiero w Za­ kopanem - może w Krakowie na moim odczycie, który nastąpi pewnie w grudniu? Pobyt Twój batdzo miło wspo­ minamy. Dziękujemy Ci serdecznie za portrety. Najlepsze pozdrowienia oraz wyrazy przyjaźni przesyłamy - Jan Le­ szczyński. Tarnowiec, 20.XI. 1938". I znów coś we wzajemnych stosunkach z Leszczyński­ mi się popsuło, trudno powiedzieć, o co poszło, w każdym razie Witkacy pisał do żony: (22.VII.1939): „Miałem list 2gi od Inki i od Jasia - chcą się ze mną pogodzić koniecz­ nie. Namyślam się". Niedługo zaś przedtem pisał do Corneliusa: (18.111.1939): „Ściskam Cię serdecznie i załączam wyrazy szacunku. Jesteś dla mnie - nawet z oddali - czymś arcyważnym, co czyni moje życie bardziej znośnym. Stosunki z Leszczyńskimi już nie są tak serdeczne jak kiedyś i od dawna nie prowadzimy już naszych dyskusji. Twój szczerze oddany Vitcatius. Katastrofa światowa przybliża się coraz bardziej. Czy się po niej jeszcze odnajdziemy - jest wątpli­ we". - ale my wiemy, że rola interlokutora i polemisty Witkie­ wicza nie podlega tutaj dyskusji: „A co się tyczy samej na­ szej polemiki, to nie może już ona pełnić nadal swego na­ czelnego zadania, jakim jest przekonywanie przeciwnika teoretyczny przeciwnik Witkiewicza z tamtych lat od dawna już nie istnieje. Bo idealizm subiektywny jest mi teraz obcy (sam dosttzegam jasno jego błędność). Dodam tylko krótko: sam powróciłem na stanowisko realizmu. Tak, powróciłem, bo przyjąłem tetaz, ale już w sposób fi­ lozoficznie przemyślany, taki realizm, jaki tkwi - jak obe­ cnie to widzę - u podstaw każdego ontologicznego syste­ mu niezależnie od tego, czy jego twórca jest tego świa­ dom, czy nie. (...) Winienem jeszcze podkreślić wnikli­ wość, z jaką wypatrzył [Witkiewicz - przyp. B M ] , jakże trafnie, w moich ówczesnych idealistycznych poglądach prześwitające ztęby realizmu i „przewidział" niejako, co się może z nich w spontanicznej ewolucji mojej myśli filo­ zoficznej w przyszłości rozwinąć. Zasługuje to niewątpli­ wie na podziw z mojej strony" (s. 166-167). Na zakończenie chciałbym przytoczyć jeden z ostat­ nich listów Witkacego do Leszczyńskich (dotąd niepubli­ kowany - ze zbiorów Stefana Okołowicza), w którym ogłasza on ostateczny rozejm w stosunkach osobistych, natomiast polemikę z Jasiem traktuje jako obowiązek wo­ bec „historii ludzkości". List ten, można powiedzieć, za­ wiera credo Witkiewicza polemisty. (23.11.1939): „Naj­ drożsi Jaśkowie. Odrzucam wszystkie drobne nieporozu­ mienia. Mimo że przeważnie rozmawiam z Jasiem o filozo­ fii, chciałbym, abyście zrozumieli, że traktuję Was jako transcendentną i nienaruszalną całość, tak obiektywnie w stosunku do innych, jak i do mnie. Nikt nie jest w sta­ nie wpłynąć na moje stosunki z innymi, chyba oni sami pewien stopień lojalności jest konieczny - pożądanym by­ łoby, aby to zapanowało w naszym społeczeństwie zżartym przez intrygę i oszczerstwo. Musimy unikać drobnych wa­ hań wynikających z naszych ułomności i dążyć, aby wytwotzyć pewnego rodzaju doskonałość na tle ich przezwy­ ciężenia. To nic, że Jaś chce zniszczyć mnie, a ja jego. Walcząc najbezwzględniej spełniamy obowiązek wobec historii ludzkości, nawet gdyby nasze słowa nie zostały nigdy uwiecznione na papietze. Chodzi o uczciwość wal­ ki, na którą nas stać. Takie jest nasze przeznaczenie; umiejmy go dokonać, ale życie przed nami jest niezmier­ nie trudne. Nie powinniśmy się łudzić". Jakże by się ucieszył Witkiewicz, gdyby mógł przeczy­ tać słowa przyjaciela napisane w 46 lat później, w roku 1985 w cytowanym już komentarzu do opublikowanego w „Pamiętniku Literackim" Nieznanego listu filozoficzne­ go... Leszczyński przyznaje, że opuścił idealizm i przeszedł na stanowisko realizmu(!). Nie pisze wprawdzie, że stało się to za sprawą „rozmów istotnych" i listów filozoficznych 383 Pani Annie Micińskiej dziękuję za udostępnienie od­ pisów listów Witkiewicza do żony, panu Stefanowi Okołowiczowi zaś za udostępnienie odbitek listów do Le­ szczyńskich oraz listu do Inki Turowskiej. Natomiast moż­ liwość zacytowania fragmentów Sporów o monadyzm. Dwugłosu polemicznego zawdzięczam Janowi Leszczyńskie­ mu, który niedługo przed śmiercią wręczył mi maszynopis pracy z życzeniem, abym zajął się jego wydaniem. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/8203c72a7d0900b22e4cf94514b49461.pdf f2b865753f2f48d63be6a6e9e42bc5ce Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2834 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2000 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2641 Title A name given to the resource A Journey to the Tropics=Z podróży do Tropików / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4, s.226-235 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Witkiewicz, Stanisław I. Language A language of the resource pol., ang. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Stanisław I. Witkiewicz • A JOURNEY T O T H E TROPICS STANISŁAW I. W I T K I E W I C Z A Journey to the Tropics i I n the June heat, when the sun nears the Tropic of Cancer, the Red Sea turns into an indescribable hell. Leaving behind us yellow and orange sands cleaved by gulfs shimmering with all possible shades of green and blue - from light willow green and turquoise to navy blue and dark violet - we immerse ourselves in a water desert, on both sides of which two deserts of rock and sand spew out a terrible, dry heat like two enormous furnaces. Shortly after the last, tooth-like peaks of the Sinai Peninsula's mountains - looking as if made from transparent amethyst - disappear behind the horizon the sky changes its hue, turning from blue to the colour of milky coffee. This is most probably caused by the huge clouds of dust raised from both deserts by the southern winds which blow at this time of year. The sun turns silvery-green, its reflection a cold, metallic glow in the lightly wrinkled sea, making it resemble a twisted, red-hot copper ovenplate. The excruciating heat reaches its zenith. Even at night the temperatures do not fall below 40 degrees on the Reamut scale. We leave behind us the deserted volcanic island of Jebel Sukur, built of black and white rock. Its tangled and twisted form leads one to think that it must have been heaved from the seabed in some kind of terrible convulsion. Small, blue-coloured clouds cling to the clifftops, looking like blue fog-eyes against the mass of coffee-coloured cumulus filling out the peaceful sky. In the night we pass Perim, a seaport on the Arab shore, whose lighthouse chases us with its restless flashing for a long time, the light cutting through the black, stifling darkness. Because of the heat we spend the nights on deck - the left side reserved for the men, the right side for the women. In the morning a "steward" chases the passengers off the deck with a warning that waves may soon start to roll over it. We are indeed approaching an area dominated in the summer months by a wind blowing from the south-west called the South-West Monsoon. I n the morning mist we see the hazy features of the cape of Guardafua: several hundred metres of rock, behind 226 which to the right rises a bright-yellow-coloured hill. Because of the fog it is impossible to determine what gave the rising its colour. The ocean, restless up to somewhere around Madagascar, now becomes increasingly unruly, although the wind is tathet weak. As soon as we pass the cape screening us from the southern horizon the South-West Monsoon begins to blow and we are grasped by the huge waves of the Indian Ocean. We proceed along the shores of the island of Sokotra, its outline hazily visible through the foggy air. Ragged clouds rush across the pale-blue sky. Snowwhite, dazzling foam crests the waves. The hissing of the foam and the roar of the waves as they clash with the wave produced by our ship mingle with the howling of the wind in the mast riggings and the ship's upper parts - off limits to second-class passengers - where funnels spew out black, thick smoke and huge ventilators gape like open jaws. Every now and then swarms of flying fish rise from the tops of the waves and disappear again into the watery abyss. The waves attack us from the starboard side - five, six-metre-high mountains made up of masses of smaller hillocks. Our 12-ton giant starts rising and falling and simultaneously rocking to the left and right. This state, called rolling, is the worst kind of rocking when a ship starts rolling it is practically impossible to find a relatively calm piece of water for it to quieten down. After some time the rolling makes it difficult for us to admire the storm - for obvious reasons. Our faces become pale, our eyes mist over and aftet a short battle with the inevitable we all completely succumb to our fate. After two days of this - with dark beer as our only salvation from utter dejection - the wind weakens a little and we can once mote admire the sea without having to pay it a painful tribute. As we pass India, hidden behind the horizon, the ocean turns from blue to dark green and the air fills with the iodine-tinted smell of algae - a sign that land is near. Around noon on the fifth night following our passage through the Bab el Mandeb strait the darkness is torn apart by the flash of a lighthouse light signalling out current destination - Ceylon's capital Colombo. We can see nothing beyond the multi-coloured signal lights of the ships berthed closest to us and a row of lanterns on the shore. We wish we could pierce the darkness with out eyes and finally take a look at this unknown tropical landscape. My unsatisfied curiosity doesn't let me fall asleep, and when I do I dream disquieting visions. The first impression is painfully unpleasant. Despite the early morning hours the heat is simply infernal and made still worse by the highly humid air. Through �Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz • Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW- S T A N I S Ł A W orze Czerwone w czasie czerwcowych upałów, kie­ dy słońce dochodzi do zwrotnika Raka, staje się piekłem nie do opisania. Minąwszy żółte i pomarańczowe piaski, poprzerzynane zatokami mieniącymi się wszystkimi odcieniami zieleni i błę­ kitu, od tonów jasnoseledynowych i turkusowych aż do gra­ natów i ciemnych fioletów, zagłębiliśmy się w pustynię wod­ ną, z obu stron której dwie pustynie skał i piasków zioną, jak dwa olbtzymie piece, potwornym suchym żarem. Wkrótce po zniknięciu za horyzontem ostatnich zębów gór półwyspu Synaj, gót zrobionych jakby z przeźroczystego ametystu, niebo zmienia swą barwę i z błękitnego przechodzi w kolor białej kawy. Przyczynia się do tego ptawdopodobnie wielka ilość pyłu, który z dwu pustyń podnoszą wiejące w tym czasie południowe wichry. Słońce staje się zielonkawosrebrne i odbija się zimnym, metalicznym blaskiem w lek­ ko sfalowanym morzu, przypominającym powyginaną, rozża­ rzoną miedzianą blachę. Upał sttaszliwy dosięga szczytu. Na­ wet w nocy tempetatura nie spada niżej niżej 40° Reaumura. Zostaje za nami samotna, wulkaniczna wyspa Dżebel Sukur, złożona z czarnych i białych skał. Budowa jej, splątana i wyktęcona, robi wrażenie, że jakieś straszne konwulsje wydźwignęły ją z dna morza. Szczytów skał czepiają się chmur­ ki błękitnego koloru, które na tle kawowej batwy wyglądają jak błękitne przeziory w jednolitej masie obłoków, jaką się zdaje pogodne niebo. W nocy mijamy Perim, port na btzegu atabskim, którego latarnia ściga nas jeszcze dłuższy czas niespokojnymi błyska­ mi, przeszywającymi czarne, jakby rozpalone ciemności. Z powodu upału noc spędza się na pokładzie. Lewa strona zarezerwowana dla mężczyzn, prawa dla kobiet. Nad ranem „stewatd" spędza podróżnych z pokładu, oświadczając, że za chwilę fala może zacząć go zalewać. Zbli­ żamy się bowiem do sfery wichru wiejącego w lecie z południo-zachodu, tzw. South-West Monsoonu. W porannej mgle widać niewyraźne zarysy przylądka Guardafui: skała kilkusetmetrowa, poza któtą na prawo wznosi się wzgórze jaskrawożółtego koloru. Z powodu oporu nie można rozpo­ znać, co jest powodem tego zabatwienia. Ocean rozhuśtany, gdzieś aż do Madagaskaru, faluje coraz bardziej, mimo że wiatr jest stosunkowo dość słaby. Zaledwie jednak minęliśmy ptzylądek, zasłaniający horyzont od południa, zadął Monso­ on i chwyciły nas wielkie fale Oceanu Indyjskiego. Posuwamy się wzdłuż wyspy Sokotra, której sylweta ma­ jaczy w zamglonym powietrzu. Na tle bladobłękitnego nieba pędzą poszarpane obłoki. Grzbiety fal pokrywają się śnieżną, oślepiająco błyszczącą pianą. Syk piany i huk fali, spotykają­ cej się z falą odbitą przez okręt, łączy się z wyciem wichru w linkowaniu masztów i wśród niedostępnych dla pasażerów II klasy górnych częściach statku, gdzie stoją buchające kłę­ bami czarnego, gęstego dymu kominy i szczerzą się olbrzymie paszcze wentylatorów. I. W I T K I E W I C Z Z podróży do Tropików Co chwila z grzbietów fal unoszą się tłumy latających ry­ bek i zapadają znowu w wodne otchłanie. Fale uderzają z prawego boku. Najmniej pięcio-sześciometrowe góry złożo­ ne z całej masy drobnych wzgórz. Nasz dwunastotonowy olbrzym zaczyna wspinać się na góry i zapadać w doliny, chwiejąc się przy tym to na lewo, to na prawo: najgorszy ga­ tunek kołysania, tzw. rolling, który uniemożliwia znalezienie jakiegoś choćby względnie spokojniejszego miejsca. Po chwi­ li czyni to zachwyt nad wzburzonym morzem prawie niemoż­ liwym z powodów łatwo zrozumiałych. Twarze stają się bla­ de, wzrok błędny i po któtkiej walce następuje zupełne pod­ danie się przeznaczeniu. Po dwóch dniach takiej jazdy, podczas któtej ratuje od ostatecznej rozpaczy jedynie czarne piwo, wiatr słabnie tro­ chę i motze daje się znowu podziwiać, nie wymagając ofiar zbyt ciężkich. Kiedy mijamy ukryte za horyzontem Indie, ocean z nie­ bieskiego staje się ciemnozielony, a w powiettzu rozchodzi się jodowy zapach alg, oznaczający bliskość lądu. Piątej nocy od przepłynięcia cieśniny Bab el-Mandeb, około dwunastej rozdziera ciemność błysk latami morskiej zwiastujące kies najbliższy podróży: stolicę Cejlonu, Colombo. Oprócz różnokolorowych, sygnałowych świateł okrętów bliżej stojących i szeregu nadbrzeżnych latarni nie można nic więcej zobaczyć. Chciałoby się wzrokiem przebić ciemności i ujrzeć nareszcie nieznany, tropikalny krajobraz. Nie zaspo­ kojona ciekawość nie daje zasnąć i we śnie nawet męczy nie­ pokojącymi wizjami. Pierwsze wrażenie nad wyraz przykre. Mimo wczesnego ranka żar wprost piekielny, spotęgowany przesyceniem po­ wietrza wilgocią. Przez rozedrgany w słońcu opar widać brzeg niski, pokryty palmami i czerwonawe domy wśród nieprzyje­ mnie jadowitej zieleni. A n i śladu tropikalnego uroku. Obcość przykra, a nie dziwaczna: jakby jakiś nudny, a złowrogi sen. Na pokładzie roi się od ludzi. Wśród europejskich białych lub koloru „khaki" strojów widać już tropikalne hełmy, chro­ niące od słonecznego udaru. Widok ten zdaje się powiększać jeszcze potworne gorąco. Są też i krajowcy: Syngalezi, prze­ ważnie hotelowi portierzy i tragarze. Słychać gwar nieznanej * Pierwodruk artykułu ukazał się w „Echu Tatrzańskim" we wrześniu i październiku 1919 (nry: 15, 16, 17, 18). Następnie w „Literaturze Ludowej" 1974, nr 3 i w S.I. Witkiewicz, Bez kom­ promisu. Pisma krytyczne i publicystyczne. Warszawa 1976 227 Zehtal i opr. J. Degler, PIW, �Stanisław I. Witkiewicz • A JOURNEY T O T H E TROPICS a shimmering, hot mist we can see a low shoreline with palm trees and reddish houses surrounded by unpleasant, poisonous-green foliage. There is no trace of tropical beauty, only a strangeness that is more unpleasant than exotic - like a boring but sinister dream. The deck is crowded with people. Tropical helmets protection against sunstroke - appear amidst Europeanstyle whites and khakis. The sight seems to enhance the already excruciating heat. Singhalese locals appear, most of them hotel porters and bearers. We can hear the sounds of an unknown language which at times resembles Italy's Naples dialect. Naked bodies of all colours - from black-brown to reddish-chocolate glisten in the sun. The latter hue is disquieting to look at: the bodies seem to be suffering inhuman torment and the skin looks as if ready to scorch you with a hideous heat if touched. There is a multitude of boats next to the ship, their owners haggling for passengers as if possessed. move their thin, brown shanks with such ease and pull their little carts with such nonchalance (throwing their arms upwards in the process) that we soon regard them as something quite ordinary. We travel down broad streets and amidst scattered houses hidden behind small palm groves and thick, flower-covered bushes. Each garden is surrounded by a low wall covered with colourful fungae. O n our way we encounter a Muslim funeral. The coffin is covered with rags of sundry colours, the mourners are dressed in bright robes of all possible hues. A t the head of the procession walks the bereaved, his face twisted by sorrow. A l l are singing some kind of song without a beginning or end in high, wailing voices. The red-hot sun is blinding. Swarms of ravens fly about everywhere, crowing madly. They aren't hunted here thanks to their social usefulness as devourers of waste and leftovers. Victoria Park is our first encounter with real tropical flora. The impression is terrifying. The over-abundance of life, the chaos of form and colour produce a depressive effect. The feeling is one of senselessness, excess and wastefulness, disquieting strength and passion bordering on madness. One senses one's own weakness, and a kind of awkwardness that is strangely unpleasant. This is enhanced by the overpowering heat and stifling humidity: the wet, scorching air burns your nose as you breathe i n like steam in a Roman bath. II Facing the debarkation ramp is a small square with a statue of Queen Victoria surrounded by hideous, reddish-orange houses built in an Indian-bungalowtropical-depot-stationhouse style. A l l around us are "rikshas" - Singhalese pulling small, two-wheeled carts with room for one passenger, horse-drawn carriages with servants and drivers in red or white turbans pass us. The less wealthy use small, two-wheeled carriages drawn by little, hump-backed oxen which look like prematurely adult, degenerate calves. O n the other side of the cape on which the port lies is a large beach separated from the road running along the shoreline by a brick wall without railings. The yellowish, monsoon-torn sea breaks on the red sand with an ominous hiss. Further along the shoreline a silvery-green, wind­ blown, feathery palm forest stands immersed in clouds of seafoam. In the shade of a small hut sits a frightening figure with gentle eyes and an acne-riddled face: a Singhalese studying his own religion from an English-language text. The unpleasant dream doesn't want to end. Is this really a tropical paradise? My disenchantment is, of course, senseless. Having expected exotic wonders, however, I find that my first impressions stand in striking contrast to what I'd imagined. We hire several "rikshas" to take us to the distant Victoria Park. Seeing a man perform the work of a harness animal is unpleasant at first but the rikshas The sun, a rare occurrence in our latitudes and therefore seen as a beneficial deity, changes here into a terrible, murderous monster lying in wait to vanquish us, its victims from the North. The blinding glare of the grass is reminiscent of the April snows at home. The shadows - black, bottomless pits - exude a terrible heat. The general impression on this bright, tropical day is one of gloom and ominousness. It is all like an exhausting, feverish dream in which everything becomes extra large, terrifyingly beautiful and threatening - and too overwhelming for one poor, sick man. Dark-green bushes sprouting huge, purple flowers with long, yellow-orange anthers; gigantic trees covered with white bark and as if entwined by lianas sporting broad, shovel-shaped leaves; clusters of thick, several-metre-high bamboo stems giving out a strange crackling and screeching sound as they rub against each other in the wind. The monsoon is blowing at no more than about 8-9 metres per second but the impression is of a huge bellows pressing out air from inside an enormous furnace. The scorched earth burns from underneath like a hot tin plate. Young bamboo shoots, thick like telegraph poles and closely covered with scaly leaves push out from the ground in some kind of menacing trance. Each leaf thins out into a thorn and is 228 �Stanisław I . Witkiewicz • Z PODRÓŻY 1X3 TROPIKÓW mowy, przypominającej chwilami wioski, neapolitański dia­ lekt. Błyszczą w słońcu nagie ciała wszystkich kolorów, od czarnego brązu do czerwonej czekolady. Ten ostatni kolot ro­ bi przykre wrażenie: zdaje się, że ciało to cietpi w nieludzki sposób, a przy dotknięciu palić musi jakimś obrzydliwym ża­ rem. Mnóstwo łódek tłoczy się naokoło okrętu, a wioślarze ry­ czą jak wściekli o pasażerów. II Na wprost debarkadetu mały placyk z pomnikiem królo­ wej Wiktorii otoczony potwornymi, czerwono-pomarańczowymi domami w stylu indyjsko-bungalowowo-tropikalnomagazynowo-stacyjnym. Uwija się mnóstwo „fikszów", tj. Syngalezów ciągnących małe, jednoosobowe powoziki na dwóch kołach. Przejeżdża­ ją ekwipaże z lokajami i woźnicami w czerwonych lub bia­ łych turbanach. Uboższa ludność jeździ małymi, dwukolnymi bryczkami, zaprzęgniętymi w garbate, małe woły, które robią wrażenie przedwcześnie dojrzałych, zdegenerowanych cieląt. Na dtugiej stronie przylądka, przy którym leży port, roz­ ciąga się wielka plaża, odgrodzona murem bez poręczy od drogi biegnącej wzdłuż morza. Żółto zabatwione, wzburzone przez Monsoon morze rozbija się z ponurym sykiem na czer­ wonym piasku. Dalej ciągną się nadbrzeżne lasy palmowe, srebrzystozielonkawe, o sylwecie rozwianej, pierzastej, zatopione w opa­ rze rozpylonej piany morskiej. W cieniu malej budki siedzi potworna postać o łagod­ nych oczach i twarzy pokrytej wysypką: Syngalez studiujący swoją własną religię w angielskim przekładzie. Dalszy ciąg nieprzyjemnego snu przedłuża się. Więc to jest ów wymatzony tropik? Rozczarowanie to jest oczywiście nierozsądne, ale po oczekiwaniu jakichś niepojętych cudów pierwsze wrażenia stoją z wyobraźnią w rażącej sprzeczności. Bierzemy „rikszów" w celu zwiedzenia odległego parku Victoria. Z początku używanie człowieka jako zwierzęcia po­ ciągowego sprawia pewną przykrość. Ale „rikszowie" z taką lekkością wymachują cienkimi, btązowymi łydkami i z taką nonszalancją ciągną swoje bidki, wyrzucając przy tym ramio­ na w górę, że po chwili uważa się to za rzecz całkiem natu­ ralną. Jedziemy rozległymi ulicami, wśród rozrzuconych dom­ ków, ukrytych w laskach palm i gąszczu kwiecistych krze­ wów. Każdy ogród otoczony niewielkim murem, pokrytym przeważnie różnokolorowymi pleśniami. Spotykamy muzułmański pogrzeb. Trumna pokryta kolo­ rowymi szmatami, uczestnicy w szatach jaskrawych wszyst­ kich możliwych kolorów. Na czele idzie poszkodowany z twa­ rzą wykrzywioną bólem. Wszyscy zawodzą jęczącymi glosami jakąś ciągnącą się pieśń bez początku i końca. Słońce rozżarzone oślepia; wszędzie unoszą się stada klu­ ków zapamiętale kraczących. Nie tępią ich tu z powodu ich działalności publicznej, jako zbieraczy odpadków i śmieci. W parku Victoria następuje pierwsze zetknięcie się z prawdziwą tropikalną roślinnością. Wrażenie wprost stra­ szne. Ten nadmiar życia, rozwydrzenie form i kolorów działa przygnębiająco. Jest w tym jakiś dziki bezsens, zbytek i roz­ rzutność, niepokojąca siła i namiętność granicząca z szałem. 229 �Stanisluw I . Witkiewicz • A JOURNEY T O T H E T R O r i C S overgrown with criss-cross patterns of small hairs. The leaves, in hues from violet to yellow-green ochre, form a separate decorative motif. Every little plant and every grass shoot is different than at home. The grass consists of small white-green, tooth-ridged leaves, around which fly huge, bird-sized butterflies, mostly black and navy blue with touches of willow-green, and the golden-green, matchbox-sized beetles that Singhalese children hunt and peddle as lucky charms. O n our way back we visit a small, relatively new Buddhist temple. Our guide is a monk with a shaved head dressed in a faded yellow robe. Inside the temple stands a several-metre-high statue of Buddha, painted yellow. The prophet's lips are crimson-coloured, his face twisted into a foolishly contemplative, sensuous smile. The entrance is guarded by reliefs of lions standing on their hind paws, their tails raised. Their glass eyes give out a phosphorescent light. traditional haircuts, the hair curly and negro-like. Usually only old men wear turbans. Most walk about with bare heads and one wonders how their shaved scalps manage to stand temperatures that would kill a European within minutes if he dared to take his cork helmet off. Some are half-naked, others wear colourful shawls draped around their shoulders. Almost everybody wears colourfully hued skirts. The colours of the clothes vary greatly - from blue to orange and from crimson to emerald green. Yellow is reserved for the uppet classes and worn rarely. Some of the women wear navy blue robes laced with a broad, yellow strip. The men have very soft, feminine movements and as their hairstyles don't differ much from the women's it is sometimes hard to tell them apart. Ladies of more distinction wear short, white, low-necked bodices with short sleeves and lace decorations. The frescoes inside the temple are not exactly primitive, but hastily drawn in bright, disharmonious colours and showing traces of cheap, European styling. The native districts are crowded with small, mostly single-storey houses at first glance resembling Jewish shleth. Only the people are as if taken from a wicked dream. There are very few women on the streets - only occasionally do you get to see a young and pretty face, its features slightly reminiscent of the girls in Poland's Podole region. But the male part of the population is simply terrifying: old men with yellow or saffran-coloured eyes, their faces full of cruelty and criminal intent. Possibly they are the world's kindest creatures but the distinctness of their features and colour influence the imagination in such a way that we suspect them of possessing an exceptionally menacing mentality. The beggars usually lie on street corners covered up to their heads with grey-coloured pieces of canvas, from under which they stick out greedy, thin black hands holding jugs or bowls for money. From under the canvas come stifled wails and moans. The strange and unknown always carries an element of danger, especially if coupled with ominousness. The faces of the young people are sly or sad - but repulsive even in sadness. There is something insincere, servile and deceitful in every one of them. One rarely sees an honest, sincerely happy face or one showing strength and determination. I n all, the general impression is gloomy and irritating. Hairstyles differ greatly. The priests, dressed in long, yellow robes made of a single piece of cloth, have closely-shaven heads. The men sport their hair in a variety of ways. Most wear it long which, together with their moustaches and beards, gives them a repulsive look. Some tie it into a knot on the back of their heads and decorate it with round, yellow combs whose sharp teeth stick out to the fore like little, flaming horns in the sunlight. Some have shaved scalps with wisps of hair left at the back, others wear The bells of the rikshas and the impatient, seemingly indignant shouts of the ox-drivers as they urge on their animals, slowly dragging carts topped with semi-circular boxes made of palm leaves, can be heard against the incessant crowing of the countless crows and the rabble of conversation. A l l around one hears shouts of, "Ahh! A h h ! " , as if someone's tooth had just been pulled too suddenly. The main street ends with the Kelani river, a stream about two hundred steps wide. Like everywhere in Ceylon, the murky, dirty-yellow water seems to be standing still, its lazy weirs reflecting a huge cloud, rosered in the setting sun. O n the opposite bank stands a palm forest, concealed among the trees are houses in whose windows lights appear as soon as the sun sets. A thin afterglow hangs low over the horizon for no more than a minute or two, darkness falls quickly and suddenly, pitch-black after the just-disappeared daytime glare. We take a ferry across the river together with a crowd of Singhalese, baskets of fruit and other goods. The road winds among tall palm trees, their plumes swaying in the evening breeze. Near the river bank crowds of people are bathing in the muddy water. Their black, thin silhouettes look strange against the quickly dying evening sky. The first stars, Alpha and Beta Centauri, appear high above. A t this time of year they and the famous Southern Cross are the only stars visible in the early morning hours in this part of the southern sky. Huge Canopus, the biggest star on both 230 �Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz • Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW Doznaje się poczucia własnej słabości i jakby niedołęstwa w jakiś dziwnie nieprzyjemny sposób. Potęguje to wrażenie obezwładniający upał i wilgotna duszność: powietrze mokre i rozpalone szczypie w nos ptzy oddychaniu, jak para w łaźni rzymskiej. Słońce, któte u nas rzadko się ukazując i łagodnie grze­ jąc zdaje się dobroczynnym bóstwem, tu zmienia się w stra­ szliwego, morderczego potwota, który czyha na zgubę swoich ofiar z północy. Oślepiający blask trawy ptzypomina blask kwietniowego śniegu u nas, podczas gdy cienie, czarne jak bezdenne otchłanie, zieją straszliwym upałem. Ogólne wrażenie jasne­ go tropikalnego dnia jest ponure i groźne. Zdaje się, że to ja­ kiś męczący, gorączkowy koszmar, w którym wszystko staje się olbtzymie, piękne w swej potworności i złowrogie i przy­ tłacza nieszczęsnego, chorego człowieka. Ciemnozielone krzewy pokryte ogromnymi purpurowymi kwiatami z długi­ mi, żółto-pomarańczowymi pylnikami: drzewa olbrzymie o pniach białych, jakby oplecione lianami o szerokich lopatkowatych liściach, kępy potężnych, kilkunastometrowych bambusów, dziwnie ttzaskających i skrzeczących przez ocie­ ranie się pni za podmuchem wiatru. Monsoon dmie z siłą może 8-9 m na sekundę, ale robi to wrażenie, że z olbtzymiego pieca dmą jakieś potworne mie­ chy. Zar od rozpalonej ziemi pali od dołu, jak od rozżarzonej blachy. Pędy młodych bambusów, grube jak telegraficzne słu­ py, wydzierają się z ziemi z jakimś złowrogim zapamiętaniem; pokryte przylegającymi liśćmi jak łuską; każdy liść zakończo­ ny kolcem i porysowany małymi włoskami w dziwne desenie stanowi oddzielną dekoracyjną kompozycję w kolorach od fioletu aż do żółto-zielonej ochry. Każde źdźbło, każda ttawka inna niż u nas. Trawa składa się z białawozielonych, wycinanych w ząbki listków. Unoszą się motyle ogromne, jak ptaszki, przeważnie w czarno-granatowych kolorach z seledynowymi deseniami. Latają duże jak pudełka zapałek żuki o złoto-zielonych pokrywach, które ła­ pią mali Syngalezi i sprzedają jako talizmany. Wracając zwiedzamy małą, niezbyt starą świątynię bud­ dyjską. Oprowadza nas kapłan z ogoloną głową, ubtany w żółtą, wypłowiałą szatę. W głębi świątyni leży kilkumetrowy Budda, wylakierowany na żółto, o ustach purpurowych i głupkowato zamyślo­ nym, zmysłowym wytazie twarzy. Wejścia bronią wypukło rzeźbione lwy, stojące na dwóch łapach, z podniesionymi ogonami, a oczy ich ze szklanych gałek świecą jakby fosfo­ rycznie. Freski nie prymitywne, ale niedbale rysowane, w kolo­ rach jaskrawych i nieharmonijnych, przetrząśnięte ogólno­ europejskim tandetnym stylem. W dzielnicach ktajowców małe domki przeważnie parte­ rowe, stoją gęsto. Na pozór robi to wrażenie małego żydow­ skiego miasteczka. Tylko ludzie jak z jakiegoś potwornego snu. Kobiet batdzo mało na ulicach. Czasem przewinie się ja­ kaś twatz młoda i ładna, trochę w typie naszych dziewcząt z Podola. Ale mężczyźni wprost okropni. Starcy o białkach ócz żółtych lub szafranowych, o twarzach pełnych okrucień­ stwa i zbrodniczych chęci. Być może, że są to najlepsi ludzie, ale odtębność rysów i koloru działa na fantazję w ten sposób, 231 �Stanisław l. Witkiewicz • A JOURNEY T O T H E TROPICS hemispheres after Sirius, will appear much later. The Big Dipper lies close above the horizon, pointing the way to the North Star. The equatorial starbelt with Arcturus, Spica and Antares moves across the sky's zenith. Ill We make our way back to the port late at night. Underway we suddenly hear the sounds of devilish music with no beginning or end and no discernible melody. Pipes scream breathlessly, against them a drum produces quaint, off-beat rhythms. A wedding ceremony in a rich Tamil home. The musicians are sitting on the hallway floor, passers-by stop to gape at the mysterious wedding rites through the open door. A t a distance a Brahmin temple in which evening services are held stands in strange contrast to the chatter of the wedding guests. We are not allowed inside although we pledge to take our shoes off. Standing in the doorway, we are deeply moved by the ceremonious atmosphere inside. Hanging lamps shaped like glass bowls bum in ornamented brass settings. Further inside, at the end of a small corridor, stands an altar with a statue of Vishnu. O n a table lit by candles held by human figures moulded from brass or gold stand several vessels. A priest chants some kind of prayer or incantation over them and offers one of the faithful drink and food. Everyone in the temple goes through the same rites. Somewhere from inside the temple comes a monotonously-chanted prayer which sounds faintly like the May services in the Catholic Church. Moved by our pious behaviour, the priest gives us white flowers strung on a piece of thread and exuding a mixed scent of jasmine and tuberose. We depart from the temple leaving a small offering. The temple's front is covered with stylised reliefs of elephants and fantastic monsters. The roof, melting into the darkness above, boasts an array of larger and smaller figures. A l l this nevertheless displays a strange measure of stylistic maturity, seasoned over the ages and avoiding ornateness despite the diversity of the many figures. Amidst the alien bustle of the streets the temple seems like a peaceful oasis, with even racial differences lost in the face of the great Secret of Life that all religions express. The night, spent in a Singhalese hotel, is not too pleasant. There are mosquito screens over the beds but the insects manage to find invisible holes in them and sting us mercilessly. A t four in the morning thousands of crows start their terrible cawing. Lacking sleep and tired, we depart from the Maradana station at seven, our destination Kandy, the former capital city under Ceylon's independent rulers. 232 A t first the train taking us to Kandy crosses flatlands covered with palm trees and mixed forests - the socalled "wet" or "high" jungle - cut by bright yellowgreen rice fields falling in terraces towards the tracks. As we move deeper into the mainland the flora becomes more diverse in form and colour. After leaving the station at Polgahavella the train begins a laborious climb upwards, the track serpentining �Stanisław l. Witkiewicz • Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW że psychikę ich wyobrażać sobie trzeba na podstawie tych danych w szczególnie okropny sposób. Dziwne i nieznane działa zawsze z współczynnikiem gro­ zy; cóż dopiero dziwność potworna. Młodzi ludzie o wyra­ zach chytrych lub smutnych, ale nawet w smutku wstręt­ nych. Coś nieszczerego, psio-uległego i podstępnego jest we wszystkich twarzach. Rzadko widzi się twarz poczciwą albo szczerze wesołą, rzadko też wyraz siły i zawziętości. Na ogół wrażenie ponure i męczące. Uczesania najróżnorodniejsze. Kapłani ubrani w długie, żółte szaty z jednej sztuki noszą głowy golone zupełnie. Męż­ czyźni cywilni mają wszystkie możliwe stopnie uwłosienia głowy. Przeważnie noszą długie włosy albo rozpuszczone, co przy brodzie i wąsach wygląda obrzydliwie, albo zawiązane w węzeł z tyłu głowy. We włosy zaś mają wpięty okrągły, żół­ ty grzebień, któtego ostro zakończone końce sterczą z przo­ du i w słońcu robią wrażenie płomykowatych rożków. Nie­ którzy ogoleni zupełnie zachowują w środku głowy mały „osełedec"; inni mają zwykłe, tylko z murzyńska kędzierzawe czupryny. Przeważnie tylko starcy chodzą w turbanach. Większa część mężczyzn ma głowy gołe i podziwiać trzeba tych, co ogoleni chodzą bez nakrycia w upale, który w parę minut zabija Europejczyka, mającego odwagę zdjąć korkowy hełm z głowy. Niektórzy do połowy nadzy, inni w kolorowych, przewie­ szonych przez plecy szalach; wszyscy prawie w kolorowych spódniczkach. Barwy ubrań najróżniejsze: od niebieskich do pomarańczowych, od purpurowych do zielonoszmaragdowych. Żółty kolor, zarezerwowany wyłącznie dla bonzów, spoty­ ka się dość rzadko. Niektóre kobiety noszą szaty granatowe, obramowane szerokim, żółtym szlakiem. Mężczyźni mają ru­ chy tak miękkie i kobiece, że wskutek braku wielkich różnic w uczesaniu trudno ich czasem od kobiet odróżnić. Bardziej dystyngowane damy noszą krótkie, białe staniczki, obszyte koronkami, z dużym dekoltem i krótkimi rękawami. Żebracy leżą przeważnie na rogach ulic, przykryci z gło­ wami szarymi płachtami, wystawiając jedynie spod nich dra­ pieżne, chude, czarne łapy z dzbankami lub miseczkami na pieniądze i wydając spod płacht stłumione ryki i jęki. Na tle bezustannego krakania niezliczonych kruków i gwaru rozmów słychać dzwonki „rikszów" i niecierpliwe, jakby pełne oburzenia nawoływania woźniców na woły, cią­ gnące powoli bidy, pokryte półokrągłymi, plecionymi z liści palmowych budami. Aa! Aa! rozlega się wszędzie i zdaje się co chwila, jakby gdzieś komuś ząb znienacka wyrywano. Główna ulica wychodzi nad dwieście kroków szeroką. Mętne, dzie zresztą na Cejlonie, zdają się ją w leniwych wirach olbrzymi, słońca obłok. nacka, zdając się jeszcze czarniejszym wobec tylko co znikłe­ go, rażącego blasku dnia. Przeprawiamy się na drugi brzeg promem, pełnym Syngalezów, koszów z owocami i innych to­ warów. Droga idzie wśród palm wysokich, potrząsających pióro­ puszami w powiewie wieczornym. Blisko brzegu kąpie się w błotnistej wodzie mnóstwo ludzi. Dziwnie wyglądają ich czarne, chude sylwety na tle szybko gasnącego, wieczornego nieba. Pokazują się pierwsze gwiazdy: a i В Centauri, które z nad miarę osławionym Krzyżem Południowym stanowią je­ dyną ozdobę południowego nieba w tej porze roku o wcze­ snych godzinach. Dużo później dopiero wstaje olbrzymi Canopus, największa gwiazda po Syriuszu na obu półkulach. Wielki Wóz, wywrócony tuż nad horyzontem, wskazuje na niewidzialną we mgle Gwiazdę Polarną. Pas równikowy z Arkturem, Spicą i Antaresem przesuwa się przez sam zenit. III Wracamy późnym wieczorem w kierunku portu. Słychać dźwięki piekielnej muzyki bez początku i końca, bez żadnego określonego tematu. Piszczałki dmą bez tchu; na tym tle bę­ ben wyprawia dziwne, nieregularne skoki. To wesele w boga­ tym domu tamilskim. Muzykanci siedzą na ziemi w przedpokoju, a przechodnie z ulicy obserwują przez otwarte drzwi tajemnicze praktyki ślubne. Dalej świątynia btahmańska, w której odbywa się wieczorne nabożeństwo, stanowi dziwny kontrast z gwarem tamilskiego wesela. Nie wpuszczają nas do środka, mimo obietnicy zdjęcia pantofli. Stoimy we drzwiach, przejęci do głębi tajemniczym nastrojem wnętrza. Palą się lampy wiszą­ ce w kształcie mis szklanych, umocowanych w mosiężnych, rzeźbionych oprawach. W głębi, na końcu małego korytarzy­ ka ołtarz z posągiem Wisznu. Na stole oświetlonym kaganka­ mi, trzymanymi przez rzeźbione mosiężne czy złote postacie, stoją naczynia. Kapłan odprawia nad nimi modlitwy czy za­ klęcia i daje coś do wypicia czy zjedzenia jednemu z wier­ nych. Po kolei przechodzą przez tę praktykę wszyscy obecni. Z głębi słychać monotonnie śpiewane modlitwy, trochę przy­ pominające katolickie majowe nabożeństwo. Wzruszony na­ szym pobożnym zachowaniem się kapłan daje nam białe kwiaty o zmieszanym zapachu jaśminu i tuberozy, nanizane na nitkę. Składamy drobną ofiarę i opuszczamy świątynię. rzekę Kelani, może jakie burożółte wody, jak wszę­ nie płynąć wcale i odbija­ różowy od zachodzącego Na drugim brzegu las palmowy i ukryte w nim domki, w których zaczynają się ukazywać zaraz po zachodzie światła w oknach. Wąska, tuż nad horyzontem trzymająca się zorza trwa minutę lub dwie zaledwie i mrok zapada szybko i znie­ 233 Fronton jej pokryty wypukłymi rzeźbami, przedstawiają­ cymi stylizowane słonie i fantastyczne potwory. Na dachu gi­ nącym w ciemności roi się od mnóstwa większych i mniej­ szych pomieszanych ze sobą postaci. Mimo to panuje w tym wszystkim dziwna miara stylu dojtzałego przez wieki i wielość postaci nie sprawia wrażenia przeładowania. Wśród obcości ulicznego życia świątynia ta robi wrażenie jakiejś spokojnej oazy. Wobec wielkiej Tajemnicy Istnienia wyrażonej we wszystkich religiach zatraca się nawet odległość rasowa. Noc w syngaleskim hotelu niezbyt przyjemna. Na łóż­ kach moskitiery, pomimo których moskity dostawszy się przez jakąś niedostrzegalną dziurkę tną bez litości. Od g. �Stanisław l. Witkiewicz ' A JOURNEY T O T H E T R O I 4 C S over deep chasms. Visible on the horizon are mountains, among them the rocky massif of Angalla Peak, shaped like an enormous sugar loaf, and another, its top cut off horizontally to form a fortress-shaped crag. The highest peaks are lost in a grey-violet mist from which grey curtains of rain pour down every now and then onto the hills which lie at the foot of the mountains like huge clumps of moss. Both the closer and more distant peaks are covered with an abundance of flora, which gives them a feathery look, as if they were made of a soft, fluffy fabric. The fantastically-shaped trees of the roadside jungle contrast with the dark-blue horizon. Palms, huge, with fan-shaped leaves and sprouting enormous, orangecoloured fruit or small, thick and spread out like bouquets of flowers. Some are thin, tall and topped with small clumps of leaves with something resembling a large birdnest below the spot from which the leaves sprout. Others have huge, glistening, dark-green leaves notched like oak leaves and bright green, round fruit. There are trees with light-green leaves resembling huge frayed carpet-beatets and clusters of fruit hanging down like the segmented tentacles of gigantic squids, trees with small leaves covered with cup-shaped, orange flowers and bushes topped by tight clusters of blindingly pink-violet blossoms. Near the ground grow mint bushes whose little flowers go through all colours from violetpurple to bright orange as they blossom. Othets, still smallet, have bright-violet flowers growing halfway up their snakelike, twisted stems. Every now and then the track takes a turn, disclosing a view of mountaintops and craggy precipices, at the bottom of which lie ricefields criss-crossed by strangely-patterned terraces used to preserve water. O n the bare earth, mostly the colour of deep-red brick, are plantations of small, round, dark-green tea trees and tall gum trees, their off-white bark marked by oblique, spiral-like cuts, underneath which hang little bowls made from coconut shells to gather the white, fresh gum-juice. O n the hillsides are abandoned coffee plantations overgrown with tall, bright-green grass that ripples in the wind. 234 O n the stations we see crowds of people, their clothes crazy with colour. The colours of the clothes are, so to speak, kept in line by the black-brown of the natives' skins, unchanging against the diversity of hues. Even a local Catholic bishop is dressed to fit in with the wild colours of the surrounding nature and the local garb: violet stockings, a white robe, bright-green tassels on his hat and a similarly-coloured rope tied around his waist. The heat incteases and we begin to feel thirst. One of our travelling companions, a civilised Singhalese planter dressed in European style, suggests we buy the orange-coloured fruit of a certain palm variety, which we do at the next stop. The boy vendor selling the fruit, who looks like a little Satan, cuts out a square-shaped opening in the fruit's narrow end with a knife. Out of the bluish-white gash comes a watery juice. We try to drink it. The juice tastes like warm, sweet water, reminding us of freshly-cut willow branches. Every time we ask out planter friend for the names of the trees we see on our way he answers derisively, "those are wild trees". But his eyes light up when he gets a chance to provide information about any utility plants we encounter - which he does competently. Through the valley runs a river, its yellow-brown currents winding amidst huge, round, water-smoothed rocks. Through the trees we catch glimpses of a temple topped by a cone-shaped dome and natives bathing sacred elephants, the animals spilling water over their bodies from their trunks. Brick-coloured streams flow down from the mountainsides, near-naked natives covered to their waists with muddy eatth are ploughing ricefields with the help of grey-coloured oxen. A valley opens up among the jungle-covered hills. In the valley, on the shores of a huge lake, lies the city of Kandy, with Ceylon's most famous pagoda, the so-called Temple of the Holy Tooth. July 19, 1914 Translated by Maciej Bańkowski �Stanisław I. Witkiewicz * 1 PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW czwartej z rana zaś zaczyna się straszliwy wrzask tysięcy klu­ ków. Niewyspani i zmęczeni wyjeżdżamy o g. siódmej rano ze stacji Maradana w kierunku Kandy, dawnej stolicy niezależ­ nych któlów Cejlonu. Kolej żelazna do Kandy idzie z początku wśród płaszczyzn porosłych palmowym i mieszanym lasem, tak zwaną mokrą, czyli wysoką „dżunglą", przerywaną przez jaskrawo żółto-zielone, tarasami spadające ku torowi, pola ryżowe. W miarę posuwania się w głąb kraju roślinność staje się coraz bardziej rozmaita w formach i kolorach. Od stacji Polgahavella pociąg zaczyna z ttudem piąć się pod gótę po serpentynach wiszących nad głębokimi przepa­ ściami. Na horyzoncie ukazują się skaliste szczyty: Angalla Peak w kształcie olbtzymiej głowy cukru i inny stanowiący poziomo u góry ściętą w kształcie fortecy krzesanicę. Naj­ większe toną w mgłach szarofioletowych, z których na odle­ głe, u stóp ich położone wzgótza, podobne do olbtzymich kęp mchu, zaciąga się co chwila szata zasłona ulewnego de­ szczu. Niższe i bliższe szczyty wskutek doszczętnego pokrycia ich wybujałą roślinnością mają sylwety pietzaste i zdają się być zrobione z jakiejś miękkiej, puszystej materii. Na tle granatowej dali rysują się niebywałe kształty drzew przydrożnej dżungli. Palmy olbrzymie z wachlarzowatymi li­ śćmi i gronami pomarańczowych, ogromnych owoców albo małe, krępe, rozłożone jak bukiety. Inne cienkie, wysokie z małą kępką liści na szczycie i jakby ogromnym ptasim gnia­ zdem pod miejscem, skąd wychodzą liście. Dtzewa o kolosal­ nych, lśniących, ciemnozielonych liściach, karbowanych jak liście dębu i jasnozielonych, kulistych owocach. Inne szaro­ zielone, podobne do olbrzymich wysttzępionych ttzepaczek z gronami owoców zwieszających się w postaci ogtomnych ośmiornic o członkowanych ramionach. Drzewa o małych li­ stkach, pokryte pomarańczowymi kielichami kwiatów, krze­ wy, których szczyty stanowi zbita masa kit oślepiająco tóżowo-fioletowych. U spodu krzaki mięty, pokryte kwiateczkami ptzechodzącymi w swym rozwoju od pączka do kwiatu wszystkie kolory, od fioletowej purpury do jaskrawego oranżu. Inne mniejsze, z jasnofioletowym kwiatem, przyczepio­ nym w połowie wężowato skręconej łodygi. wody. Naga ziemia przeważnie koloru ciemnoczerwonej ce­ gły. Na niej plantacje małych, oktągłych, ciemnozielonych drzewek herbaty albo wysmukłych, o białawej korze drzew gumowych z ukośnymi spiralnymi nacięciami i przywiązany­ mi do nich miseczkami z kokosowych orzechów, do których ścieka biały sok świeżej gumy. Na wzgórzach opuszczone plantacje kawy, zarosłe olbrzymią, jasnozieloną, falującą na wietrze trawą. Na stacjach tłum w ubraniach różnokolorowych aż do obłędu. Wszystkie barwy trzymane jakby w ramach jedno­ stajnym w stosunku do ich różnorodności czarno-brązowym kolorem nagich ciał krajowców. Nawet biskup katolicki ubrany odpowiednio do rozszalałych barw natury i strojów: ma fioletowe pończochy, białą szatę i jaskrawozielone po­ mpony na kapeluszu i sznury opasujące go w połowie ciała. Upał wzmaga się i zaczyna nam dokuczać pragnienie. Ja­ dący z nami cywilizowany i po europejsku ubrany plantator Syngalez radzi nam kupić pomarańczowy owoc pewnej odmiany palmy kokosowej. Kupujemy na najbliższej stacji. Sprzedający chłopiec, wyglądający na małego diabełka, wy­ cina nożem kwadrat w węższym końcu owocu. Spomiędzy niebieskawobiałych ścian wytryska sok wodnisty. Próbujemy pić, ale jest to ciepła woda o słodkim smaku, przypominającym świeżo złamaną gałązkę wierzby. Na wszystkie pytania co do nazw dtzew spotykanych plantator odpowiada z pogar­ dą: „to są dzikie drzewa", a oczy mu płoną i udziela facho­ wych informacji na widok jakichkolwiek roślin użytkowych. Doliną płynie tzeka żółtobrązowego koloru wśród olbrzy­ mich, okrągłych, utoczonych przez wodę głazów. Wśród drzew miga szczyt świątyni, zakończonej stożkowatą „dagobą" i widać, jak krajowcy kąpią święte słonie, któte polewa­ ją się wodą ptzy pomocy swych trąb. Ze stoków gór spadają potoki o wodzie ceglastego kolo­ ru, a na przygotowanych pod uprawę ryżu polach orzą w sza­ re woły, stapiani po pas w bagnistej ziemi, prawie całkiem nadzy krajowcy. Roztwieta się dolina wśród wzgórz pokry­ tych „dżunglą". W dolinie nad ogromnym jeziorem roztacza się miasto Kandy z najsławniejszą pagodą na Cejlonie, tzw. Świątynią Świętego Zęba. Co chwila na zakrętach widok odsłania się na szczyty i ptzepaście skalne, na dnie których leżą pola ryżowe poryso­ wane w dziwne desenie tarasami służącymi do utrzymania 235 19 lipca 1914 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/3cffd15715a4733cb502b203e404d34c.pdf 542efa1e1c2098712e24454e499e9ae5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2837 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2000 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2644 Title A name given to the resource Letters from the Tropics=Listy z podróży do tropików / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4, s.294-305 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Witkiewicz, Stanisław I. Language A language of the resource pol., ang. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LETTERS FROM T H E TROPICS S T A N I S Ł A W I G N A C Y W I T K I E W I C Z Letters from the Tropics Letters to Mother Orient Line of Royal Mail Steamers R.M.S "Orsova" June 20, 1914 Dearest Mother, We're nearing the strait of Bab'el Mandeb and are about to cross into the Indian Ocean. The voyage through the Mediterranean seems like a sojourn i n subarctic regions compared with the crazy heat that we're having now. The sun has reached the tropic of Cancer which we're crossing at this very moment, so the sun's rays are hitting us at right angles. One could say that it was quite cool till we reached Suez. We arrived in Port Said at 11 a.m. and left eatly next morning, at 2 o'clock. Bronio and I took a walk i n the Egyptian quartet. Marvellous faces and costumes. Mostly blue long robes. Faces eithet wild ot languid with delight. Men only, quite obviously. In the streets thete are stands selling poppy cakes as well as other sweets of a weird persuasion. A n d coffee-houses with gentlemen sitting in them who are not of this world but nevertheless seem to be more trustworthy than the Italians in Naples. Even the worst rogues do not convey the impression of a scoundrel; on the contrary: they emanate a sort of seriousness and dignity. I n front of a cafe, on the pavement, there may be a buffet with a lot of brass vessels standing on it or hanging on long strings. (This is a letter of a total moron but I feel justified by this ctazy heat). - Just think: a rather narrow sea between two burning-hot deserts. The bishop of New Guinea who's been traveling with us told us today, when we were taking tea - barely conscious from the heat and drenched with sweat as if we'd just come out of a bath - that back in New Guinea he'd never experienced such pleasant coolness. Sounds like a nice prospect for Bronio, who's planning to do some conceptual work. The landscape along the Canal seems awfully weird. The Canal itself is narrow, maybe 30 or 50 yards. O n one side there's Egypt - oases, palms and strange trees with fluffy flowers and a wonderful smell that reminds me of linden. O n the other side there's the dreadful Arabian desert - yellow-orange sands which begin right on the shore as little wavelets and gradually turn into huge mountains gleaming with a pink phosphorescent glow on the horizon. The valleys with salty sediment at the bottom glitter with a bluish reflection of the sky. We pass two steamers which hug the shore to let us through. Every now and then we come across the posts of the Ftench company that owns the Suez Canal. Little houses among palms and ttees with wonderful crimson flowers. Ctd. We left Port Said at 2.30 a.m. and reached Suez only about 1 p.m. The ship bately crawls, guided by a local pilot. It accelerates a little when crossing salty lakes that the Canal passes through. We stayed for half an hour in Suez. Marvellous hues of the sea which cuts into the red and yellow sand. Bands of emerald, tutquoise, yellow, green, celadon and ultramarine topped with a chain of wild rocky mountains, purple (that's a fact) in colour Then we entered the Gulf of Suez, flanked by the rocky mountains of Egypt on one side and the otange sandy mountains of the Sinai Peninsula on the other. We could see both shores late into the evening. 294 It's been two days now since we saw any land and the heat is getting worse. I'm sitting writing a letter, sweat streaming down my forehead. This is the Music Room on the deck. The cabin is a real sauna. A l l night long the ventilator keeps booming. We sleep completely naked. A t 7 the sound of a monstrous gong wakes us up so we can take a bath. Then breakfast (smoked meat, fruit with rice and coffee). One can have both fish and roasted meat. Then lying on the deck and reading begins. Then some stupid games. Awful boredom. In the evening we go aft and join the riffraff in the third class to watch the stats. Last night we could see the Alpha Centauri or the Canopus. The Cross hasn't appeared yet. Venus is shining in the west. You and I may be watching it simultaneously. The sea hardly moves at all and our huge ship (123000 tons) sways very lightly and seriously. There's nothing curious in the Red Sea except the heat, flying fish and phosphorescence. The fish (about 10 inches long) fly in droves, crossing a distance of some 50 yards, throwing silver gleams against the dark blue wave. Phosphorescence can be seen only in the wake of the ship, along the twin walls of foamy water churned by the two screw propellers. (Many, many kisses for Mother from Staś). Greenish sparks shoot from the screws, fan out into the wan light and disappear a dozen or so yards behind the ship. June 21 - Today we passed 12 volcanic islands called Zebayr. Wonderful pumice rocks, white and brown, perforated like sponges. Two of them had distinct volcanic cones. About 5 o'clock the island Jebel Zukush. Coffee-coloured sky and a greenish sun. Green- �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW Do M a t k i w Zakopanem * S T A N I S Ł A W I G N A C Y W I T K I E W I C Z [Papier z nadrukiem:] Orient Line O f Royal Mail Ste­ amers RMS „ORSOVA" 20 V I 1914 Najdroższa Mamo: Zbliżamy się do cieśniny Bab-el-Mandeb, po której zacznie się Ocean Indyjski. Podróż przez Morze Śródziemne wydaje się pobytem w podbiegu­ nowych okolicach wobec tego szalonego upału, który te­ raz mamy. Przejeżdżamy właśnie zwrotnik Raka, w którym obecnie znajduje się słońce i świeci na nas kompletnie prostopadle. Do Suezu można powiedzieć, że było chłod­ no. W Port Said staliśmy od 11-2 w nocy. Byliśmy z Bro­ nieni na spacerze w dzielnicy egipskiej. Twarze i stroje cu­ downe. Niebieskie, długie szaty przeważają. Twarze o wy­ razach dzikich albo mdlejących z rozkoszy. Tylko mężczy­ źni oczywiście. Na ulicy stragany, w których sprzedają się słodycze i makagigi dziwnego nabożeństwa. Kawiarnie, w których siedzą panowie nie z tego świata, ale jednak bardziej wzbudzający zaufanie niż Włosi w Neapolu. Na­ wet u najgorszych wywłok nie czuje się kanaliowatości, tylko jakąś powagę i dostojność. Przed kawiarnią, na trotuarze, stoi bufet obstawiony i obwieszony naczyniami mosiężnemi na długich sznurach. (List zupełnego krety­ na, ale upał szalony usprawiedliwia.) - Proszę pomyśleć: wąskie stosunkowo morze między dwiema rozpalonymi pustyniami. Biskup Nowej Gwinei, który jedzie z nami, powiedział dziś przy podwieczorku do nas, nieprzytom­ nych z upału i spoconych, jak gdybyśmy wyszli z kąpieli, że nie pamięta takiego zimna przyjemnego na Nowej Gwinei jak dzisiejszy dzień na statku. Wesoła perspekty­ wa dla Bronia, który ma umysłowo pracować. Pejzaż wzdłuż Kanału strasznie dziwaczny. Kanał wąski. Może ma 30-50 m szerokości. Z jednej strony Egipt z oazami, palmami i jakiemiś dziwnymi drzewami o puszystych kwiatach i cudownym zapachu przypominającym lipę. Z drugiej straszliwa pustynia arabska, z żółto-pomarańczowemi piaskami, które od małych fal przy brzegu Kana­ łu przechodzą w ogromne góry świecące różowym fosfo­ rycznym blaskiem na horyzoncie. Doliny świecą od osa­ dzonej w nich soli niebieskawym odblaskiem nieba. Mija­ my dwa parowce, które się przytuliły do brzegu, aby nas przepuścić. Co pewien czas stacje kompanii francuskiej, do której Sueski Kanał należy. Domki obsadzone palma­ mi i drzewami o cudownie purpurowych kwiatach. C D . Z Port Said wyjechaliśmy o V 3 w nocy, a w Suezie byliśmy dopiero koło 1 w południe. Okręt ledwo się wlecze, prowadzony przez pilota miejscowego. Trochę szybciej jedzie się przez słone jeziora, któte Kanał przeci­ na. W Suezie staliśmy '/ godziny. Cudowne kolory mo­ rza, wrzynającego się w czerwono-żółty piasek. Szmarag2 2 Listy z podróży do tropików dowe, turkusowe, żółte, zielone, seledynowe i ultramary­ nowe pasy. Nad tym linia gór dzikich, skalistych, fioleto­ wego (dosłownie) koloru. Potem wjechaliśmy w Zatokę Sueską, mając po jednej stronie skaliste góry egipskie, po drugiej pomarańczowe góry piaskowe Półwyspu Synajskiego. Do wieczora widać było brzegi oba. Już drugi dzień bez lądu, wśród wzrastającego upału. Siedzę spokojnie pisząc list, a pot leje się m i z czoła ciur­ kiem. To w Music Roomie na pokładzie. W kajucie ła­ źnia. Całą noc huczy wentylator. Śpimy nadzy zupełnie. 0 7 budzi nas potworny gong na kąpiel. Potem śniadanie (wędzonka, owoce z ryżem i kawa). Można jeść i rybę, 1 pieczeń. Potem zaczyna się leżenie na pokładzie i czyta­ nie. Potem idiotyczne gry. Nuda straszna. Wieczorem idziemy do 3 k l . na tył między baciarów i obserwujemy gwiazdy. Wczoraj widać było albo Alfa Centauri albo Canopus. Krzyża jeszcze nie ma. Wenus świeci na zachodzie. Może jednocześnie na nią patrzymy. Morze bardzo mało się rusza i nasz statek duży (12300 ton) bardzo lekko i po­ ważnie się kołysze. Na Morzu Czerwonym oprócz gorąca, ryb latających i fosforescencji nic osobliwego nie ma. Ry­ by (wielkości 30 cm) latają po jakieś 50 m całymi stada­ mi, świecąc srebrem na tle granatowej fali. Fosforescencję widać tylko z tyłu statku wzdłuż dwóch wałów wody, spie­ nionej od ruchu dwóch śrub okrętu. Zielonawe iskry wy­ latują spod śrub i rozszerzając się w mdłe światło giną o kilkanaście metrów za statkiem. 21 V I [1914] Dziś przejeżdżaliśmy koto 12 wulkanicznych wysepek Zebayr. Cudowne skały pumeksowe białe z brązowym jak gąbki dziurawe. 2 znowu miały wyraźne stożki wulkanicz­ ne. Koło 5 wyspa Jebel Zukustr. Niebo koloru kawy i zie­ lonawe słońce. Chmury na tern tle zielononiebieskie, ja­ sne, wyglądają jak przeziory w szarem niebie. Wyspa brą­ zowa ginie w kawowej mgle. Pod nią morze z seledyno­ wym odbiciem słońca jak tafla z aluminium. Koło 10 wie­ czorem wjeżdżamy w Bab-El-Mandeb. Monsoon podobno jeszcze nie zaczął wiać. Bardzo się tym martwię. Dotąd morze zupełnie spokojne. 295 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LETTERS FROM T H E TROPICS blue, pale clouds look against this background like openings i n the grey sky. The brown island drowns in the coffee-coloured mist. Underneath the sea with a celadon reflection of the sun resembles an aluminium sheet. About 10 p.m. we're entering the Bab-ElMandeb. They say the monsoon hasn't started blowing yet. I'm very worried. The sea has been quite calm so far. Trans, by M.K. June 24, 1914 Our last day in the Red Sea and the day that we spent i n the Gulf of Aden were both monstrously hot. 39° R (sic) i n the cabin. Even worse out there i n the sun. Bronio's been totally lifeless. He doubts it if he can stand New Guinea. Wheteas I've got quite used to the conditions and have been feeling fine these days. The day before yesterday at 10 p.m. we passed Perim, a port in the strait of Bab-El-Mandeb. We saw nothing but the leering eye of a lighthouse. Then we spent the entire day traveling across the Gulf of Aden with not a trace of land i n sight. That night we decided to sleep on the deck because the heat was just terrible. The Alpha and Beta Centauri can already be seen. The former is the star nearest us. The light takes 4 years to reach here. A t night the ship began to rock slightly and at 6 a steward woke us up telling us to remove our stuff since the waves wete going to start washing over the deck soon. We were passing cape Guarda Fui at that moment (see map). Some 4 miles away in the morning mist one could see a vertical rock about 300 yards high and an utterly yellow hill. About 8 o'clock, as soon as we passed the cape and crossed into the Indian Ocean, the monsoon started blowing and the huge waves of the open sea grabbed us. We sat on the deck for a while, wearing highly incomplete costumes. (The women sleep on the left side of the deck and the men on the right). The women started crossing over, so I went to take a bath, but as soon as I tried to dress, I threw up quite awfully. Horrible sinking of the floor or violent upward movement of same. I hadn't eaten anything so I kept throwing up bile. Bronio, as it later turned out, was doing the very same thing on the deck. Then I fell asleep and slept till 10 o'clock. A navy officer by the name of Pitcher woke me up, sent down by Bronio to my rescue. He helped me dress (meanwhile I threw up another portion of bile) and led me up onto the deck. A l l the symptoms ceased at once and we spent the test of the day lying side by side, feeling sort of vomitive. Just an orange for lunch. We only went downstairs at 7 o'clock to have dinner. But we ate just one course and fled back onto the deck. Don't tell anyone about Bronio's symptoms. I think he'll get used to the heat. Another night on the deck. This morning Bronio kept 296 throwing up. I've got quite accustomed to the swaying by now (it sounds like a risky statement since we need another three days to reach Colombo). The waves come at us from the side. It's a west-southerly monsoon. Every once i n a while the whole huge ship moves sideways climbing a wave (about 6 yards high) and then falls into an abyss. The sun is shining. The wind makes the air cooler and it's quite a pleasant time, really, unless one is throwing up. The waves are just marvellous. They rise slow as mountains and scatter into splashes of green foam as soon as they meet another wave which is moving forward. It'll go on like this till we reach Colombo. The Southern Cross has finally appeared. [the letter ends here] Trans, by M.K. * Letters to Father R.M.S. "Orsova", June 21, 1914 Dearest Father, We're nearing the strait of Bab-El-Mandeb and we're going to cross it at midnight. We've just passed 12 volcanic islands called Zebayr (scattered along some 6 miles). Weird, small, uninhabited, contorted i n shape and fotm, except fot the two that emerge from the water as regular cones. The sky looks like coffei and milk with little celadon-blue clouds. A t the beginning of our journey we took them for openings i n the overcast. The sea is calm. It's getting hotter and hotter. We're right on the tropic and since this is summet the rays of the sun fall quite vertically. This morning the thermometer in my cabin read 34° R. I'm sitting in the Music Room, wearing a shirt with sleeves rolled up. Sweat is stteaming down my face. Frightful heat, we're lucky that it's dry. The bishop of New Guinea, w h o ' been traveling with us, told us yesterday while we were having tea that back in his diocese he'd never experienced such pleasant cool days. (The paper is wet with sweat which is literally pouring from my hands.) The greenish sun seen against the coffee-coloured sky reflects itself in the copper water as celadon sparks. Droves of flying fish start from under the bow, glittering in the sun as if they were made of metal. One of them (10 inches long) fell through the window into my cabin yesterday. The Mediterranean as I remember it now seems like some subarctic country. The stars of the southern sky begin to appear (such as the Canopus or the Alpha Centauri). A t night green sparks of phosphorescence explode from under the propeller screws and get spewed through the apertures in the hull to melt in the foam, turning into broad, pale, luminous �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW D o Ojca w Lovranie 24 V I 1914 Ostatni dzień na Morzu Czerwonem i dzień w zatoce Aden mieliśmy gorąco potworne. 39°R (sic) w kajucie. Cóż dopiero w słońcu. Bronio zupełnie zdechły. Wątpi, czy mu się uda być na Nowej Gwinei. Ja zupełnie się przy­ zwyczaiłem i te dni czułem się fizycznie zupełnie dobrze. 2awczoraj wieczorem o 10 minęliśmy port Perim w cieśni­ nie Bab-El-Mandeb. Z tego widzieliśmy tylko łypiące oko latarni morskiej. Potem cały dzień bez kawałka lądu przez zatokę Adenu. Tej nocy postanowiliśmy spać na pokładzie, bo upał był straszny. Widać już Alfa i Beta Centauri. Alfa najbliższa nam gwiazda, do której światło idzie 4 lata. W nocy zaczęło się lekkie falo­ wanie, a o 6-tej zbudził nas steward, żebyśmy rzeczy usu­ nęli, bo fala będzie zalewać pokład. Właśnie mijaliśmy przylądek Guardafui (obacz na mapie). W odległości ja­ kichś 7 km widać było w rannej mgle prostopadłą skałę jakich 300 m i wzgórze zupełnie żółtego koloru. Jak tylko minęliśmy przylądek koło 8-ej i znaleźliśmy się na Ocea­ nie Indyjskim, zadął Monsoon i chwyciły nas wielkie fale pełnego morza. Siedzieliśmy chwilę na pokładzie w stro­ jach mocno niewykończonych. (Na lewej pokładu stronie śpią kobiety, na prawej mężczyźni). Kobiety zaczęły prze­ łazić, więc poszedłem do kąpieli, zaledwie jednak po­ próbowałem się ubierać, rzygnąłem strasznie. Potworne zapadanie się podłogi lub wypychanie do góry gwałtem. Ponieważ nic nie jadłem, więc rzygałem żółcią. Bronio, jak się okazało później, robił to samo na pokładzie. Potem zasnąłem do 10. Obudził mnie oficet marynarki wojennej p. Pitcher przysłany na ratunek przez Bronia. Pomógł mi się ubrać (przy czym znowu rzygnąłem żółcią) i wywiódł na pokład. Od razu wszystko przeszło i cały dzień przele­ żeliśmy obok siebie w półrzyglikowym usposobieniu. Na lunch pomarańcza. Dopiero na obiad o 7 poszliśmy na dół. Ale tylko jedno danie zjedliśmy i uciekliśmy na górę. O symptomach Bronia nie trzeba nic nikomu mówić. My­ ślę, że się przyzwyczai do upału. Znowu noc na pokładzie. Dziś Bronio jeszcze rzygał rano. Ja już się przyzwyczaiłem zupełnie (boję się to mówić, bo jeszcze 3 dni do Colom­ bo). Fale mamy z boku. Monsun zachodniopołudniowy. Co chwila cały olbrzymi statek wyjeżdża bokiem na szczyt fali (jakieś 6 metrów wysokiej) i zapada w otchłań. Słoń­ ce świeci. Wiatr ochładza powietrze i o ile się nie rzyga, jest dosyć przyjemnie. Fale są cudowne. Podnoszą się po­ woli jak góry i rozpryskują się w zielonej pianie, kiedy spo­ tykają falę idącą od przodu. Do Colombo ciągle to samo. Już widać Krzyż Południowy, [na tym list się urywa] RMS „ORSOVA", 21 V I 1914 Najdroższy Tato: Zbliżamy się do cieśniny Bab el-Mandeb, którą przeje­ dziemy o północy. Minęliśmy tylko co 12 (na przestrzeni 10 km) rozsianych, wulkanicznych wysp Zebayr. Dziwacz­ ne, małe bezludne, wykręcone w sylwetach i budowie, z wyjątkiem dwóch, tworzących tegularne stożki wystają­ ce z wody. Niebo koloru kawy z mlekiem, na tle czego chmurki seledynowoniebieskie, które z początku braliśmy za przeziory niebieskie. Morze spokojne. Upał wzmaga się. Jesteśmy na zwrotniku, a ponieważ jest lato, słońce świe­ ci zupełnie prostopadle. W kabinie było 34° Reaumura rano. Siedzę w koszuli z zawiniętymi rękawami w Musie Roomie. Pot leje się z twarzy ciurkiem. Straszliwe gorąco, całe szczęście, że suche. Biskup Nowej Gwinej, który z nami jedzie, oświadczył wczoraj przy podwieczorku, że nie pamięta tak przyjemnie chłodnych dni w swojej die­ cezji. (Papier mokry od potu, który się leje z rąk.) Na tle nieba kawowego słońce zielonkawe, odbijające się w miedzianej wodzie seledynowymi iskrami. Stada rybek latających wylatują spod okrętu, lśniąc się w słońcu jak z metalu. Jedna (30 cm) wpadła do kaju­ ty wczoraj przez okno. Morze Śródziemne we wspomnie­ niu przybiera charakter kraju podbiegunowego. Pokazują się gwiazdy południowego nieba (Canopus czy Alfa Cen­ tauri). W nocy spod śrub i tych womitujących otworów okrętowych wylatują zielone iskry fosforescencji i roztap­ iając się w pianie na szerokie, blade plamy świecące, nik­ ną w ciemnościach. W Port Said staliśmy od 11-2 w nocy. Udaliśmy się z Broniem do dzielnicy egipskiej. Domy otoczone balkonami na słupach ponad trotuarami. Zapach kóz, kawy i makakigów dziwacznej formy, które się sprzedaje na straganach. Ludzie piekielni, o twa­ rzach dzikich albo omdlałych z rozkoszy. Tylko mężczyzn widzi się na ulicach. Trafiliśmy na pochód weselny (tylko mężczyźni), w powozach panowie w fezach. Furmani trzy­ mają rury, z których buchają płomienie acetylenu, i pie­ kielna, ponura, monotonna muzyka (piszczałki i bębny) za nimi. Ubrani w długie szaty, przeważnie niebieskie. Najgorsza hołota w Egipcie ma powagę i dostojność wschodnią i ostatni baciarz wzbudza zaufanie. Kanał wąski (50 m, może trochę więcej). Minęliśmy dwa parowce, które przytulone do brzegu czekały na nasz przejazd. Z jednej strony Egipt pełen oaz i palm, z drugiej, stra­ szliwa, drgająca w słońcu Pustynia Arabska, płaska u brzegu, górzysta w oddali. Pomarańczowe piaski drgają­ ce w słońcu i doliny pokryte solą, w których niebo odbija się mdłym, szarym fioletem. Co chwila stacje francuskiej kompanii, do której należy Suez. Domki otoczone palma- 297 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • L E T T E R S FROM T H E TROPICS stains and finally disappear in the darkness. We stopped in Port Said from 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. Bronio and I went to the Egyptian quartet. Houses ringed with balconies, raised on columns, seem to hang over the pavements. Smell of goats, coffee and strangely shaped poppy cakes sold from the stalls. The people here are just infernal, their faces either wild or languid with delight. Only men can be seen in the streets. We came across a wedding pageant (men only) composed of fezzed gentlemen riding in carriages. The coachmen held pipes with acetylene flames blowing from them. Infernal, morose, monotonous music (fifes and drums) followed that whole parade. The men wore long robes, most of them blue. The worst riffraff in Egypt emanates eastern seriousness and dignity so that even the lowest bum seems trustworthy. wings and white tails add to this sombre picture. Frightful heat. Even the bishop has been sweating a little and got slightly red. 34° R in the cabin. Sea water at 80° F - about 30° R. I've been tolerating the heat quite well, the only trouble is that I'm sweating awfully, but then everyone does. This glare, this general melting into the brown fog, these mysterious desert islands which disappeat in the coffee-coloured haze have something extremely attractive and fantastic about them. Now and again a steamer scurries past (we see seven or nine of them daily) or there's a lighthouse on an island, with a solitary man on a pumice rock blinking at night. Some of these islands of white pumice look like huge sponges. Trans, by M.K. * The Canal is narrow (50 yards, maybe a little more). We passed two steamships which hugged the shore, waiting for us to move along. R.M.S. "Orsova", June 24, 1914 On one bank there's Egypt full of oases and palms, on the other - the frightful Atabian desert shimmering in the sun, flat near the shore, mountainous in the distance. Orange sands shimmering in the sun and valleys covered with salt. The sky teflected in the latter looks bland, greyish-purple. Every once in a while we pass posts of the French company that owns Suez. Little houses among palms, trees with crimson masses of flowers and others, smelling like linden. It takes us till afternoon to arrive in Suez. Marvellous hues of the sea which cuts into the desert with narrow bands, any colour you can name, from ultramarine through emerald and turquoise to yellowish green in shallow places. Topped with wild rocky mountains, purplereddish. Whirlwinds milling the sand everywhere. The evening before last we crossed the Bab elMandeb. The only proof of that was the lighthouse in Perim which leered at us with a greenish light. Then a whole day of crazy heat in the Gulf of Aden. (39° R in the cabin). We slept on the deck, on blankets. The women on the left side, the men on the right. The mood downstaits is just terrible. Smells like a hairdresser's and a loo combined. It's stuffy beyond anyone's endurance. Plus the moaning of the pump. Hell. A steward woke us at 6 telling us to grab our gear because the waves were about to start jumping. We were already swaying quite impressively, passing cape Guardafui, the last barrier between us and the Indian Ocean, some 4 miles away. A vertical rock about 300 yards high and a yellow hill disappearing in the morning mist. The colours of the sky at sunrise and sunset are pale and the sun itself is greenish-yellow. As soon as we passed the cape, the southerly-western monsoon began to blow and the huge ocean waves grabbed us. We will remain in their power till Colombo where it will take us three days to arrive without seeing a scrap of land in the meantime. The sea is marvellous with the whitecaps. Waves huge as mountains rise and lift us sideways (each wave parallel to the path of our colossus). Then we fall [into] swaying ravines. The tops of the waves have a marvellous colour like translucent oxide finishing. I went down to take a bath but threw up some gall instead from my empty stomach. I slept for two hours and couldn't go out because I kept getting sick whenevet I tried to get up. The terrible heat in the cabin put me in a vomitive mood. Mr. Pitcher, a navy officer, rescued me at last, sent down by Bronio who was puking up on the deck meanwhile. Mr. Pitcher Then the Gulf Suez. O n one shore we see the sandy Arabian mountains of the Sinai Peninsula, while on the othet thete are the tocky, funnel-shaped mountains of Egypt. The heat makes writing impossible. I lie in a deckchair all day long and go to the bar from time to time to have an iced drink. Even reading is difficult in this hell. We've got acquainted with some French people from the first class and they often drop in for a visit. I've developed a loathing of the English. Having seen them in close-up I've decided that they [are] nothing but brutes lacking any emotions ot aesthetics. About 5 p.m. we passed the island of Jebel Kuzur. Four volcanoes joined together A deathly, sombre, fascinating sight. Brown island against the coffeecoloured sky [dtawing in text]. Some grey-green trees and yellow beaches on the long flat shore. The rest (mountains about 500 yards high) is nothing but brown lava. The bluish-green sun reflected in the slightly wavy, bronze sea looks like a sheet of melted aluminium. The brown seagulls with white-rimmed 298 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW Stanisław I. Witkiewicz z ojcem Stanisławem Witkiewiczem - fotografia wykonana przy pomocy samowyzwalacza, fot. Stanisław I. Witkiewicz, Lovrana, 1913. Ze zbioru Muzeum Tatrzańskiego w Zakopanem Stanisław l. Witkiewicz with his father Stanisław Witkiewicz - photograph by time releaser, photo by Stanisław l. Witkiewicz, Lovrana, 1913. The collection of the Tatra Museum, Zakopane mi, drzewami o purpurowych masach kwiatów i inne, wy­ dające zapach podobny do lip. Dopiero po południu w Suezie. Cudowne kolory morza wrzynającego się w pu­ stynię wąskimi pasami, od ultramaryny, przez szmaragdy i turkusy, aż do żółtej zieloności - gdzie płyciej. Nad tym góry floletowoczerwonawe, dzikie, skaliste. Wszędzie zry­ wają się trąby piasku. Potem zatoka Suez. Z jednej strony, piaskowe góry arabskie (półwyspu Synaj), z drugiej, egipskie skaliste, lej­ kowato wymodelowane. Gorąco odbiera możność pisa­ nia. Leżę cały dzień w leżaku i od czasu do czasu piję ice drink w barze. Czytać nawet niewiele można w tym pie­ kle. Zaznajomiliśmy się z Francuzami z I kl. i ci u nas czę­ sto bywają. Do Anglików mam już wstręt. Przy bliższym przyjrzeniu się jest [to] bydło bez żadnych uczuć i estety­ ki. Koło 5 po południu przejeżdżaliśmy koło wyspy Jebel Kuzur. Wulkany 4 złączone. Śmiertelnie ponury i fascynu­ jący widok. Wyspa brązowa na tle nieba [tu rysunek w tekście] kawowego. Na długim, płaskim brzegu jakieś drzewa szarozielone i plaże żółte. Reszta (góry może z 500 ) z brązowej lawy. Słońce niebieskawozielone odbija się lekko sfalowanym morzu koloru brązu (metalu) i odbi­ m w cie słońca wygląda jak płyta roztopionego aluminium. Mewy brunatne z białymi obrzeżeniami skrzydeł i białymi ogonkami dopełniają ponurości. Upał straszliwy. Nawet biskup się spocił trochę i sczerwieniał. 34°R w kabinie. Woda w morzu 80° Farenheita. Kolo 30°R. Zupełnie do­ brze znoszę gorąco, tylko pocę się, jak zresztą wszyscy w sposób straszliwy. W tym rozżarzeniu, roztopieniu w brunatnej mgle, tych tajemniczych wyspach pustych, znikających w kawowej srężodze jest [coś] niesłychanie pociągającego i fantastycznego. Od czasu do czasu prze­ myka parowiec (może z 7-9 dziennie widzimy) albo na którejś z wysp widać latarnię morską, z której w nocy mruga jakiś samotnik na skale z pumeksu. Niektóre wy­ spy z białego pumeksu wyglądają jak olbrzymie gąbki. * RMS „ORSOVA", 24 V I 1914 Zawczoraj wieczorem o 10 przejechaliśmy Bab el-Mandeb. Jedynym znakiem tego była latarnia morska w Perim, która łypała na nas zielonkawym światłem. Po­ tem cały dzień upału szalonego w zatoce Aden. (39°R 299 �Stanisław • L E T T E R S FROM T H E TROPICS Ignacy Witkiewicz helped me dress and took me upstairs. I got better right away. We lay down and ate nothing till lunch, of which we only managed to have one course. Anothet night up on the deck. Bronio has no stomach for the heat and the sea, whereas I've got used to them and physically I'm quite fine. Even this morning Bronio was getting sick. I'm quite well now and although the waves are 6 yards high I can eat whatever's offered. But even these varied experiences are getting tiresome. Evening. The Southern Cross can already be seen quite clearly. The storm keeps raging with unrelenting force. We devoured our lunch like real sea wolves. Whole crowds of little flying fish surround the ship just as they used to do. I wish we wete in Colombo already. I also wish the waves got bigget and bigger, even if I had to vomit again. Life on a ship is so frightfully boring that a struggle with sea sickness turns into quite an entertainment. I've been reading Lord Jim by Conrad. A real masterpiece. Have you read it? There is a Polish trans [lation]. Trans, by M.K. conscience. That's not the case at all. They give the impression of being animals. Wonderful people. In color ranging from red chocolate to black bronze. Some with long hair, others with a top knot and circular combs all around their heads; the ends of these combs sparkle i n the sun like phlox roses. The diabolical impression a tropical garden makes. Trees with forms and colors that are beyond belief. Bamboos, lianas, eucalyptuses, flowets of every color with shapes out of fairy tales. Then a Buddhist temple 150 years old. New wall paintings and gigantic painted statues and frescoes. But everything gaudy and exaggerated. You could tell that everything was new. We were taken fot Jews. Six little Sinhalese took our shoes off. Aftet lunch we went out of the city. Little houses in the midst of palm forests. Wonderful costumes. Pieces of chocolate and black flesh amid purple violets. Clean-shaven priests in long yellow garments with fans. We're in tropical outfits with pith helmets covering our heads. Despite the sweltering heat and dirt, and garbage in the streets, almost no unpleasant smell whatsoever Colombo isn't any city at all. Just little houses scattered among the palm fotests. Every blade of grass, every stone has its own individual character and doesn't remind us of anything we know. Outside the city, scrubby brush amid swampland skirting a golf course where stodgy Englishmen play golf. If you half-shut your eyes, you might think that you were in Lithuania. We slept for a rupee a person in a Sinhalese hotel. Everything is so original down to the smallest details. Mysterious, bronze monkeys wait on us half-naked. The beds have mosquito nets. Terrific heat. The sweat pours off a naked person lying quietly. Colombo is full of ravens that croak hopelessly all day and night and give a dismal cadaverous atmosphere to everything. (We were late for the train to Kandy and thus had to spend the night in Colombo.) In the port, instead of seagulls, red-bronze vultures with jagged wings fly about. Hotel Suisse Kandy, Ceylon Monday, 29 June 1914 Dearest Father: I'm in no state to describe the wonders I am seeing here. These things are absolutely monstrous in their beauty. We spent our last days at sea in frightful heat, apathy, and lethatgy. The ocean was relatively calm and we weren't at all sick to our stomachs. O n Saturday the second-class passengets were allowed to sleep on the first-class deck so they wouldn't get buried under the coal while they wete refueling the ship at Colombo. Bronio preferred to choke in his cabin. I didn't sleep from the moment I saw the lighthouse at Colombo. From then I waited for us to land. A t 2:30 A . M . we dropped anchor Except for several nearby ships and different colored signal lights, I , of course, couldn't see anything. They woke me up at six and we packed, sweating profusely in the forty-degree centigtade heat in the cabin. My first impressions were unpleasant. Sweltering heat at nine in the morning. Red houses, streets red as the earth (terra rossa). Lush greenery. I went to look at the ocean (the color of the Baltic plus a beach). As soon as we passed by India, the sea changed from blue to gteen. There I chatted on a bench with a Sinhalese fot the first time in my life. Bronio went to see some guy to whom he'd been given a letter of recommendation. Then we took rickshaws (each of us in a separate one) and went to Cinnamon Gatdens. I had thought a ride in a rickshaw would be something unpleasant because of having a guilty In the morning we're on our way to Kandy. The capital of the independent state of the Sinhalese. A rich Sinhalese planter is going with us and he's explaining things to us. Diabolical vistas. Meadows flooded with water in the midst of forests. Strange olive-green calami. In little ponds, purple-violet water lilies. The vegetation madder and madder, and the people more and more gaudily but wonderfully dressed (violet, yellow and purple, sometimes emerald green), which along with the chocolate and bronze bodies, and the strange plants in the background, creates a diabolical effect. The mountains begin halfway there. Angolla Peak. The mountains give the impression of something soft made of peat. Everything is choked by the frenzy of luxuriant vegetation. Trees with leaves in unheard-of 300 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW w kajucie.) Spaliśmy na pokładzie na kocach. Po lewej stronie kobiety, po prawej mężczyźni. Nastrój na dole straszny. Zapaszek fryzjersko-klozetowy, 39° i duszność nie do zniesienia. Do tego jęczący odgłos pompy. Piekło. O 6 zbudził nas steward, żeby zabietać rzeczy, bo fala będzie skakać. Już kołysaliśmy się porządnie. Mijaliśmy właśnie przylądek Guardafui. Ostatnia przegroda oddziela­ jąca nas od Oceanu Indyjskiego w odległości około 7 km. Skała prostopadła na jakie 300 m i ż ó 11 e wzgótze giną­ ce w mgle porannej. Kolory nieba o wschodzie i zachodzie - blade, a słońce zielonkawożółte. Zaraz za przylądkiem zadął monsun południowo-zachodni i chwyciły nas wiel­ kie fale Oceanu, i nie popuszczą aż do Colombo, dokąd mamy trzy dni drogi bez lądu. Morze cudowne z baranka­ mi- Góry powstają i podnoszą bokiem (fala równoległa do kierunku) naszego kolosa, po czym zapadamy [w] roz­ chwiane jamy. Cudowny kolor wierzchołków fali - oksyd przezroczysty. Zeszedłem na kąpiel i zamiast tego rzygną­ łem żółcią będąc na czczo. Leżałem i spałem 2 godziny nie mogąc wyjść, bo co wstałem, rzygałem. Gorąco okropne w kajucie usposobiło do rzyglików. Wybawił mnie p. Pit­ cher, oficer marynarki wojennej, przysłany przez Bronia, który rzygał na pokładzie. Pomógł się ubrać i wyprowa­ dził. Od razu zrobiło się lepiej. I tak na czczo przeleżeli­ śmy do obiadu, z którego tylko jedno danie zdołaliśmy zjeść. Znowu noc na pokładzie. Bronio w ogóle źle znosi upał i morze. Ja już się przyzwyczaiłem i do tego, i do te­ go, i fizycznie mam się zupełnie dobrze. Dziś Bronio je­ szcze chorował rano. Ja już mam się dobrze mimo fal 6-cio metrowych i jem wszystko. Ale nawet ta rozmaitość już się przykrzy. W i e c z ó r . Widać już wyraźnie Krzyż Południowy. Burza trwa z tą samą siłą. Obiad zjedliśmy zupełnie jak wilki morskie. W dalszym ciągu tłumy rybek latających otaczają okręt. Marzę o dostaniu się do Colombo. Teraz chciałbym już fal coraz większych i nawet za to zdecydowałbym się chorować znowu. Tak strasznie nudne jest życie na stat­ ku, że walka z chorobą morską już jest rozrywką. Czytam Lorda ]ima Conrada. Arcydzieło. Czy Tata to zna? Jest w tłom[aczeniu] polskim. * Hotel Suisse, Kandy, Ceylon Poniedziałek, 29 V I 1914 Najdroższy Tato: Nie jestem w stanie opisać tych cudów, które tu w i ­ dzę. Są to rzeczy wprost potworne od piękności. Ostatnie dni na morzu przeżyliśmy w straszliwym upale, bezwładzie i zniechęceniu. Morze było z lekka sfalowane i nie rzyga­ liśmy wcale. W sobotę pozwolono spać I I kl. na pokładzie I klasy, bo Bronio wolał dławić się w kajucie. Nie spałem od czasu, kiedy zobaczyłem latarnię w Colombo. Potem czekałem wylądowania. O 7, 3 w nocy zarzuciliśmy ko­ twicę. Oprócz kilku bliskich statków i różnokolorowych sygnałów nie widziałem oczywiście nic. O 6 zbudzono mnie i pakowaliśmy się, oblewając się potem w 40° w ka­ jucie. Pierwsze wrażenie było nieprzyjemne. Upał o 9 ra­ no. Domy czerwone, ulice czerwone od ziemi (terra rossa). Zieleń jaskrawa. Wyszedłem nad morze (kolor Bałty­ ku z plażą). Już od czasu kiedy minęliśmy Indie, morze stało się zielone z niebieskiego. Tam rozmawiałem na ław­ ce z Syngalezem po raz pierwszy w życiu. Bronio poszedł do jakiegoś faceta, do którego miał list polecający. Potem wsiedliśmy w rikszas (każdy w innego) i udaliśmy się do Cinamon Gardens. Myślałem, że jazda rikszasem będzie czymś przykrym ze względu na wyrzuty sumienia. Tymczasem nic. Robią wrażenie zwierząt. Ludzie cudowni. Od koloru czerwonej czekolady do czarnego brązu. Jedni z długimi włosami, in­ ni z węzełkami i grzebieniami okrągłymi naokoło całej głowy, których końce świecą w słońcu jak płomykowa te różki. Piekielne wrażenie tropikalnego ogrodu. Drzewa 0 formach i kolorach nie do uwierzenia. Bambusy, liany, eukaliptusy, kwiaty wszystkich barw o kształtach z bajki. Potem świątynia Buddy sprzed 150 lat. Nowe polichromie 1 olbrzymie posągi malowane i freski. Ale wszystko jaskra­ we i przesadzone. Znać, że nowe. Wzięto nas za Żydów. Buty zdejmowało z nas 6 małych Syngalezów. Po obiedzie (lunchu) udaliśmy się za miasto. Domki wśród lasów pal­ mowych. Cudowne stroje. Kawały mięsa czekoladowego i czarnego wśród purpury, fioletów. Kapłani ogoleni w długich, żółtych szatach z wachlarzami. My w ubra­ niach tropikalnych, w hełmach na głowach. Mimo upału i brudu, i śmieci na ulicach żadnego prawie przykrego za­ pachu. W ogóle miasta Colombo nie ma. Tylko wśród palmowych lasów rozsypane domki. Każda trawka, każdy kamień ma swój odrębny charakter i nie przypomina nic naszego. Za miastem zarośla nad bagnami otaczającymi teren golfowy, na którym grają ogłupiali Anglicy. Jak przymknąć oczy, można by myśleć, że się jest na Litwie. Spaliśmy za 1 rupię od osoby w hotelu syngaleskim. Wszy­ stko oryginalne do ostatnich szczegółów. Usługują taje­ mnicze, brązowe małpy półnagie. Łóżka z siatkami od moskitów. Upał szalony. Z nagiego człowieka leżącego spo­ kojnie pot leje się. Całe Colombo pełne kruków, które ca­ łą noc i dzień rozpaczliwie kraczą i nadają wszystkiemu ponurotrupi charakter. (Spóźniliśmy się na pociąg do Kandy i dlatego musieliśmy nocować w Colombo.) W po­ rcie zamiast mew latają czerwonobrązowe sępy z wystrzę­ pionymi skrzydłami. Rano jedziemy do Kandy. Stolica samoistnego pań­ stwa Syngalezów. Jedzie z nami bogaty plantator Syngalez, który nam udziela wyjaśnień. P i e k i e l n e w i d o k i . Łąki wśród lasów zalane wodą. Dziwne tataraki oliwkowozielone. Na stawikach - nenufary purpurowofioletowe. 301 �-s'~>-_7 wiuaeuncz L E T T E R S FROM THE TROPICS shapes, from huge voluminous ones to different designs fringed with minute jagged edges. The mountains bigger and bigger. We're going over valleys hundreds of feet deep, in the midst of which rice fields lie drowned in water, cut out i n strange patterns. The trees are covered with flowers going from purple and orange vermilion to violet and red and white... [ A page is missing.] They cart around fruits resembling orange melons, full of sweet juice (a quart in each one) contained within thick, л hite walls. Green, yellow, and violet fruits. Gum trees, breadfruit trees. Coconut and banana palms. By the railroad-crossing gate, a group of children going to school. Further on you can see the school without any walls, full of children of many different colors. Mountains in fantastic shapes. Sheer cliffs fall off into the thick of the jungle. We were in Kandy at eleven i n the morning. A l l along the way bushes covered with flowers, orange bordering on vermilion. The hotel where we're staying, on the slope of the mountains covered with palms, lianas, and the devil knows what, on the edge of a lake full of fish and turtles, is an enchanted palace. (Eight rupees including meals.) A l l this causes me the most frightful suffering and unbearable pain, since she's no longer alive with me. Only the worst despair and the senselessness of seeing this beauty. She won't see this - and I'm not an artist. I wouldn't wish my worst enemy to go through what I've been living through mentally on the ship and what I'm suffering, looking at the inconceivable beauty of the world. A l l this is too much for me mentally and spiritually. Everything is poison which brings close thoughts of death. W i l l this inhuman suffering ever come to an end! I kiss you, Dad, my dearest Dad. I kiss Mrs. Dembowska's hand. Staś Bronio sends his respects. Trans, by D.G. Forgive me everything. Destiny has arranged our meeting at a fatal moment: you were serene and pure, just about to begin life, while I was broken, disappointed and unable to create anything, descending into death. I could never make you happy while I'm so terribly, hopelessly and solely in love with My Lost One. It's quite possible that I do love you, but even that could not save me in this state of destruction I'm in. The beauty of what I'm seeing makes a monstrous impression on me. I knew in advance that whatever I attempt to do would ovetwhelm me, so I shouldn't have embatked on this journey. Well, what's done is done. But nobody /one or more lines missing from the xerox copy / nor my Parents should have made me suffer so terribly with no hope and no goal. That's why I'm asking all of you to forgive me everything. I still try to exert myself, but whatever I think of, the one thing I find in me is hopeless emptiness, while the world with its beauty only makes me experience the torment of uncreative barrenness and the terrible guilt at the thought that She cannot enjoy this beauty any longer and that I am to blame. Whatever Karol, that born and professed scoundrel, has done (which I cannot hold against him, the persistent pig that he is), aided by Miciński, that ultra-bohemian who commits little acts of meanness in the name of lofty ideas, my guilt has been so enormous as to dwarf anything else by comparison. I've been going through horrible torment. Until now everything in my life was beautiful. Now life has turned into ugliness. Only death can put an end to this. Please, forgive me. Trans, by M.K. * To Karol de Beaurain [Address on the envelope] The Honourable Doctor /Karol Beaurain/ Executive/Sanatorium in Wisła/Ustroń post-office/Szlazk/Schlesien/Austria/Ósterreich/Europe R.M.S. "Orsova" To Jadwiga Zielińska [June 1 8 - 2 8 , 1914] [Envelope marked] Hotel Suisse/Kandy, Ceylon Dear and Respected Doctot, The Honourable Miss Jadwiga Zielińska ( с о . Mr & Mrs Szyszlowski) I did not come to you because every moment spent in Poland was an awful blow to my ambition. It was either death ot New Guinea for me, nothing else. Well, easier said than done. Death and the thoughts that push one i n its direction are just the same i n Zakopane as i n the Red Sea. I want to make it to Colombo. Every moment causes me unbearable pain. I'm worthless. As a human being I've been compromised. As an artist I have destroyed myself. Now I've decided to try and cure 47 Łobzowska Street, Cracow, Galizien/Austria, Europe June 18, 1914 Passing through the Suez Canal I'm awfully unhappy and feel that the end is near 302 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY Z PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW Coraz wścieklejsza roślinność i ludzie coraz bardziej ja­ skrawo, ale cudownie ubrani (fiolet, żółć i purpura, cza­ sem zieleń szmaragdowa), co przy ciałach czekoladowych i brązowych, na tle roślin dziwnych, robi efekt piekielny. Od połowy drogi zaczynają się góry. Angolla Peak. Góry robią wrażenie czegoś miękkiego zrobionego z torfu. Wszystko dławi się od rozwścieczonej roślinności. Drzewa o liściach form niebywałych, od olbrzymich fałdzistych do wystrzępionych w drobne ząbki różnych kształtów. Góry coraz większe. Jedziemy nad dolinami po kilkaset metrów, wśród których leżą zatopione w wodzie, porysowane w dziwne desenie pola ryżowe. Drzewa pokryte kwiatami od purpury i minii oranżowej do fioletu i laki z białą [btak stroniczki w tękopisie]. Roznoszą owoce jak dynia pomarańczowe, pełne soku słodkiego (kwarta w każdym), zamkniętego w grubych, białych ścianach. Owoce zielone, żółte i fioletowe. Drze­ wa gumowe, chlebowe. Palmy kokosowe i banany. Przy rampie grupa dzieci idących do szkoły. Dalej widać szko­ łę bez ścian, pełną różnokolorowych dzieci. Góry o kształ­ tach fantastycznych. Skały prostopadłe spadają w gąszcza dżungli [tu rysunek w tekście]. W Kandy byliśmy o i l tano. Wzdłuż całej drogi krza­ ki pokryte pomarańczowymi jak minia kwiatami. Hotel, w którym mieszkamy na zboczu gór pokrytych palmami, lianami i czort wie czym, otaczających jezioro pełne ryb i żółwi, jest zaczarowanym pałacem. (8 rupii z jedzeniem). Wszystko to sprawia najstraszniejsze cier­ pienie, ból nie do zniesienia, bo Jej nie ma ze mną. Tylko rozpacz najgorsza i bezsens widzenia tej piękności. Ona tego nie widzi - a ja nie jestem artystą. Najgorszemu wrogowi nie życzyłbym, [aby] przeżył to, co ja przemyślałem na okręcie i co cierpię patrząc na nie­ pojętą piękność świata. Wszystko to się we mnie nie mieści psychicznie. Wszy­ stko trucizna, która zbliża do myśli o śmierci. Kiedyż się skończy to nieludzkie cietpienie. Całuję Tatę, Mój Najdroższy Tato. Pani Dembowskiej rączki całuję. Staś Bronio przysyła Tacie wyrazy czci i całuje serdecznie. Do Jadwigi Zielińskiej [Koperta z nadrukiem:] Hotel Suisse/KANDY, Ceylon [Adres:] Wielmożna Panna Jadwiga Zielińska (u W. R S z y s z ł o w s k i c h / 4 7 Łobzowska / K r a k ó w / Cracow / Galizien Austria/Europe 18V11914Na K a n a l e Sueskim Jest mi strasznie źle i czuję, że koniec jest już niedługi, i Niech Pani przebaczy mi wszystko. Los kazał się nam spo­ tkać w fatalnej chwili, kiedy Pani spokojna i czysta wstę­ powała w życie, a ja złamany, bez wiary i możności twótczości, schodziłem w śmierć. Nigdy bym Pani szczęścia nie dał kochając tak strasznie i beznadziejnie Ją jedną. Moż­ liwe, że Panią kocham, ale to nie mogłoby mnie uratować w tym stanie zniszczenia. Potworne wrażenie robi na mnie piękność tego, co widzę. Wiedziałem, że wszystko, co zro­ bię, jest ponad moje siły i nie powinienem był jechać. Sta­ ło się. Ale nikt [w kserokopii ucięta jedna - ? - linijka tekstu] ani Rodzice kazać mi się męczyć tak potwornie bez żadnej nadziei i bez celu. Dlatego przebaczcie mi wszystko. Jeszcze się staram robić wysiłki, ale gdziekol­ wiek myśl zwrócę, pustka beznadziejna we mnie, a świat ze swoją pięknością daje mi tylko poznać mękę niemoż­ ności pracy twórczej i strasznego wyrzutu, że Ona już tej piękności pojmować nie może i to z mojej winy. Cokol­ wiek zawiniła taka kanalia z przekonań i z urodzenia jak Karol (za co nie mogę mieć pretensji, bo jest w nim kon­ sekwencja świństwa) i tak ultrakabotyn jak Miciński, który popełnia małe świństwa w imię wzniosłych idei, moja wina jest tak okropna, że wszystko wobec tego ma­ leje. Straszna jest moja męka. Dotąd wszystko było w mo­ im życiu piękne. Zycie teraz jest brzydotą. Tylko jedna śmierć to skończyć może. Niech m i P a n i przebaczy. Do Karola de Beaurain [Na kopercie adres:] Wielmożny Pan Doktór / Karol Beaurain / Dyrektor Zakładu Leczniczego w W i ś l e / P o c z t a U s t r o ń / Szlązk/Schlesien/Austria/Osterreich/Europe RMS „ORSOVA". [18-28 czerwca 1914] Szanowny i Kochany Panie Doktotze: Nie przyjechałem do Pana Doktora, bo każda chwila spędzona w kraju zadawała straszliwe ciosy mojej ambicji. Albo śmierć, albo Nowa Gwinea. Tymczasem łatwo tak mówić. Śmierć i myśli, które do niej skłaniają, te same są w Zakopanem, co na Morzu Czerwonym. Chcę dobrnąć do Colombo. Każda chwila jest męką nie do zniesienia. Jestem bez wattości. Jako człowiek zblamowałem się. Ja­ ko artysta zniszczyłem siebie. Wziąłem teraz na siebie zo­ bowiązania wyleczenia się przez podróż. Zabija mnie to do reszty. Wszystko, co widzę pięknego, działa jak najstra­ szliwsza trucizna. Czemu Ona tego nie widzi, czemu zmarnowałem Ją i najpiękniejszą miłość, jaka kiedykol­ wiek istniała. Nie idealizuję tego przez śmierć. Nie umia­ łem s i e b i e cenić. Bo byłem bezwartościowym. Tylko Ją teraz kocham i tylko siebie nienawidzę. Śmierć musi przyjść czy prędzej, czy później, bo męki tak okropnej dłu­ go znosić niepodobna. 303 1 �Stanisław ' L E T T E R S FROM T U L IROP1CS Ignacy Witkiewicz happened. What of him. He's just an unpretentious pig. myself with this journey. But it's been killing whatever's still alive in me. Every beautiful thing that I see turns into the most lethal poison. Why can't She see all this, why did I waste Her and the most beautiful love that's ever existed. I'm not idealising them just because they are dead. I did not appreciate myself. Since I was worthless. Now I only love Her and hate nobody but myself. Death must come sooner or later because it's impossible to suffer such terrible torment for a long time. She really loved me and that's why my errors have been the worst. Trans, by M.K. * From Aniela Jałowiecka to Maria Witkiewicz (the letter defines the date of Witkiewicz's arrival in St. Petersburg on the end of September 1914) Farewell, then, Dear Doctor. I kiss your wife's hands and thank both of you for all the kindnesses. S. Witkiewicz [St. Petersburgh, February 13 Qanuary 30), 1915] My self-portrait and the drawing of you will be waiting for you to claim them. Trans, by M.K. To Mrs Jadwiga Janczewska (Mother) [Envelope marked] Hotel Suisse/Kandy, Ceylon The Honourable Mrs Jadwiga Janczewska/Leszcze estate/Klodawa post-office/Kingdom of Poland/Kaliśka Guberniya/Russia, Europe. Hotel Suisse, Kandy [June 30, 1914] My Dear and Respected Lady, Why isn't She with me here. What a pity I didn't borrow some 2,000 roubles from you and we didn't come here. I could have made a fortune painting the beautiful things that I'm seeing here instead of being stuck in stinking Zakopane with all that rabble. Without Her everything is more awful than words can say. Why cannot She, poor thing, see this. A l l this /one or more lines missing from the xerox copy/ Had our relations been normal, had we got married a long time ago, She'd surely have been happy with me. I feel nothing but the terrible love I have for Her and the awful regret. Seeing the beauties of this world and realising that She is no more and will never be again. It's a horrible punishment, too severe for my faults. Forgive me and think of me sometimes as you remember Her. I kiss yours and Father's hands S.Witkiewicz Please send my works to a posthumous exhibition. Miciński has been much to blame for what My Dear, I thought you'd known for a long time what had been happening with your son. As far as we know, you should have received his letter telling about the events of his life in the latest months when he made the irrevocable decision to join the Russian army and defend Poland. He came here at the end of September, and having conquered many obstacles got admitted into the cadet school which he's going to leave in two months with an officer's certificate and join the army the Polish legion, perhaps, which is being formed at this very moment. No reasoning, nobody's influence could persuade him to change his mind. He'd never been like he is now. Cool, one might even say - joyful, holding himself erect, carrying his head high, he shook 1 limself free of that desperate apathy and inertia in which we saw him on his arrival. He's been studying diligently for the exams in military theory and has had no problems accepting the discipline. His health is perfect. He looks very handsome in his uniform; the heavy boots, the thick coat and the sabre do not cramp his style in the least. Believe me, I've had a really hard time before I accepted the idea of seeing him in the army, but that must have been God's will. His help often comes from the most unexpected quarters and is nonetheless effective. Towards the end of his military career your son may regain his spiritual balance and come back to you quite adjusted to normal life. We've sent 650 roubles to Lovrana since October. How come my brother hasn't got any of that money? My husband has complained at the Spanish embassy here. We'll try to find another way of sending money. We thought Mary and Niusia were in Florence but it seems that they are still in Zakopane, is that so? We've known nothing at all about Zencia's and our children's whereabouts for more than two months. The rest of the family are fine. We kiss all of you Aniela Trans, by M.K. 304 �Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz • LISTY 'l. PODRÓŻY DO TROPIKÓW O d Anieli Jałowieckiej do Marii Witkiewiczowej Żegnam więc Kochanego Doktora i Pani rączki całuję dziękuję Państwu za wszystko (list pozwala określić datę przyjazdu Witkiewicza do S. Witkiewicz Petersburga na koniec września 1914 r.) Portret mój własny i rysunek p. Doktora będą zawsze |o odebrania. [13 lutego (30 stycznia), Petersburg 1915 Do Jadwigi Janczewskiej (matki) [Koperta z nadrukiem:] Hotel Suisse/KANDY, Ceylon [Adres:] Wielmożna Pani Jadwiga Janczewska / maj. Leszcze, poczta K ł o d a w a / Królestwo Polskie, Gub. Kaliska / Russia, Europe. Hotel Suisse, Kandy, [30 V I 1914] Pani Szanowna i Kochana: Czemu tu z Nią nie jestem. Co za szkoda, że nie poży­ czyłem od Państwa ze 2000 rubli i nie wyjechaliśmy tutaj. Mógłbym zrobić majątek malując te cudowne rzeczy, które tu widzę - zamiast siedzieć w tym parszywym Zako­ panem z tą całą hołotą. Bez Niej wszystko tak straszne, że słów nie mam do wyrażenia tego. Czemu Ona, biedaczka, nie widzi tego. To wszystko [w kserokopii ucięta jedna —?— linijka tekstu] Żeby nasze stosunki były normalne, żebyśmy wzięli ślub dawniej, b y ł a b y n a p e w n o ze mną szczęśliwa. Nic, tylko straszna miłość do niej i żal okropny. Straszna męka widzenia piękności świata z tym poczuciem, że Jej nie ma i n i g d y nie będzie. Straszna kara, za wielka na moje winy. Niech Pani przebaczy mnie i pomyśli czasem o mnie wspominając Ją. Całuję ręce Pani i Ojca S. Witkiewicz Moje prace, prosiłbym, żeby posłali Państwo na wysta­ wę pośmiertną. Miciński bardzo winien był wszystkiemu. Cóż tamten. Zwykła świnia bez pretensji. Moje winy najgorsze, bo Ona mnie naprawdę kocha­ ła. Moja Droga! Sądziłam, że od dawna już jesteś poinfor­ mowana o losie swojego syna. Według naszych obliczeń powinnaś była dostać jego list. w którym opisuje dzieje ostatnich swych miesięcy życia, kiedy to powziął nie­ odwołalną decyzję wstąpienia do rosyjskiej armii, aby bro­ nić Polski. Przybył on tutaj w końcu września i po licz­ nych trudnościach został przy-jęty do wojskowej szkoły oficerskiej, skąd wyjdzie za dwa miesiące w stopniu ofice­ ra, by wstąpić do armii - być może polskich legionów, które są właśnie w trakcie formowania. Żadne perswazje ni niczyj wpływ nie były w stanie zmienić jego postano­ wienia. Takim, jakim jest teraz, nie był ni-gdy dotąd. Spo­ kojny, można by rzec - wesoły, trzymający się prosto, z wy­ soko podniesioną głową, otrząsnął się zupełnie z tego roz­ paczliwego stanu apatii i inercji, w jakim zobaczyliśmy go po powrocie. Przygotowuje się znakomicie do egzaminów teoretycznych i świetnie znosi wojskowe rygory. Zdrowie jego jest doskonałe. W mundurze wygląda bardzo dobrze; ani wielkie buciska. ani gruby płaszcz, ani szabla bynaj­ mniej go nie krępują. Wierz mi. że przeżyłam doprawdy . ciężkie chwile, zanim pogodziłam się z tym. że zobaczę go wojskowym - taka była jednak najwidoczniej wola Boga. Pomoc Jego przychodzi niejednokrotnie z najbardziej nie­ przewidzianej strony, nie będąc przez to mniej skuteczną. Być może u końca swojej wojskowej kariery syn Twój odzyska równowagę duszy i powróci do Ciebie zupełnie już przystosowany do normalnego życia. O d października wysialiśmy do Lovrany 650 rubli, czy jest możliwe, by brat mój nic jeszcze nie był otrzymał? Mąż zaczął reklamować w ambasadzie hiszpańskiej - spróbujemy innej drogi dla przesyłania pieniędzy. Sądziliśmy, że Mary i Niusia są we Florencji, tymczasem, zdaje się, nie opuściły one Zakopa­ nego? O Żeńci i o naszych dzieciach nie wiemy zupełnie nic od przeszło dwóch miesięcy. Reszta rodziny miewa się dobrze. Całujemy Was wszystkie. Aniela 305 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/a0d3ab69c2c6dec825e6f0e0d0b18d6b.pdf 150419c144d37033954f8e7762880222 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2838 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2000 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2645 Title A name given to the resource Staś Witkiewicz in the Diaries of Bronisław Malinowski=Staś Witkiewicz w Dziennikach Bronisława Malinowskiego / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4, s.306-331 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Kubica, Grażyna Language A language of the resource pol., ang. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI (SELECTED A N D PREPARED GRAŻYNA KUBICA) BY Staś Witkiewicz in the Diaries of Bronisław Malinowski - - - an interpreter of behavior and emotional reactions; an astronomy teacher; an empathizer; a demystifiet of erotic infatuations; a coworker in photographing and developing prints; a person unaware of evoking an obligation to come to his aid; a reveler; an alter ego who is often right, though M . refuses to admit it; a ttavelling companion (also in the metaphorical sense); a student of ethnography who needs to be trained and engaged; a fellow tourist experiencing the same stimuli; the object of envy ovet his artistic talents (even in music); a troublesome companion (lamenting and not doinj the right thing); a patty to a dramatic sepatation; a representative of a world from which M . had already taken leave, but not without some feelings of guilt; the cause of longing for his company; the subject of laments over the loss of a real friend seen as a factor augmenting personal value; a disfunctional element in everyday routine; an impossible petsonality; - T - a possible reason for a spoiled date; a frequent cause for discomfort; - he earliest diaries, written by the young scholar while on the Canary Islands, primarily constituted a self-analysis and his friend appears not even once. Staś Witkiewicz is also rarely mentioned in the Leipzig diaries, but becomes a constant element of Bronisław Malinowski's life in Zakopane, and runs through his recollected memories while in New Guinea. In his friend's notes, Witkiewicz appears as a character whose roles are many. Here I present these aspects in order of appearance: - a confidant in mattets of erotic conquest; - a comrade in partying and joking; - a dreamtime spectre; - - - - a gossip-monger on the subject of mutual friends; the ideal of a nonconformist - an artist convinced of his own worth, snubbing the rest of the world - and sometimes subject to criticism for this; a sketch and portrait artist; a sparring partnet (in wrestling); an adversary in fights and quarrels; an artistic demobilizer; an interlocutor in "essential" conversations (on metaphysics, philosophy, art, women, or the "real" values one possesses, drama theory, the influence of knowledge on cteativity, on sociology and its attitude towards practical opinions); a pacifier of emotional needs; a catalyzer of fears whether this very friendship would be either, due to the separate directions of their development, enriching or trivializing; the object of admiration; the subject of affection; a measure of M.'s perceived creative infertility; a genius; a personality precluding complete openness; the exponent of a postulate of striving for selfimprovement and individual progress; the authot of novels which tecall things past; 306 - an advocate of the concept that one should take advantage of any potential source of inspiration; - the friend betrayed. This inventory illustrates the intensity of their friendship, its depth and psychological meaning for both of these developing personalities. It also explains the reason why the friendship could not ptevail once both their individual characters had been shaped. Bronio and Staś could be friends; Malinowski and Witkacy could not. Following this introduction are those fragments of Malinowski's diaries in which he refers to his friend, Staś Witkiewicz, mentions him, or quotes his ideas. 13.12. [1909]* The entire Kraków affair was a physiological excrescence on my life. Motives of self-infatuation were what dir[ectly] pushed me to achieve - better yet, singular motives of "achieving"; thus my heated excitement just before reaching the finish line. * T h e fragments of diaries written in Leipzig after the graduation ceremony of his doctoral degree, in Kraków at the end of 1909. Regards a certain brief love affair �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO W najwcześniejszych zapiskach, będących głów­ nie autoanalizą, a sporządzonych przez młode­ go uczonego na Wyspach Kanaryjskich, poitać przyjaciela nie pojawia się ani razu. Rzadko bywa wzmiankowana w dziennikach pisanych w Lipsku, nato­ miast Staś jest stałym elementem życia zakopiańskiego, a na Nowej Gwinei powraca we wspomnieniach. (WYBÓR I O P R A C O W A N I E GRAŻYNA KUBICA) Witkiewicz w notatkach przyjaciela jest postacią speł­ niająca, wiele ról, które niniejszym prezentuję w kolejno­ ści pojawiania się: powiernik erotycznych podbojów; kompan w zabawach i towarzysz kpin; mara senna; obgadywacz wspólnych znajomych; ideał nonkonformisty (ar­ tysty przekonanego o swojej wartości, lekceważącego re­ sztę świata), którego się czasami za to krytykuje; portreci­ sta malarski i rysunkowy; sparingpartner (w mocowaniu się); adwersarz w kłótniach i awanturach; obiekt demobilizujący attystycznie; interlokutor w rozmowach „istot­ nych" (o metafizyce, filozofii, sztuce, kobiecie, warto­ ściach „prawdziwych", które ma się w sobie, teorii drama­ tu, wpływie nauki na twórczość, myśleniu magicznym, so­ cjologii i jej stosunku do praktycznych zapatrywań); przedmiot zaspokojenia potrzeb uczuciowych; katalizator obaw, czy ta przyjaźń ze względu na rozbieżne kierunki ich rozwoju będzie wzbogacająca czy przeciwnie - banalizująca; przedmiot podziwu; obiekt czułości; miara własnej ar­ tystycznej jałowości; geniusz; osoba uniemożliwiająca pełne otworzenie się przed nią; eksponent postulatu pra­ cy nad sobą, walki i postępowania naprzód; autot powie­ ści, która jest przypomnieniem dawnych rzeczy; ewentu­ alny powód zepsucia randki; częsta przyczyna speszenia; intetptetator zachowania i reakcji uczuciowych; nauczy­ ciel astronomii; współodczuwacz; demistyfikator erotycz­ nych zauroczeń; współpracownik w fotogtafowaniu i wy­ woływaniu zdjęć; nieświadomy powód obligacji pomocy sobie; współbiesiadnik; alter ego, które ma rację, mimo iż M. się do tego nie chce przyznać; towatzysz podróży (tak­ że jako metafory życia); adept etnogtafii, którego trzeba przyuczyć i zaintetesować pracą; współodbiorca wrażeń turystycznych; przedmiot zawiści o artystyczne talenta (nawet w muzyce); kłopotliwy towarzysz (bo rozpacza i nie robi tego, co trzeba); strona dramatycznego rozsta­ nia; reprezentant świata, z któtego M . już wyszedł, ale ma z tego powodu wytzuty sumienia; powód tęsknoty za swo­ im towarzystwem; przedmiot żalu za stratą prawdziwego przyjaciela, który jest współczynnikiem pomnażającym wartość indywidualną; element dysfunkcjonalny w co­ dziennej rutynie; osobowość niemożliwa do zniesienia; zwolennik koncepcji, że należy wykorzystywać każde po­ tencjalne źródło natchnienia; zdradzony. Spis ten ilustruje intensywność tej ptzyjaźni, jej głębo­ kość i psychiczne znaczenie dla obu kształtujących się in­ dywidualności. Tłumaczy także niemożliwość trwania tej sytuacji w okresie, kiedy indywidualności te się już skry­ stalizowały. Bronio i Staś mogli się przyjaźnić, Witkacy i Malinowski już nie. Staś Witkiewicz w Dziennikach Bronisława Malinowskiego Poniżej ptezentuję te fragmenty dzienników Bronisła­ wa Malinowskiego, w których odwołuje się on do swego przyjaciela, wzmiankuje go lub przytacza jego myśli. 13X11 [1909]* Cała sprawa krakowska była fizjologiczną narością na mojem życiu. Bezpośrfednio] do osiągnięcia pchały mnie motywy miłości własnej - lepiej specyficzne motywy „osiągania"; stąd gorączkowe podniecenie przed samem dojściem do mety. Nieostrożność. Potem zupełne, patolo­ giczne zatracenie (attofia) odporności indywidualnej. Zgadzam się na przyjazd do Lipska etc. (Swoją drogą po­ stawiłem to tak, że au fond byłem zupełnie zabezpieczony i wówczas wyrzucałem sobie małostkowe Krumergefuhll). Fakty: Spotkanie u Botk[owskich]. U Sauera idę oświad­ cza mi się; moja attitude: złośliwa chęć nabierania mnie, aby wydać na łup mężowi. Nie umiem pojąć naiwności. Wawel. Oświadczenia form[alne] i przyrzeczenia u Bizanca. Opowiem to sobie ze St[asiem] Witkiewiczem]. D u ­ ma nie pozwala mi uzależniać się od takich powodzeń. - U Staszewskich (ciągle nie ufam) Wieczór (?) Na drugi dzień u Heli po południu w hotelu wieczór burzliwy (z Tymbeuszem). Na drugi dzień z Helą ich szukam znaj­ duję u Sauera ze Stasiem - pokłócenie (Botkowski: każ­ dy po jednym sztosie). Po obiedzie u mnie i u Kwietniew­ skiego. Choroba i 2 sztosy u nich. Promocja, biby, znuże­ nie; ostatni po promocji na drugi dzień. Psychicznie czu­ ję [że] nie jest niczem dla mnie, a że jej pożądam; ptzykro mi to.(...) 21 I I Wczoraj. W łóżku podniecony ogólnie opanowuję się i zasypiam porządnie. Śnię o przystawianiu się do p. Bali' szeckiej, Tadzio Smol. i St[aś] Witkfiewicz] - koncert ka­ meralny Beeth[ovena]. Słuchamy analitycznie]: brak 307 * Pisane w Lipsku po uroczystej promocji doktorskiej, która miała miejsce w Krakowie pod koniec 1909 roku. Dotyczy pew­ nego krótkotrwałego romansu �KJrażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI Heedlessness. Then complete, pathological loss (atrophy) of individual immunity. I agree to go to Leipzig, etc. (Anyway, I left it in such a way that I was au fond completely shielded, and then blamed myself fot petty KrurnergefuhV. Facts: A gathering at the Bork[owskis). A t Sauer's, I go, she entices me; my attitude: a vicious urge to deceive me so that she can deliver me as quarry for her husband. Can't comprehend naivety. Wawel. Form[al] declarations and pledges at Bizanc. - We'll chat about this with St[asiem] Witkiewiczem]. Pride doesn't let me become dependent upon such successes. - A t the Staszewskis (still distrustful). Evening (?) The next day at Hela's in the afternoon in the hotel, stormy evening (with Tymbeusz). The next day, with Hela, go looking for them, find them at Sauer's with Staś - quarreling (Borkowski: each takes a hit). After lunch at my place and at Kwieniewski's. Nausea and 2 hits at their place. Promotion, booze, exhaustion; the last hit after my graduation on the second day. Psychologically I feel that she's nothing to me but I want her; feeling bad about that. (...) 21.2. [1910] Yesterday. In bed, generally aroused, get myself undet control and fall asleep soundly. Dream about hitting on Mrs. Baliszecka, Tad Smol. and St[a ] Witk[iewicz] - chamber concert of Beeth[oven]. Listening analytically: lack of differentiation of intervals] and harmony. We're playing more directly but not [??] the culmin[ating] octet, a marvelous thing! Later weaker. Get myself under control: a real int[ernal] success (a propos, Nalep[iński]'s saying {through a conversation with M[om] about if I had lost my urge to work}). (...) 15.03. [1910] (...) But I don't yet have a brutal enough resistance and splendid nonchalance so as to ignore the moods of others (s[uch] a[s], for instance, Staś). If I'm boring and bore others, out of some stupid desire to bow before them, I can still break through ['enceinte sacre of individuality (sense of self) and fall in with the herd [herd instinct]. Olcza 25.9.11* I'm here to gain strength and get focused (...). Staś comes. Nonessential conversations. We go together. Beautiful mountains, made picturesque by the fog creeping up onto the peaks. I take the high road; highlander children, amused by the fact that I don't have a hat, discomfit me. Go down to the circle; go to dinner. Tadzio; we talk about Staś (childishness and cynicism). The need to write a diary. Walk with him along the road. Wednesday 27.9.11 (...) Eat lunch; feeling stimulated by arsenic; learning Arabic; Staś, Tadzio, and Mrs. Biedrzycka come over. Go roundabout with them, through the mill. (...) Eavesdrop on Tadzio and Staś' funny conversation. Then dinner; conversation about Chwistek; his hatred towards me, and Wasserberg's. This disconcerts me a bit. In the evening I ruminate about that, feel a sadness and need to turn to objective things. A t times a desire to just spit on that Kraków garbage dump... but no. Thursday 28.9.11 (...) Staś comes; I go to Mrs. Solska's. Feel ill at ease: font, a rather refined and handsome brunette. (...) Go up Antal[ówka]; Staś and others are there, brief. Returning, meet Tadzio and go to the circle. Conversation about Staś ; about the value of ethical principles. Saturday 30th. (...) Tadzio at home; tells me that Staś was at S[olska]'s. O n Sunday, 1.10. Rain pouring since morning. (...) Later above the waterway to Zakop[ane], lunch at Mrs. Witk[iewicz's]. Staś makes faces. Feel uncomfortable there. (...) Go with M [ o ] m to Mrs. Witk[iewicz's]; making excuses for Staś. Later go to the Pharm[acy] and come back for dinner. Bola talks a lot. Escort her to the railway station with Staś. Coming back we talk about his father and Mrs. Demb[owska's] attitude toward art. In the evening we talk some more about Tadzio and make fun of him a bit. Sleep poorly. O n Mond[ay]. Tired. Rise slowly. Read Simmel. Then Staś. Breakfast. He starts to draw me. Tadzio. "Pikiert" is my "pimp." (...) Tuesday 3rd. (...) Briefly Arabic, Tadzio, cold, Staś . Go to Kuźnice and try to concentrate. Go home. Sleep at 10. * Brief journal written in Zakopane over the course of two weeks in September of 1911 Wednesday 4th. (...) Breakfast at home; Staś comes. After washing 308 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W Di rozróżniania interw[ałów] i harmonii. Gramy bardziej bezpośrednio, ale nie [?.'] oktetu kulmin., bajeczna rzecz! Dalej słabiej. Opanowuję się: wewn[ętrzne] powodzenie rzeczywiste (apropos powiedzenia] Nelep[ińskiego] {po­ przez rozmowę z M[amą] o tem, czy straciłem szwung do pracy})- (•••) 15 I I I (...) Ale nie mam jeszcze dość brutalnej odporności i wielkopańskiej nonszalancji, ażeby ignorować nastrój innych (t[ak] j[ak] np. Staś). Jeżeli się nudzę i innych nu­ dzę, potrafię przez głupią chęć nagięcia się przełamać l'enceite sacri indywidualności (poczucie siebie) i wpaść w stado. Olcza 25 IX 11* Jestem tu, aby się wzmocnić i skupić. (...) Przychodzi Staś. Rozmowy nieistotne. Idziemy razem. Śliczne góry, uplastycznione mglą, która zachodzi na szczyty. Idę gótą; peszą mnie góralskie dzieci, które radują się, że nie mam kapelusza. Schodzę do kółka; idę na kolację. Tadzio; mówimy o Stasiu (dziecinność i cynizm). Potrzeba pisania dziennika. Idę z nim po szosie. Środa 27 IX 11 (...) Jem obiad; czuję się podniecony arszenikiem; ro­ bię arabski; przychodzi Staś, Tadzio i pani Biedrzycka. Idę z nimi naokoło, przez młyn.(...) Podsłuchuję Tadzia i Sta­ sia zabawną rozmowę. Potem kolacja; rozmowa o Chwist­ ku; jego do mnie nienawiść i Wasserberga. To mnie tro­ chę peszy. Wieczór to przeżuwam, czuję smutek i potrze­ bę zwrócenia się do rzeczy objektywnych. Chwilami chęć plunięcia na ten krakowski śmietnik... ale nie. Czwartek 28 IX 11 (...) Przychodzi Staś; ja idę do p. Solskiej. Czuję się skrępowany: font, brunet dość wytworny i przystojny. (...) Idę na Antał(ówkę); tam Staś i inni, krótko. Wracając spotykam Tadzia i idę do kółka. Rozmowa o Stasiu; o war­ tości zasad etycznych. Sobota 30=tego (...) W domu Tadzio; mówi mi że Staś był u S = ej. W Niedzielę 1.Х. deszcz leje od rana.(...) Potem po­ nad wodociągiem do Zakopfanego] u pani Witk[iewiczowej] obiad. Staś robi miny. Czuję się tam speszony. (...) Idę z M = m ą do pani Witk[iewiczowej]; wyjaśnienia za Stasiem. Potem do Apt[eki] i wracam na kolację. Bola dużo gada. Odprowadzamy ją na kolej ze Stasiem. Wraca­ jąc mówimy o jego ojcu i stos[unku] p. Demb[owskiej] do •INIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO twórczości. Wieczór jeszcze gadamy o Tadziu i ośmiesza­ my go trochę. Śpię źle. W Poniedziałek]. Zmęczony. Wstaję powoli. Czytam Simla. Potem Staś. Śniadanie. Zaczyna mnie rysować. Ta­ dzio. „Pikiert" moim „rajfurem". (...) Wtorek 3=go. (...) Krótki arabski, Tadzio, zimno, Staś. Idę do Kuźnic i staram się skupić. Do domu. Spać 0 10=tej. Środa 4=tego. (...) W domu śniadanie; przychodzi Staś. Po umyciu się et cet. idę na rydze. Dzień pogodny, a słońce tak dopieka, że oczywiście głowa mnie zaczyna lekko boleć. Kąpiel słoneczna. Długa ewakuacja, wracam do domu. Tam obiad ze Stasiem, potem malowanie i lek­ cja arabskiego równocześnie. Mocuję się ze Stasiem; przy­ chodzi Saski. Potem herbata i idę ku Murzasihlu.(...) Dziś Czwartek 5 = tego.(...) Obiad ze Stasiem. Piję herbatę, potem pozuję mu. (...) Dziś Piątek 6=ty. (...) Czytam powieść (!) Potem Staś, idę z rydzami do p. S. Haneczka [córka Solskiej] bawi się klockami, a my na nią patrzymy.(...) Ze Stasiem przed wyjściem kłótnia a propos jego uwagi o „kanalii". Myślę nad tem i nad ułożeniem tych spraw. Przed obiadem spo­ tykam go, rzucamy kamienie, przychodzi Tadzio. Rysowa­ nie (...) Niedziela 8=ego. (...)Przez Bachledzki Wierch do Apteki. Tam obiad, potem Staś i pani Witk[iewiczowa], Mama i damy osobno, a my w aptece. Potem na kolej. Z Anielcią na Olczę. Rozmowa istotna; wyjaśnienie interpretacyi - TS. [Tadeusza Szymberskiego?] naszego stosun­ ku. Postawienie nowego programu: żadnych wyjaśniań 1 sztucznych sytuacyi; tylko rzeczy istotne. Konstatujemy brak wypuszania się nad innych i przyznawania uznanych wyższości - stąd wzajemny szacunek. Potem do Tadzia cudna noc księżycowa. Ja tite a tete z ZB. wściekły (rysun­ ki Goi). Gromadzi to we mnie pewną energię. Rozchodzę się ze Stasiem i idąc myślę o mojej przyszłości i jej nie­ płodności. Nie można było nic zrobić. Teraz chodzi o uło­ żenie [?] rzeczy przyszłych na podstawie tego, co było. (...) 11 V I I I 12* Wczoraj był Staś. Byłem zmęczony i głowa słabo funkcjonfowała]. Przyszedł o 6 = tej, około 7=mej poszliśmy brzeżkiem nad kółkiem aż do szczytu. Potem na Gawla­ ków z powrotem. Z początku mowa o dram[acie] Nal[epińskiego] i o jego możliwościach metafizycznych]. Potem o stos[unku] do kobiet - w kierunku czystej przy­ jaźni. ,,Kob[ieta] posiada intuicję chwili, ale nie posiada * Obszerny manuskrypt pisany w Zakopanem jesienią * Krótki dziennik pisany w Zakopanem przez dwa tygodnie tych zapisków jest Zenia Zielińska, malarka we wrześniu 1911 roku 309 1912 roku, którego transkrypcji jeszcze nie ukończyłam. Bohaterką �.х«^и.и - Ы AS WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI up etc., go to pick mushrooms. Nice day and the sun is so strong that naturally my head starts to ache a bit. Sunbathing. Prolonged evacuation, go home. Lunch there with Staś, then painting and an Arabic lesson simultaneously. Grapple with Staś; Saski comes. Then tea and I head towards Murzasichle. (...) Later about Litw[iniszyn] and his nontecognition of ar and recognition only of life itself. My metaph[ysical] theory delineates vitality. Does Staś see me from the ins[ide]? That's what is important to me. Fot the time being, this is an Existent/rage for me - that is, that I myself don't see myself from the ins[ide]! A n d that is the way it is. Exactly what I am looking for here is something that grants an int[ernal] order of values. I don't have this now. Have I lost this because of my affair with N? Did the playing out, concentrating on those experiences draw my en[ergy] from the summits of the spirit? Will I still be able to find the spring in myself now? Need to discern some tr[ue] values in things past - check out what among them was bluster and trumpery - and segregate that from the essential values. - Tonight I decided to tecall my dreams according] to Staś' rec[ipe] and indeed I dreamed an entite series: my last conversation with Znamierowski]. (...) Today Thursday 5th. (...) Lunch with Staś. Drink tea, then pose for him. (...) Today Friday 6th. (...) Read a novel(!) Then Staś, take mushrooms over to Mrs. S[olska's], little Hanna [Solska's daughter] plays with blocks and we observe her. (...) Just before leaving a quarrel with Staś over his comments about "riff-raff." Think this over and a way of settling these matters. Meet him before lunch, we toss stones, Tadzio comes. Sketching. (...) Sunday 8th. 13.8.12 (...) Ovet Bachleda Ridge to the Pharmacy. Lunch there, then Staś and Mrs. Witk [iewicz]. Mom and the women by themselves and we in the pharmacy. Then to the train. Go with Aniela to Olcza. Essential conversation; explanations of interpretations - and our attitude to T.S. [Tadeusz Szymberski?]. Establish a new program: no explanations and artificial situations; only the essential things. Ascertain a lack of getting ruffled up over others and of accepting recognized values thus mutual respect. Then to Tadzio's, beautiful moonlit night. I rite a tete with ZB., furious (Goya's drawings). This rallies a certain energy in me. Leave Staś and, while walking, think about my future and its infertility. Nothing could have been done. Now it's a matter of settling [?] future matters on the basis of what has been. Now I must get oriented in my proper direction (as Staś very rightly observed, this direction has to effloresce out of me after all) and concentrate strength in this d i r e c t i o n ] . Moreover, I have to see my goal and that wellhead at the goal from which the fortifying water of life vigot flows. Inasmuch as I'm moved by some mechanical drive - with some impression that now is the best it can be - then, with my psychological] constitution, I won't get far. (...) Brief gathering these few days in Olcza: (...) I n Zakop[ane] the abs[ence] of Hel[ena] and Staś at the station disturbs me. Go to Ślimak, Tadzio is there, then to the Phar[macy]. Letter from N - Later the three of us go to Olcza. (...) O n Mond[ay] morning Soimenbad, then a little work (don't remember very well already), then via Solska and Antal[ówka] to Zakopane at Staś', the Pharmacy and return home by wagon with Tadzio. (...) O n Thutsday I go to Zakop[ane], nothing inter(esting) there, but Zakop[ane] itself (aha! on Mond[ay] I also met with the Zagórskis, and on Thursday Kamiński was at the Witkiewicz's]) has a horrible effect on me. O n Tuesday I had the feeling that uncoordinated] soc[ial] expansion of enetgy (just as, e.g., it always was with Boren[ius] in Lond[on] cave .) simply uses up my finest strengths and warps the mind. (...) (...) 11.8.12* Staś was here yesterday. I was tired and my head was barely function[ing]. He came at 6, about 7 we went along the edge over the circle all the way to the summit. Then up Gawlaków on the way back. A t the beginning talk about Nal[epiński's] drama and its metaph[ysical] possibilities. Then about attitudes] towards women - in the direction of pure friendship. A wom[an] possesses momentary intuition but isn't capable of the transitory integration of a p[erson]. 1 14.8. (...) Pers[onal] relationship] with Staś compl[etely] fulfills] my emotional needs - and even so, I am full of content. A woman is completely unnecessary for me now, especially [?]. A n d yet I spont[aneouslv] rejoice at * Extensive manuscript written in Zakopane in the autumn of 1912, whose transcription I have not yet completed. T h e heroine of these notes is Żenią Zielińska, a painter 310 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO źródło u celu, z którego płynie krzepiąca woda sił życia. 0 ile będę szedł jakimś mechanicznym popędem - jakimś uznaniem, że teraz jest najlepiej - to przy mojej konstytucyi psychicznej] nie zajdę daleko. (...) Krótkie zebranie tych paru dni na Olczy: (...)W Zakop[anem] peszy mnie nieob[ecność] Hel[eny] 1 Stasia na stacyi. Idę do Ślimaka, tam Tadzio, potem do Apt[eki]. List od N . - potem jedziemy we trzech na Olczę. (...) W Poniedziałek] rano Sonnenbad potem trochę pra­ cy (nie pamiętam dobrze już), potem via Solska, A n ­ tałówka] do Zakop[anego], u Stasia, Apteka i powrót do domu z Tadziem furką. (,..)We Czwartek idę do Zakop [anego], tam nic cie­ kaw [ego], ale samo Zakop, (aha w Poniedz. jeszcze spo­ tkałem się z Zagórskiemi, a we Czwartek był Kamiński u Witkiewiczów]), działa na mnie fatalnie. We Wtorek miałem wrażenie, że poprostu nieskoordynowane] to­ warzyskie] wydawanie energii (tak jak np. stale z Boren[iusem] w Lond. cave!) wyczerpuje moje najlepsze si­ ły i paczy mózg.(...) 14 V I I I (...) Stos[unek] osob[isty] ze Stasiem zapeln[ia] zu­ pełnie] uczuciowe potrzeby - a i tak pełen jestem treści. Kobieta jest mi teraz zupełnie zbędna, zwłaszcza zaś [?]. A jedna[k] spontanicznie] raduję się na myśl, że ona tu będzie, że ją jutro zobaczę. (...)U Stasia [?] gór. i Tadzio. (...) Bronisław Malinowski w pokoju Stanisława I. Witkiewicza, Zakopane, ok. 1912. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza Malinowski in Stanisław I. Witkiewicz's room, Zakopane, ca. 1912. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okolowicz Bronisław zdolności zcałkowania czasowego czł[owieka]. Potem o Litw[iniszynie] i jego nieuznawaniu sztuki i uznawaniu tylko czystego życia. Moja teorya metafizyczna] wyzna­ cza życiowość. Czy Staś widzi mnie od wewn[ątrz] ? Mnie o to chodzi. Chwilowo jest to dla mnie Existen?/rage - to zn[aczy], że ja sam się od wewn[ątrz] nie widzę! i tak jest. Właśnie szukam tu tego czegoś, co nadaje wewn[ętrzny] porządek wartości. Tego teraz nie mam. Czy utraciłem to poprzez aferę z N.? Czy przeżywanie się, koncentrowanie się na tamtych przeżyciach odciągało moją en[ergię] od wyżyn ducha? Czy potrafię jeszcze teraz znaleźć w sobie sprężynę? Trzeba będzie w rzeczach przeszłych doszuki­ wać się wartości prawdz[iwych] - przejrzyć to, co było w nich blagą i blichtrem - i odgrodzić od wartości istot­ nych. - Dziś w nocy postanowiłem przypomnieć sobie sny wedł[ug] rec[epty] Stasia i rzeczywiście śniłem cały sze­ reg: ostatnia rozmowa ze Znamierowskim]. (...) 13 V I I I 12 Teraz muszę koniecznie zorjentować się w moim wła­ ściwym kierunku (jak Staś b. słusznie zauważył, kierunek ten musi ze mnie wykwitać zresztą) i w tym kier[unku] skoncentrować siły. Co więcej, muszę widzieć swój cel i to 15 V I I I Matka Boska Zielna (...) Spotykam Z. b[ardzo] jestem ekspansywny mówię dużo o Stasiu; opowiadam] anekdotkę o drama­ cie u Nalep[ińskiego]. Ona skręca na swój dram[at]. Ja­ kież przykre uczucie. Karola Zag[órska], idziemy do ko­ ścioła], jestem także dość ekspans[ywny] - pewien sno­ bizm chodzenia bez czapki. Oglądamy górali. Obiad w Apt[ece], gdzie staram się [?] tę hołotę głównie [?] mo­ ją rodziną i cyframi etc. Potem u Stasia, Mic[iński] i Borain - Zenia.(...) U Stasia główny temat - drzemka Mic[ińskiego] tro­ chę o Bergsonie i Simmlu. (...) 16 V I I I 12 Moja reakcja silnej woli w stos[unku] do St[asia]. Jak duży wpływ neg[atywnej] formy współzawodnictwa] przeciwstawienia sile wspól[nej] czegoś, co jest siłą dosto­ sowaną do mojej indywid[ualności] ? W zetknięciu z ludź­ mi o bezwar[unkowo] niższej i n t e l i g e n c j i ] , wobec których [??] i z łatwością wytwarza się coś całkiem inne­ go. Ale de facto tylko wobec wyb[ranych] jednostek moż­ liwe jest skuteczne integr[owanie] i zakreślenie swojej in­ dywidualności. Naprawdę może trochę zanadto następo­ wała reakcja zbanal[izowania] - zamiast rozwoju natural­ nego w kier[unkach] rozbieżnych.(...) 311 �^ o r BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI Щ sc Si blu. ope the cel; she tl si tt Мг yet far. c u e win be here, that I will see her tomorrow. (...) A t Staś' [?], mountains. A n d Tadzio. (...) 15.8. Feast of the Assumption (...) Meet with Z. I am v[ery] demonstrative - speak a lot about Staś; tell an anecdote about the drama at Nalep[iński's], She turns towards het dram[a]. What a dismal feeling. Karola Zag[órska], we go to chu[rch], I am also rather demonstrative] - a certain snobbishness i n going without a cap. We observe the highlanders. Lunch at the Pharm[acy] where I try [?] to mainly [?] that rabble with my family and numbers, etc. Then at Staś, Mic[iński's] and Borain - Zenia. (...) A t Staś' the main subject of Mic[iński's] nap, a bit about Bergson and Simmel. (...) sp J9 su st; 16.8.12 d; 1Г le d о d E s г V \ \ My strong-willed reaction towatds Staś. What a great neg[ative] influence are forms of comp[etition] - opposing shar[ed] sttength. Something that is a strength adapted to my individuality]? In contacts with people of an unconditionally] lowet intel[ligence] towards whom [??] and with whom it is easy to create something quite different. But, in fact, it's only with regards to selected] individuals that effective integt[ation] and delineation of one's own individuality is possible. Really, perhaps an excessive reaction of banal [ization] took place - instead of natural development in varied directions], (...) [??] Din[ner]. [?] Staś. O n the ver[anda]. - I return [??] A t home I read Bazylisa - interesting but [??] dram[atic] force. I don't like things so broken up[? Think about Z. [?] burning, intolerable physical] pa like a toothache - can barely repose. Doze off. 20.8. (...) Go to Zakop[ane] [??] via Staś ([?]) to the Phar[macy]. Then via Staś, see Zenia with St[aś] Zieliński], he came to [?], later with P[?], via Staś to the Phar[macy] (Langier), then Poller, Langier, Staś. Then Zenia. Terrible strength; I maintain. After din[ner] I want to teturn, am awfully happy. Din[ner] at the Witkiewicz's]. Go to Z[enia]; someone is playi on the pia[no]. A Swede. Then upstairs there's a slightly stiff teaction against metaphysics. Home with Staś. I tell him about friendship!?]; then he|* explains some childishness. Later we talk about misundetstanding. [??] I tell him about my regression; the reason lying partly in his state at the time, in [?] thel life experience he was undergoing. Later on the road, heL reformulated his letter to Warsaw. Comp[osure] on the surface - resignation - untouched content [?], the content of deepet things. Fitting - I justify myself in my work technique and i n the layout of my life and venting in mari[tal] rel[ations] in Lond[on]. But now I must unconditionally] get back to myself [??]. (...) Staś and the creative possibility come to mind again. Beside him I feel too clearly the lack of strength and contrast, my artistic] barrenness. Zenia - for a moment I was compfletely] alone. Can one, in such a state of mind - and such a state - the possibility of such states is a nec[essary] requisite for productive] work - The problem of strength. The crux of the accusation which Staś made against me yesterday a perfectly just accusation, is that I have given up battling with myself, getting tired, going forward. By far, I can only work when focused, and here again I have to pay for that with unrelenting battle [?]. Now a perilous future stands before me and the woman whom I love madly is to be with me. What matters is not to bend with each stronger gust of passion but to create something grand and beautiful. So that it would not thrust us both into a quagmire, but so that it would create i n us a strong foundation fot furthet growth, for endurance in times of battle and temptation; so that it would transform the prostitute's instinct into the purity of the immaculate virgin. 18.8. (...) Dinner at Staś' who is magical and glittery in style. (Kornilowicz [?] yestetday i n Bystre.) Return with St[a ] . Talk about Nal[epinski's] dram[a]. Count T. Latet via Solska, we say nothing, I am full of sadness, even fondness for Staś, but he discomfits me a bit. A t home I want to read Wundt, but my eyes are tired. This morning at 7:15 and I compose poems in my head for Z[enia] - failures, of course. Last night I was thinking about the possibility of writing a play [?] - but I just don't see it. Feeling undet the influence of some vexing feeling of inferiority compared to Staś. His style - on the one hand [??], I can't resist his influence that's the minor reason, but I have a sense of my own [?] inferiority which is annoying. So I maintain an ostrich pose a bit - hide my head - am not capable of opening up to him. 19.8. (...) Later Staś at Zag[6tska's], at firfst] I'm in a shell, then we go towatds Huty - I come out of my shell a bit feeling like a guide. Then the moon, wonderful evening, we go through Bachl[eda] Ridge tell a st[ory] from Hannover. Feel that I am coming out [of my shell] and suddenly the beauty, the poetry of the evening evokes a ctazy heartache and longing for Z. - Today I am well exercised - free of hysteria. I should persist in such a regimen and with constant wotk I will achieve that which I desire. i i s Okolowicza . , 900. Ze zbioru m i K z a k nd S. Okobwic ., W c y Witkiewicz^ środku), Tatry, 1900. The collection oj с r Stanisław Ignacy w Tatra Mountains, ca Stanisław LWitHewiadn the m,ddl E^f o U ch życ, wieczór cudowny, idziemy przez Bahl[edowy] Wier - opowiadam hist[orię] z Hanovru. Czuję, że się rozkrochm[alam] i nagle piękno, poezja wieczoru wyciąga ze с który jest bajeczny w stylu i W y mnie szalony żal i tęsknotę za Z. - [??] Kol[acja] [?] Staś r[andzie]. - Wracam [??] W domu czytam Bazyli, szczacy (Komilowicz VA w « ° ^ , ^ o Y HrarzeNa wen f??]. silą lubię my o dramie^"-, - , , rsc w w ^ dram[aryczną]. m i a ^ " " » - Nie . StlasiemL Mówimy nieznoSolska, milczymy, ja jestem pełen _ . , ale - I ВД , prabiaT.Potem v i a^" dla Stasia, ale mnie trochę | ^ , l oLi ^ _ ^ hwilami nawet czułości LŁI ft,U;r7.nVl pOQODIl> " ból fizlyczny] PO' ku c' W domu chcę czytać Wundta, ale oczy zmęczone. peszy. sny Zasypiam. Dziś rano o 7 V i układam w myśli wiersze dla Z[eni] wie wyleżyć - oczywiście nieudane. Wczoraj wieczór namyślałem się Staś ЦП) d° 20 V I I I nad możliwością napisania dramatu[?] - ale jej nie widzę. via (...) Idę do Zakop[anego] [??] Czuję się pod wpływem gryzącego jakiegoś poczucia niż­ Apt[eki]. Potem via Staś, Żenię wid szości od St[asia]. Jego styl - z jednej strony [??] nie mo­ lińskim], przyjechał do [?], potem z P[?] via gę się oprzeć jego wpływowi - to mniejsza, ale mam po­ Apt[eki] (Langer) potem Poller, Langer, Staś. Potem Zeczucie własnej [?] niższości, co jest przykre. Wobec tego . Potworna siła; ttzymam się. Po kol[acji] chcę wrócić do trochę zachowuje metodę strusia - chowam głowę - nie nia Hesze. Kolfacja] u Witkiewiczów]. Idę ^ s i l e n i e ] się cieszę, K U U - I górze rwam na eó jestem w stanie otworzyć się przed nim. 1 8 V W 1 g m u t (...) One of the characteristic] moments of my life 312 a r a L n t e r e s u ] ą c e [ Ц M p i e k ą c y s m Q g ę 4 n p . e s t troch, 19 V I I I ( ) rw«» Potem Staś Stas u Zag[ótskiej] jestem H uzt ypocz[ątku] - trochę sięroz. Potem księkorupie, potem idziemy na oprowadzającego. w s ktochmlalaml w uczuciu m 21.8. fl 313 r e ^ P P* n a „psma �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES OK BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI here is the subject of human metaphysics taken up by Staś. "Art as the metaphysical reflection of the essence of the world." cloudy surface of dir[ect] contact. The leather hat does not become her - that also discomfits me. A m afraid that Staś will come. (...) 22.8. (...) To always have before me what I am to do and only be engr[ossed] in that, is not here - that doesn't trouble me too much. - hop[ing] to see Staś soon, photographing Pils[udski], Karol Z., the Pharmacy. Wednesday 28.8. (...) A t half 7 I go out. Pharmacy, letter from Isobel Fry. Then Staś, disturbs me with his not very polite behavior. (...) 29.8. (...) A t Staś', explain to him and yesterday's discomfort passes. (...) Evening. St. Witk. hasn't come by to see me. (...) 24.8. (...) A t times I push myself and sink into darkness. Oscillate between strength - concentration on schol[arly] creativity. A t [?], I as a kind of center knowledge, depth. Near [?] some murky memories pull me that way - a longing for things begun in sketches or outlines and extracted with Staś' tale. (...) 25.8. Yesterday I was clearly feeling tired. After a nap at 5, Simmel, eyes weak[ened], poor light; read outside, at 7 Staś in a nonessential mood. The scandal about winning Zer[omski's] lover away. About Mic[iński], "let your hair down." The whole time I am tir[ed] and do not have the strength to concentrate. Dinner. Staś pretends to be an incoming fellow. A l l in all we play at various mischief. We m[eet] Kom[ilowicz] who speaks about Eug[enia] Ziel[ińska's] flirting!?]. Staś mimics Korn[iłowicz's] profile. I have some deep portion for her - the grey existence of a music teach [er], she seemed dauntless, loving the soul's beauty and here death has come to bestow the halo of granite heroism. A n d something is pulling me like crazy towards the mountains. Later I tell Staś about Tadzio's dram[a]. I t is significantly more difficult for me to express what I told Tad[zio] almost inspirationally. But I force myself and put everything into words tout curement. Staś assumes that a person functioning] regfardless] of the situation must be alive, must have their own drama. A n d I operate under the same situations, but I also want to see the drama in them captured in situations. Today, however, I have the feel[ing] that where nothing is happening, there can be no drama. - Coming back from Staś, sentimentalism, stand under her windows, sit on a bench - suddenly I get up and go on to the stream via Bystre. (...) Saturday 31 August (...) Extr[emely] upset and irritated, get dressed. Piłsudski, Staś, Solska, quips with Nalepiński. (...) Today, on Wednesday (4.) (...) Pick up a letter from Staś and Zagórska. (...) Now (after 2) I wait impatiently. Hold a bit of a grudge that she didn't come, a bit afraid that she might suddenly leave one day. Take off to go to visit her and other people (Solska, Staś, the Zagórskas, Pharmacy). (...) Got to S[ol]ska's with a prescription via the Zuł[awskis], the Zag[órskas], Phar[macy], Staś. Find out there about the move from Slimakówka. Tell Staś sub rosa about what is happening. For the whole time I press on with energy focused on physical effort. W i t h Staś (talk about Mirta Noel's [?]) via Solska (dinner with Solski) to . (...) Sleep today (Friday) until 10, significantly stronger, calm. A t 11:30 sit down to work (finish this diary). Nalepiński with Solska and talk about me on Antałówka. Have a grudge against Staś and so want to tell him that in principle today and won't spend the evening with him. - (...) Tuesday 27.8. (...) Coming up the road - instinct tells me that it is her - want to dash and call out, don't dare. A m as if crushed; she returns. Joy. Lose my head at first. Excitement. Talk nonsense - so as to wash away the 314 (Saturday) (...) Later [?] Zakopane, Pharmacy, Staś - quarrel; I'm disturbed. Go quickly to Z. Sees my distress, asks me what's wrong. Tell her what I did, then the whole story with Nalep[iński], Staś and Zielewicz. Zenia takes Staś' side, orders me to expiate, etc. - (...) (Sunday 8.) Yesterday (on Saturday) morning Staś woke me at 10, gives me one more detail (about his conversation with Nalep [iński]). Later he wrongly accuses me of "formalism" - analyzes me, my emotional reaction and the reason for its intensity. A n understanding is reached but with a negative] uncertainty on Staś' part. (...) �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO I lanej dziewicy. Dziś jestem silny, wygimnastykowany - wolny od h i steryi. Powinienem trwać w takim regime, a ciągłością pracy zdobędę to, czego pragnę. 21 V I I I (...) Jednym z charakterystycznych] momentów mo­ jego życia tu jest temat metafizyki życiowej, poruszony przez Stasia. „Sztuka jako odbicie metafizycznej istoty świata". 22 V I I I (...) Mieć jasno przed [1] zawsze, co mam zrobić i tyl­ ko tem być zaabsotbfowanym] Z. nie ma - niebardzo mnie to peszy. - nadź[ieja] zobacz[enia] wkrótce Staśfia], fotografowanie] Piłs[udski] Karola Z., Apteka. Wieczorem. Czy St. Witk. do mnie nie zaszedł. (...) 24 V I I I (...) Chwilami gnę się i zapadam w ciemność. Oscylu­ ję miedzy siłą - skupieniem się na twórczości nauk [owej]. U[?] ja jako pewien środek - wiedza, głębia. Koło [1] cią­ gną mnie tamtędy jakieś mroczne wspomnienia - tęskno­ ta za rzeczami poczętemi w szkicu czy zarysie i wydobytemi powieścią Stasia (...) Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz nad potokiem w Tatrach, ok. 1900. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz, Tatra Mountains. Ca 1900. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okobwicz [11] ja mu mówię o mojem cofaniu się; przyczyna częścio­ wo w jego stanach wówczas, w [1] życiowych, którym on podlegał. Potem na szosie on reformułuje swój list do Warszawy. Uspok[ojenie] na powierzchni - rezygnacja nieporuszanie treści [1] treścią rzeczy głębszych. Słuszne - tłom[aczę] się w technice pracy i w układzie życia i wy­ ładowaniu w pozbyciu] małż[eńskim] w Lond[ynie]. Ale teraz muszę bezwzgl[ędnie] powrócić do siebie [??]. (...) Staje mi w myśli znów Staś i możliwość twórcza. Przy nim zbyt wyraźnie czuję brak sił i kontrast mojej art. jałowości. Zenia - przez chwilę byłem zup[ełnie] sam. Czy w takim stanie duszy - a taki stan - możliwość takich sta­ nów jest niezb[ędnym] warunkiem do pracy produkt[ywnej] = Problem siły. Istotą zarzutu, który mi robił Staś wczoraj - zarzutu całkiem słusznego, jest to, że zrzekłem się walki ze sobą, męczenia się, iścia naprzód. Ja stanow­ czo pracować mogę tylko w skupieniu, a to znowuż muszę opłacać nieustanną walką [?] Teraz stoi przede mną gro­ źna przyszłość i kobieta, którą kocham szalenie, ma być przy mnie. Chodzi o to, aby nie giąć się pod każdym sil­ niejszym podmuchem namiętności, ale żeby stworzyć coś wielkiego i pięknego. Ażeby to nie wtrąciło nas oboje w bagno, ale ażeby stworzyło w nas silną podstawę pod dalszy rozwój, pod wytrwanie w chwilach walki i pokusy; ażeby zmieniło instynkty prostytutki w czystość niepoka- 25 V I I I Wczoraj wyraźnie czuję się zmęczony. Po drzemce, 0 5 — tej Simmla, oczy osł[abione], światło marne; czytam na boisku o 7=ej Staś w nastroju nieistotnym. Afera z odbijaniem koch[anki] Zer[omskiego]. O Mic[ińskim] „rozpuść włosy". Jestem przez cały czas zmęcz[ony] i nie mam sił się skupić. Kolacja. Staś udaje faceta wchodzące­ go. Wogóle bawimy się różnemi kawałami. Spotyk[amy] Korn[iłowicza], który o zalecaniu!?] się Eug[enii] Zieliń­ skiej]. Staś daje sylwfetkę] Korn[ilowicza]. Mam dla niej jakąś głęboką cześć - szara egzystencja naucz[ycielki] muzyki, wydała się odważna, kochająca piękno dusza 1 oto śmierć przyszła dać jej aureolę granitowego bohater­ stwa. I mnie coś szalenie ciągnie do gór. Potem mówię Stasiowi o dram[acie] Tadzia. Znacznie mi trudniej przy­ chodzi sformułować to, co Tad[ziowi] mówiłem prawie że w natchnieniu. Ale się przemagam i wypowiadam wszyst­ ko tout curement. Staś wychodzi z założenia, że osoby dział[ające] niez[ależnie] od sytuacyi muszą być żywe, muszą mieć swój dramat. I ja operuję temi samemi sytua­ cjami, ale chcę też widzieć w nich dramat sytuacyjami ujęty. Dziś jednak mam wrażfenie], że tam, gdzie nic się nie dzieje, tam dramatu być nie może. - Wracając od Sta­ sia sentymentalizm, idę pod jej oknami, siedzę na ławce znagła zrywam się i idę dalej nad potokiem via Bystre.(...) Wtorek 27 V I I I (...) Idzie drogą w górę - instynkt mi mówi, że to ona - chcę lecieć i wołać nie śmiem. Jestem jakby złamany; 315 �Grażyna Kubica • STAS WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI (Monday) (...) Staś W. (1st visit at "Nosal", two highlander farmers; talk with St[aś] about Nalep[iński], about my present). 27.9. After arriving, directly, i.e., for the first couple of days, I had a feeling as though I'd unexpectedly suffered little. Since Tuesday I've started working at Solska's. Met up with Staś who, temporarily, devalued these things a bit for me. (...) Today (Tuesday) morning breakfast at 10, write; am a bit relaxed. (...) Plan to go to Staś' but don't go, feel good. (...) 28.9. 29.9. Morning (11. Wednesday) rise at 9, St. W. comes Discuss Nalep[ińki], points out a few things to me. We go together. (...) O n Thursday go to lunch. (...) Along the stream, Kornilowicz, head towards Staś - three at 11; turn back, wait until 12 among the lanes [?], batter against reactions of despondency and lamentations of the depravity of the last hours. I'm cold and feel bad physically. Whistle from the road; Staś is coming and Nalepiński. (...) Sunday 15.9. evening. (...) Have toiled over Simmel rather long; thinking about the need to do psychology, astronomy with Staś, Bergson, Wundt, etc. Push myself like the devil to work. (...) 17.9. (...) Dinner at Staś'; Nalep[iński's] rumors. The latter gives me a letter from Lewicka. Pharmacy, nothing from Z. Return to St. Scheming!?]. Nalep [iński], Staś, rumors from the start; then I tell him about Z.; so we quip about definitions of chance and experience - experiencing the ext[ernal] form of decline but without chance. This disturbs me; will have to comment to Staś about that. Later we talk about artists, about tales [?] which do not contain das erlósende Wort. Staś believes in Szymberski. A t the end, about getting entangled; about the impossibility of finding a woman with whom one could settle down. I on. The 1st complete person, person as the synonym of boredom. Stay in bed long in the morning, old Mrs. Witkiewicz is indelicate. I rise and leave without breakfast. We talk about yesterday's things; later about Ozimina. Yesterday Staś with appreciation for my poem. A t home read Staś' novel, he returns, talk about nonessential things and feel some uneasiness in ourselves. Read my diary in order to concentrate. (...) Friday 20.9. (...) Start to write about Ozim[ina], Staś comes and Nal[epiński]. Explain things with St. Feel emotionally pacified. Return [?] and I'm reading again. (...) (...) A t noon I read Nietzsche and talk with Tad[zio] about Staś and the influence of knowledge on creativity. A l l in all should eliminate serious conversations with Tadfzio]; or assume a comp[letely] different emotional tone i n them and not disguised superiority. I n the evening decide to go to Solsk[a's] for only 5 minutes but end up sitting there for over an hour, then via Witkiewicz, go to the Pharm[acy]. Letter from Boren[ius], Gardiner and a card from . 30.9. (...) Sleep at Staś'; he chats with me. The old woman indelicate. Go back for cigarettes, "beast, beast, beast, beast." Z. packs; gives me milk. Fatigue and a bit of a katzenjammer; almost not sentimentalism. Go via Burdel - pack and "get changed," to the Pharm[acy] at lunch; escape, flowers; by carriage to Z., telegrams [?], she isn't there; butter, Witkiew[icz] (with Piłsudski); then meet with Z. in a carriage. (...) Read Staś' novel i n the cawidge. In Poronin, Z. enters. We sit in the corridor. Fog winds its way over the fields. We read the novel. About Donna Quercia. (...) 2.10. (...) O n Sund[ay] evening Staś sketches me. Ret[umed] home at 1 and started writing octets. Actually, I had already arranged, for instance, the content and a few rhymes and sayings. Had a feeling of heightened int[ernal] inten[sivity] and expanded power because I'd never imagined myself writing verse before. (...) Saturday 5. (...) A rather unpleasant scene at Staś': he tugs at Nal[epiński] and makes pessimistic] comments about our relationship. Monday 7. (...) But at times I have rather considerable fluctuations: yesterday, going to Witk., I started by thinking, thinking aloud in Eng[lish] and as a result crossed over to an association about advertising myself with a book and lectureship i n Polish magazines. (...) Wednesday 9. (...) Return via Zywczańskie, Ślimak, and the usual 316 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKII.i * i ona wraca. Radość. Z pocz[ątku] tracę głowę. Podniece­ nie. Plotę głupstwa - ażeby zmyć mętną powierzchnię bezpośredniego] zetknięcia się. W kapeluszu z[e] skóry nie jest jej do twarzy - to mnie też trochę peszy. Boję się, że Staś przyjdzie. (...) trochę rozprężony. (...)Wybieram się do Stasia, ale nie idę, dobrze mi. (...) Rano (11 Środa) wstaję o 9 = tej przychodzi St[aś] W[itkiewicz]. - Obmawiamy Nalep[ińskiego], robi mi parę uwag. Idziemy razem.(...) Środa 28 V I I I (...) O Vi 7=ej wychodzę, Apteka, list od Isobeli Fry. Potem Staś, peszy mnie swoim zachowaniem się mało uprz[ejmym]. (...) W Czwartek idę na obiad(...) Potokiem, Korniłowicz, idę ku Stasiowi - trzy na jedenastą; zawracam czekam aż do 12 = tej wśród spłodków, walę przeciw reakcyi zniechę­ cenia i żalowi zepsucia ostatnich godzin. Zimno mi i źle f i ­ zycznie. Gwizdam z szosy; Staś idzie i Nalepiński. (...) 29 V I I I (...). U Stasia tlomaczę mu i speszenie wczorajsze mija.C) Sobota 31 Sierpnia (...) Szal[enie] zdenerwowany i rozdrażniony ubieram się. Piłsudski, Staś, Solska wice z Nalep. (...) Dziś we Środę (4.) (...) Odbieram list od Stasia i Zagórskiej, (...) Teraz (po 2.) czekam niecierpliwie na Z., trochę mam preten­ sje, że nie przyszła, trochę się boję, żeby nie wyjechała na­ gle którego dnia. Wybieram się do niej i do innych ludzi (Solska, Staś, Zagórskie, Apteka). (...)Idę do S[ol]skiej z receptą via Zulfawscy], Zagfórskie], Aptfeka], Staś. Dowiaduję się tam o przeprowadzce z Ślimakówki. Mówię Stasiowi sub rosa o tem, co się dzieje. Przez cały czas pę­ dzę z energią skupioną na wysiłku fizycznym. Ze Stasiem (mówimy o [?] Mirty Noel) via Solska (kolacja z Solskim) do Ż. (...) Śpię dziś (Piątek) do 10=tej, silniejszy znacznie, spo­ kojny. O 11 Vi siadam do roboty (kończę ten dziennik). Nalepusz z Solską i gadanina o mnie na Antałówce. Mam żal do Stasia i wobec tego chcę mu dziś powiedzieć zasa­ dniczo i nie spędzę z nim wieczoru. - (...) (Sobota) (...) Potem [?] Zakop[ane], Apteka, Staś awantura; jestem speszony. Idę szybko do Z. Speszenie moje znać, pyta mnie, co mi jest. Mówię, co robiłem, po­ tem całą historję z Nalep fińskim] Stasiem i Zielewiczjem]. Zenia bierze stronę Stasia, każe mi ekspiować itd. - (...) (Niedziela 8.) Wczoraj (w Sobotę) rano o 10=tej budzi mnie Staś, podaje jeszcze jeden szczegół (rozmowę swoją z Nalep[ińskim]). Potem robi mi zarzut „formalizmu" niesłuszny analizuje mnie, moją uczuciową reakcję i powód jej intenzywności. Następuje porozumienie ale z negatyw­ nym] wahaniem u Stasia. (...) (Poniedziałek) (...) Staś W. (1.[pierwsza] wizyta w nosalu [„Nosalu"], dwaj gazdowie; mówimy ze St[asiem] o Nalep[ińskim], o moim prezencie). Dziś (Wtorek) rano o 10=tej śniadanie, piszę; jestem Niedziela 15 IX, wieczór. (...) Simmla dość długo męczę; myśląc o potrzebie ro­ bienia psychologii, astronomii ze Stasiem, Bergsona, Wundta itp. dupinguję się morowo do pracy. (...) 17 IX (...) Kolacja u Stasia; plotki Nalep [ińskiego]. Ten da­ je mi list od Lewickiej. Apteka, niema nic od Z. Wracam do St. Intryguję[?] Nalep[iński], Staś, z poczfątku] plot­ ki; potem mówifę] mu o Z.; robimy wice a propos defini­ cji wypadku i przeżycia - przeżycia o zewn[ętrznej] formie upadku, ale bez wypadków. Peszy mnie to; będę musiał zrobić o to uwagę Stasiowi. Potem mówimy o artystach, o powieści w[?], która nie zawiera das erlósende Wort . Staś wierzy w Szymberskiego. Na koniec o zawikłaniu się; o niemożliwości znalezienia kobiety, z którą możnaby się ustalić. Ja, że Z. 1. [pierwszy] człowiek pełny, człowiek ja­ ko synonim nudy. Rano późno leżę, stara Witk[iewiczowa] niedelikatna. Wstaję i bez śniadania idę. Mówimy 0 wczorajszych rzeczach; potem o Oziminie. Staś wczoraj z uznaniem o moim poemacie. W domu czytam powieść Stasia, on wraca, mówimy rzeczy nieistotne i czujemy w sobie niepokój. Czytam dziennik, ażeby się skupić.(...) Piątek 20 IX (...) Zaczynam pisać o Ozim[inie], przychodzi Staś 1 Nal[epiński]. Wyjaśnienie ze St[asiem]. Czuję się uczu­ ciowo zaspokojony. Wracam [?] i czytam znowuż.(...) 27 IX Po przyjeździe, bezpośrednio, tzn. przez parę dni pierwszych, miałem uczucie, jakbym nadspodziewanie mało cierpiał. Od Wtorku zacząłem pracować u Solskiej. Widywałem się ze Stasiem, który mi te rzeczy trochę odwartościował, chwilowo.(...) 28 IX 29 IX (...) W południe czytam Nietzschego i rozmawiam z Tad [ziem] o Stasiu i o wpływie nauki na twórczość. Wogóle poważne rozmowy z Tad [ziem] wyeliminować; al­ bo przyjąć w nich zup[ełnie] inny ton uczuciowy, a nie ukrytej wyższości. Wieczotem postanawiam iść do Solsk[iej] na 5 minut tylko - tymczasem siedzę tam prze­ szło godzinę, potem via Witkiewicz idę do Apt[eki]. List 317 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI road. Walk quickly and strain my heart a bit. A t Staś' I was already in terrible condition; exhausted heart is in the foreground. Then something dreadful happens; I'm starting to get visible shivers, longing for Z. I tell him about this, that in some "unknown chamber of the soul" or rather " i n the black hull of the universe" which surrounds that single point of light, there [?], terrible things are happening. Dinner; enjoy M [iss] Jancz[ewska] quite a bit, she is gracious to me; I am nice and Staś doesn't discomfit me; I feel good (disastrous!) - clearly feel that this has plucked me from the learned chasms and has leveled things. In the evening I do Ozimina about which I work out a brief. Then I transcribe a poem for Z. and that takes me about I ' / hours time. O n Wednesday I get up listless. A rare mood at first. Write a powerful letter to Z. Then F.d.C. goes shamefully; mad longing; want to go to her a tout prix. Read Wundt, brain [?] poorly functioning. - Get ready to go out for lunch (at 4 determined to go through the fotest) when Bogdański and Nal[epiński] come, interrupting my writing to Z. Bogd[ański] about Staś' paintings; roars and babbles cruel absurdities about women. - We go along Bachleda Ridge; view of Olcza gorgeous. Apachej?] songs. Expedite letter to Z., Tadzio versus Staś. In the Pharm[acy] read corrections and write letters; dinner. Go to the Borkowskis, Staś. A t first we talk about formalisms and Tadzio. Then he about his novel; I about my longing, my difficulties. Then we talk about att[itude] towards women. The principle of idealizing friendship; they are placed on the same level as a woman. Funny when it comes to effecting, justifying one's situation with regards to a friend. 2 tragedy. Easy integration. Culmination point. - But above all conversion of these dir[ectly] titillating abominations into some other material. Steeping the whole plot in a mystical atmosphere and mythical compulsion. Fatum in the Greek ttagedy. Via the Pharmacy, above the stream, to "Nosal"; we speak about sociology; I ptesent my general model of the rel[ationship] sociology] to other sciences. These are questions which matter less to St. M[ore] the rel[ationship] of sociology] to practical] views and doctrines. - A t home after din [ner] write a short letter to. We read Bork[owska's] poetry and I don't go home unt[il] 10 and don't finish Fustel. Read the last few pages of my diary. Perhaps the most impottant and most fettile was that moment during that walk to Poronin when I saw inside a certain depth; when I felt that I should exist at the deepest current of my soul. - This morning feel not too bad, rather strong, calm. The thing is not to allow oneself to be derailed by the accessibility and pleasures of certain things; yesterday, for instance, I went to Witk. at noon. Satutday 12. (...) Later by the wat[erway], Ślim[ak], towards Zywczańskie. Tadzio reads a letter; we go for a walk; we talk about Staś and his and my attitude] towatds Nal[epinski]. (...) - A t the Borkfowskis] a quarrel with Staś. I go alone: once one thing, then another. This quarrel is a passing thing which life will flush away. With Z., too, the tel[ationship] is ultimately undamaged. So it's only a mattet of momentary perseverance. (...) Sunday 13. 11.10.12 Yesterday the day was pleasant, sunny; am poisoned with despair, longing for Z., the distress of that quar[rel] with Staś. (...) Yesterday I rose rather late; i n the morning read Wundt and F.d.C. (poorly because actually I'm not thinking). Leave at 3:30 fot St. A t first my heart is exhausted], then all right. We go along the tf[acks], the way I went with. - The gentians have alteady withered. I tell him about priests singing a sentimental song - he about a pt[iest] in Lovtana. Father Faust. A beech dressed in purple leaves. I talk about Greek tragedy; express myself quite explicitly and concisely. Definition of mythical thinking. Dogmatic and analytical thinking. Both as antittagici[?]. The process of intellectual adaptation as a natutal reaction to the horror and tragic nature of human misfortune. (Tragedy itself is only a substitute] spiritual need, is the fundamental moment of artistic creativity; only the articulation of that gen[eral] tragic] nature [?] [?] produces the stage tragedy.) Therefore, human events must be projected onto some other screen. In addition, not every tragic] conception is suited to the stage Monday 14. morning. Yesterday I took up Simmel at half 11. Nal[epiński] with his dog, we go through Burdel; I needlessly tell him about falling out with St. (...) Tuesday 15. morning. (...) Staś comes, brings drawings and photos. We talk about details, then about sociology]; later Nal[epiński's] verses; then a few words of explanation. The situation, for me, completely smoothed out. (...) To Zag[órska's], talk thete about Nalepliński], look over photos of Staś' paintings. Decide to have a party. Coming back with St[aś]: about Nalepiński and his attitude] towards Mrs. Zag[órska]. About my ethical dreams and about Staś' terrible dream. (...) 318 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO od Boren[iusa], Gardinera i kartka od Ż. 30 IX (...) U Stasia śpię; on gada ze mną. Stara niedelikat­ na. Wracam po papierosy „bydle, bydle, bydle, bydle". Z. pakuje się; daje mi mleko. Zmęczenie i trochę katzenjam­ meru; prawie że nie sentymentalizm. Idę via Burdel - spakowuję się i „przebieram", do Apt[eki] przy obiedzie; uciekam, kwiaty; dryndą do Z., telegramy [?], jej nie ma; masło, Witkiew[icz] (z Piłsudskim); potem spotykam Z. w dryndzie. (...) Czytam w wag[onie] powieść St[asia). W Poroninie Z. wchodzi. Siedzimy w korytarzu. Mgły wleką się nad pola­ mi. Czytamy powieść. O Donnie Quercii. (...) 2X (...) W Niedz[ielę] wieczór Staś mnie rys[uje]. Wróć [iłem] o 1. do domu i zacząłem pisać oktawy. Przed­ tem już układałem sobie wprawdzie np. treść i parę ry­ mów i powiedzeń. Miałem uczucie podniesionej i n ­ tensywności] wewn[ętrznej] i rozszerzonej władzy, bo przedtem nigdy nie mogłem sobie pomyśleć siebie piszą­ cego wiersze. (...) Sobota 5 (...) U Stasia dość niemiła scena: on siepie się na Nal[epińskiego] i robi pesym[istyczną] uwagę o naszych stosunkach. Poniedziałek 7 (...) Ałe mam chwilami dość duże wahnienia: wczoraj, idąc do Witkiewicza], zacząłem od myślenia, mówienia głośno po ang[ielsku] i przeszedłem w rezultacie na aso­ cjację reklamowania się z książką i lecturship w krajowych pismach. (...) Środa 9=tego (...) Wracam przez Zywczańskie, Ślimaka, i zwykłą drogą. Idę szybko i trochę męczę serce. U Stasia już stan fatalny; zmęczenie serca występuje na 1. plan. Poza tem coś strasznego się dzieje; już mnie widocznie dręczy tęsk­ nota za Z. Mówię mu o tem, że w „niewiadomej komna­ cie duszy", a raczej „w czarnej łupinie wszechświata", która otacza ten jedyny świetlny punkt, tam [?] dzieją się rzeczy straszne. Kolacja; p[anna] Jancz[ewska] dość mi się podoba, jest dla mnie uprzejma; ja jestem miły i Staś mnie nie peszy; czuję się dobrze (fatalne!) - wyraźnie czu­ ję, że mnie to wyciągnęło z uczonych otchłani i spłyciło. Wieczorem robię Oziminę, do której ułożyłem szkic. Po­ tem przepisuję poemat dla Z. i t * mi zabiera około 1 Vi go­ dziny czasu. W Środę wstaję niewyspany. Nastrój z pocz[ątku] by­ czy. Piszę do Z. silny list. Potem F.d.C. idzie haniebnie; szalona tęsknota; jechać do niej a tout pńx. Czytam Wundta, mózg [?] słabo funkcjonuje. - Zabieram się do obiadu (zdecydowany o Ą—tej iść pod regle) kiedy przy­ chodzą Bogdański i Nal[epiński], przerywając mi pisanie do Z. Bogd[ański] o obrazach Stasia; ryczy i gada głup­ stwa brutalne o kobietach. - Idziemy Bachledzkim; widok na Olczę cudowny. Pieśni Apaczów]?]. Ekspedjuję list do Z., Tadzio versus Staś. W Aptfece] czytam korekty i piszę listy; kolacja. Idę do Bork[owskich], Staś. Z początku mówimy o formalizmach i Tadziu. Potem on o powieści swojej; ja o mojej tęsknocie, o trudnościach życiowych. Potem mówimy o stos[unku] do kobiet. Zasada idealizacji przyjaciół; stawia ich na tym samym poziomie co ko­ bietę. Zabawne jak chodzi o to, ażeby przeprowadzić, usprawiedliwić swoją sytuację wobec przyjaciela. 11 X 12 Wczoraj wstaję dość późno; rano Wundt i F.d.C. (sła­ bo, bo właściwie nie myślę). Wychodzę o 3 Vi do St[asia]. Z pocz[ątku] serce zmęczfone], potem all right. Idziemy drogą żel[azną], tam którędy z Z. - gencjany już przekwi­ tły. Mówię mu o księżach śpiewających pieśń sentymen­ talną - on o ks[iędzu] w Lovranie. Ksiądz Faust. Buk w purpurowych liściach. Mówię o tragedyi greckiej; for­ mułuję się dość eksplicytnie i ściśle. Definicja myślenia mitycznego. Myślenie dogmatyczne i analityczne. Oba ja­ ko antytragiczne]?]. Proces przystosowania intelektualne­ go jako reakcja naturalna na okropność i tragizm wypad­ ków życiowych. (Tragizm wogóle jest tylko zas[tępczą] po­ trzebą ducha, jest momentem podstawowym twórczości artystycznej; wypowiedzenie tego og[ólnego] tragizmu] [?] [?] daje dopiero tragedję sceniczną.) Dlatego wypadki życiowe muszą być przeniesione na jakiś inny ekran. W dodatku nie każda tragiczna] koncepcja nadaje się do trag[edii] scenicznej. Łatwość integracji. Punkt kulmina­ cyjny. - Ale ptzedewszystkiem przetworzenie tych bezpfośrednio] nas łaskoczących okropności na jakiś inny materiał. Zanurzenie całej akcji w atmosferze mistycznej i mitycznej konieczności. Fatum w tragedji greckiej. Via Apteka, nad potokiem, do Nosala; mówimy o so­ cjologii; ja podaję mój ogólny schemat stos[unku] socjo­ logii] do innych nauk. To są punkty, które St[asia] mniej obchodzą. B[atdzi]ej stos[unek] socjologii] do prakt[ycznych] zapatrywań i doktryn. - W domu po kol[acji] piszę krótki list do Z., czytamy poezje Borkfowskiej] i wracam do domu dopjero] na 10=tą i nie kończę Fustela. Przeczytałem parę ostatnich stron dziennika. Może najważniejszym i najpłodniejszym był moment podczas owego spaceru do Poronina, kiedy widziałem wewnątrz pewne głębie; kiedy poczułem, że istnieć powinienem w najgłębszym nurcie duszy. - Dziś rano czuję się nieźle, dość silny, spokojny. Grunt, ażeby nie dać się wykoleić ła­ twości i przyjemności pewnych rzeczy; wczoraj np. na po­ łudnie poszedłem do Witkiewicza]. 319 Sobota 12 (...) Potem koło wod[ociągu], Ślim[aka] na Żywczan- �orazyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI Wednesday 16. evening. (...) - Want to go to Borkowska's so she'll read me her poems; tell her something; problem: why do we need other people, the kind who would undetstand us in some way when we are feeling very bad. Would like to be with Staś; repulsion towards these biddies. (...) (...) Dinnet at Staś'. Elzenbetg. A t times I'm sorry that he is m[ore] [?] (old Janczewska) - Then we go downstairs, Elzenberg piques my nerfves]; tell Staś about my dteam: Does Irfenka] appear in it because I was with her a lot and then suddenly cut off? Is it substitution; ot do I fancy het? (...) Thursday. 17.10. Dream: with Mom and Nalep[iński], room in a hotel; looking for a ttain from Linz or Salzb[urg] to Munich. M o m leaves the room; Nal[epiński], I go after her (M[om] went to the W C , I tell Nal[epiński]: don't go - his indiscretion and [?]). Nal[epiński] gives the serv[ant girl] a tip of l ' / marks. Mom delighted with Nal[epiński]. I talk, Staś has in his little finget 10 times as much poet[ic] talfent] as Nal[epiński] and in his little fingernail as much gen[eral] talent. (...) Some woman (Mrs. Limanowska?), her husband, sister, painter[?], and Staś. St. woos her, then she and she winks at me. (...) 2 10/2 Ventnor 1914* 19.4.14. London. Yesterday after returning found a lot of letters. (...) Very downcast letter from Staś. Understood that this alteady may really be the end with him. Dreamed of him tonight. W i l l have to do everything to wrest some funds for him and get him to go with me. (...) Zakopane 3 May. Sad mood during this farewell visit through Poland. (...) In Warsaw. (...) Then to Staś Zielfinski's]. Zenia is a bit tired. Talk about nothing (was preparing for an essential conversation with her!), always feel that she rises to the occasion of whatever I am saying. Find out that she is pregnant. This discomfits me. Tell her about my plans. She advises me to take Staś. Leave early, relieved. Have freed myself from her direct charm. (...) Kraków. 6.5.14. Description of Zakopane stay. Gorgeous weather; the ait unusually clear. Everything covered with a festive emptiness; the emptiness of things celebrating, resting, aimless. I am * Notes written in the period preceding his trip to Australia: his stay in Ventnor on the Isle of W h i t e [Wight], in London, farewell visit in Poland, arrival of Staś Witkiewicz in U i n d o n and a journey together in the tropics [18)99. Ja z Foką i rewolwerem. Czas mglisto-słoneczny, godz. 1 po pol., Stanisław I. Witkiewicz, Zakopane, 1899. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza 10/2 f I8J99. Me with Seal and a gun. Weather misty-sunny, I p.m., Stanisław I. Witkiewicz, Zakopane, 1899. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okolowicz with Staś a lot. Very despondent over his condition; feel that closing life off from that side, that his destruction is the undoing of one of my ideals. I believed and still believe in Staś, in his genius and individuality; he is for me the spiritual incarnation of the superiority and uniqueness of the Polish spirit. In this whole think I see that he is also the embodiment of its worst sides and weaknesses. A t times I had a positive feeling that his bankruptcy is the confirmation of my aesthetic views, is a horrible symptom of the danger which lies in the total casing of the sources of artistic inspiration and the will to live. - A t times I try to forget about Staś. Run away from him. I don't go into the depths of his condition, simply [?] out of an egoistic self-preservation instinct. Typical psychic state, escape from the unpardoning hand of fate, running aground on that [?]ity. I try to convince him with atguments whose triviality and paucity I sense myself. There is nothing, only death. But I cannot, have not the obligation to go farther, follow a friend until the very gates of Hades, unless it were to turn him back, to return. 320 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO sicie. Tadzio czyta list; idziemy na spacer; mówimy o Sta­ siu i jego i moim stos[unkuj do Nal[epińskiegoJ (...) U Bork[owskich] awantura ze St[asiem]. Idę sam: naprzemian to jedno, to drugie. Ta awantura to rzecz prze­ mijająca, którą życie splucze. Z Z. także ostatecznie stos[unek] nie zniszczony. Więc to chodzi tylko o chwilo­ we przetrzymanie. (...) Niedziela 13 Wczoraj dzień pogodny, słoneczny; zatruty rozpaczą, tęsknotą za Z., przykrością tej aw[antury] ze Stasiem. (...) Poniedziałek 14 rano Wczoraj zabrałem się do Simmla a Vi na 11. Nal[epiński] z psem, idziemy przez Burdel; ja jemu niepotrzebnie mówię o poróżnieniu się ze St[asiem]. (...) Wtorek 15 rano (...) Przychodzi Staś, przynosi rysunki i fotos. Mówimy o detalach, potem o soc [jologii]; potem wiersze Nalfepińskiego]; potem parę słów wyjaśnienia. Sytuacja, dla mnie, całkiem wygładzona. (...) Do Zag[órskiej] tam o Nalep, przeglądamy foto's z ptac Stasia. Umawiam się na biby. Wracając ze St[asiem]: o Nalep[ińskim] i jego stos[unku] do p. Zag[órskiej]. O moich etycznych snach i o śnie Sta­ sia strasznym(...) Bronisław Malinowski śpi w pokoju Stanisława I. Witkiewicza, Środa 16 wieczór (...) - Chcę iść do Borkowskiej, ażeby mi przeczytała swoje wiersze; coś jej powiedzieć; problem: dlaczego po­ trzebujemy innych ludzi, takich którzyby nas w pewien sposób zrozumieli, kiedy nam jest b. źle. Chciałbym być ze Stasiem; wsttęt do tych bab. (...) (...) - Kolacja u Stasia. Elzenberg. Chwilami przykro mi jest, że on jest b[ardzi]ej [?] (stata Janczewska) - Po­ tem idziemy na dół, Elzenberg mi daje [na] ner[wy]; opow[iadam] Stasiowi sen: czy Ir[enka] występ[uje] dla tego, że byłem z nią dużo, a potem suddenly cut off! Czy substytucja; czy mi się podobała? (...) Czwartek 17 X Sen: z Mamą i Nalep[ińskim] pokój w hotelu; szukam pociągu z Lincu czy Salzb[urga] do Monachjum. Mama wychodzi z pokoju; Nal[epiński], idę po nią (M[ama] po­ szła do W C . ja mówię Nal[epusz]owi: nie idź - jego nie­ takt i [?]) Napiwek 1 Vi marki Nal[epiński] daje służ[ącejj. Mama zachwycona Nal[epińskim]. Mówię, Staś ma w małym palcu 10 razy tyle zdoln[ości] poetfyckich] co Nal[epiński], a w małym paznokciu tyle ogólne­ go] talentu. (...)Jakaś kobieta (pani Limanowska?), jej mąż, siostta, malarz[?] i Staś. Stfaś] się przystawia, potem ona i do mnie oko robi. (...) 19 IV 14 Londyn* Wczoraj po powrocie zastałem dużo listów. (...) List b. Zakopane, ok. 1900. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza the Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz's room, Zakopane, ca. 1900. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okołowicz Bronisław Malinowski sleeping in przygnębiający od Stasia. Zrozumiałem, że to już rzeczy­ wiście, być może, koniec z nim. Śnił mi się dziś w nocy. Będę musiał zrobić wszystko, ażeby wydostać dlań pienię­ dzy i żeby pojechał ze mną. (...) Zakopane 3 Maja Smutny nastrój podczas tej pożegnalnej podróży po Polsce.(...) W Warszawie.(...) Potem do Stasia Ziel[ińskiego]. Że­ nią trochę zmieniona. Rozmowa o niczem (zbierałem się na rozmowę istotną z nią!), czuję zawsze, że stoi na wyso­ kości tego, co ja mówię. Dowiaduję się, że jest pregnant. Peszy mnie to. Mówię jej o moich planach. Radzi mi wziąć Stasia. Wychodzę wcześnie, z ulgą. Uwolniłem się od bezpośredniego jej uroku. (...) Kraków. 6 V 14 Opis pobytu w Zakopanem. Pogoda cudowna; powietrze niebywale przezroczyste. Wszystko pokryte odświętną pustką; pustką rzeczy świę- * Notatki spisywane w oktesie poprzedzającym wyjazd do Australii: pobyt w Ventnor na wyspie W h i t e , w L m d y n i e , po­ żegnalna wizyta w kraju, przyjazd Stasia Witkiewicza do L o n ­ dynu i wspólna podróż w rropiki 321 �yjrazyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI (...) Past Chab[ówka] I look out the window; look through the Femseher. Think about what I am to say to Staś; put pressure on him to make him go. Staś at the station; he looks bad, we go to "Nosal". I talk to him about the possibility of going; he talks [??] about death; about his desperate state. This same mood a year ago was the apogee of his greatest happiness. A t "Nosal" Mrs. Witk. gteets me with tears in her eyes. We go down to Zakopa[ne]. Pharmacy, no letters. Konstantynówka; [?] return on foot through the stream. Staś tells me the whole story. (...); dissatisfaction; trip to Lovrana; return. Karol. Duality and their mutual bidding. Mrs. Witk. and Helena [Czerwijowska] speak with me in the evening. Then Staś tells me everything to the end in the evening; the phase of despair and the phase of disgust. The day after [?] phase of disgust and relative strength. In the morning we sit at home, only a walk to Koziniec. St. has an urge to travel to N[ew] Guinea. After lunch, to Zakop[ane]; he to Irenka [Solska], I to the Pharm[acy], to the Zulawskis and to Konst[antynówka], in the evening Aniela [Zagórska], at "Nosal." We return with Staś along the road. Sad and empty evening. Evening of developed plates. Red light. Friday, good weathet in the morning, aftern[oon] clouds coming. We go to the Ziel[ińskis] in Olcza. I recall Z[eni], all the things past. Sit in a room at Ziel[ińska's] and look at the mitror, look through the window at the very familiar view by wh[ich] I worked so many times, and in wh[ich] I drowned my sorrows so many times. Mountains enshrouded, only reveal themselves in places. A storm over Gubałówka. We go over Bachl[eda] Peak to Zakopane. To the Pharm[acy], Staś to Ju[?]. I eat dinner in the Phatm[acy]. Then go by foot. To that we also eat din [net] in Nosal. (Aha, there's also Marja Bułhak with wh[om] we walked down on Thursday to Zakop[апе]. Later we develop on paper my photogtaphs from Lang[ier] and photographs made the preceding] day. Saturday. Cool and rainy day. Morning - Aftern[oon] to Zakop[ane]. A t [?] with Aniela and the Zuławsk[is] about "woman." Latet go up Bachl[eda] Ridge. Awfully short-breathed and a cold. Don't at all feel good in Zakop [апе]. In the evening 2 ladies and the Swieżawskis come. Go to bed early. Sunday. Good weather in the morning. We head for Olcza. Take photographs of Hruby and 2 cottages. Then at the Ziel[ińskis]. We leave the camera. I n the aftern[oon] with filters[?] head for Olcza, without a coat. Photographs: Giewont, the mountains from the porch and the precipice. Later I go alone to Zakop [апе] for din[ner] at the Tabeaus; just before that stop in at Aniela's for a moment. Ride with a farmer]?] to Olcza. 322 Developing with Langier. Photographs come out perfect. - That night sleep poorly. On Mond[ay] absolutely gorgeous weather. Dream of swimming but feel dreadful. Head for Olcza to the Ziel[ńskis]. There we talk about inanities with St. Then ret [urn]. A m very weakened. Farewells at Lang[ier's]. A t "Nosal" I don't eat anything for lunch. Aftet l[unch] fatewells, packing. Episode with Uncle Świeżawski. (...) Sunday 17.5.14. London. (...) Wotrying and also thinking a bit that the Conr[ads] are at the Reting[ers]. The affair with Staś' voyage. A t times I have flashes of despicable envy and antipathy, but all in all I would like him to go; especially when pain attacks me, or when I really begin to disengage myself. Thursday 21.5.14 (...) In the evening I write letters; receive a letter from Staś; go to Bor[enius]. (...) 14 June, on deck. Currently I am already on my way. After the tiring and ravaging preparations, after numerous swings of emotions with regards to T. - after the distress and oscillations regarding Staś, I'm travelling with him and feel, generally speaking, horrible; though perhaps not. Feeling rather wretched at this particular moment. A l l in all I'm feeling not bad. I experienced a great touristic enrapture visiting Paris and Naples. The ship and 2nd class rather don't agree with me since to quite a large degree this hinders direct contact with the sea; but I hope I'll overcome this. My relationship with St. is very good in genetal and I am immeasurably gratified that someone is with me for his own sake. Monday 15.6.14 (...) Setting down the events of the most recent times in London. O n Saturday 23 (...) - Mom at Oxf[otd] Circ]us] talks to me of Staś; I am very glad; this picks up my mood. (...) Sunday 24. Staś atrives. Kasia comes at 12. Meeting with Westerm[arck] in [?]. Lunch at the Singers; Torday[?]; exhaustion and congestion. Ride with Kasia towards Marble Arch; a few paces around the Park; at Isobel Kirkwood's. Ride to Graham Wallace's. Dinner. Later they read poems to me, perfect in their essence. Later tram home. Mond[ay] 25. W i t h M[?] and Staś at Gamaga's. The whole day and then I tun around with Staś. In the evening a meeting with Seligm[an] and Westermarck at �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO tujących, odpoczywających, bezcelowych. Jestem bardzo dużo ze Stasiem. B. przygnębiony jego stanem; czuję, że zamknięcie życia z tamtej strony, że zniszczenie jego jest upadkiem jednego z moich ideałów. Wierzyłem i do dziś dnia wierzę w Stasia, w jego geniusz i indywidualność; jest on dla mnie wcieleniem duchowej wyższości i odrębności ducha polskiego. W tej całej sprawie widzę, że jest on też wcieleniem najgorszych stron i słabości. Miałem chwila­ mi pozytywne poczucie, że jego bankructwo jest potwier­ dzeniem moich poglądów etycznych, jest strasznym symptomem niebezpieczeństwa, które tkwi w zupełnym nieocembrowaniu źródeł artystycznego natchnienia i wo­ li do życia. - Chwilami staram się zapomnieć o Stasiu. Uciec od niego. Nie wchodzę wgląb jego stanu, po prostu [?] przez egoistyczny instynkt samozachowawczy. Typowy stan psychiczny ucieczki przed nieubłaganą ręką losu, na mielizny [?]ciowości tamtej. Staram go się przekonać ar­ gumentami, których płytkość i marność sam odczuwam. Niema nic, tylko śmierć. Ale ja nie mogę, nie mam obo­ wiązku iść dalej, iść za przyjacielem aż do samych wrót Hadesu, chyba żeby go sprowadzić napowrót, z powro­ tem. (...) Za Chabfówką] patrzę przez okno; patrzę Femseherem. Myślę o tem, co mam powiedzieć Stasiowi; wy­ wrzeć nacisk, żeby wyjechał. Staś na stacyi; wygląda źle, jedziemy do Nosala. Mówię mu o ewentualności pojechania; on mówi [??] 0 śmierci; o swoim stanie rozpaczliwym. Ten sam nastrój rok temu był dekoracją jego największego szczęścia. W Nosalu p. Witk[iewiczowa] przyjmfuje] mnie ze łzami. Schodzimy do Zakopa[nego], Apteka, niema listów. Konstantynówka; [?] wracamy piechotą przez potok. Staś opowiada mi całą historię. [?]; niezadowolenie; wyjazd do Lovrany; powrót. Karolek. Dwoistość i licytacja ich wza­ jemna. P Witk[iewiczowa] i Helena [Czerwijowska] wie­ czorem mówią ze mną. Potem Staś wieczorem opowiada mi do końca; faza rozpaczy i faza obrzydzenia. łhak, z kt[órą] schodziliśmy we Czwartek do Zakop[anego]). Potem wywołujemy na papierze moje klisze od Lang[iera] i klisze zrobione poprz[edniego] dnia. Sobota. Dzień deszczowy i chłodny. Rano - Popoł[udniu] do Za­ kopanego]. U Dzi[?] z Anielą i Żuławskimi] o „kobie­ cie". Potem przez Bachl[edowy] Wierch. Straszna zadyszka i przeziębienie. Wog[óle] nie czuje się dobrze w Za­ kopanem]. Wieczorem przyjeżdżają 2 damy i Swieżawscy. Idę wcześnie spać. Niedziela. Rano pogoda. Idziemy na Olczę. Zdjęcie Hrubego i 2 chałup. Potem u Zielińskich]. Zostawiamy kamerę. Popoł[udniu] z filtrami[?] na Olczę, bez płaszcza. Zdjęcia: Giewontu, gór z ganku i brzeżka. Potem ja idę sam do Zakop[anego] na kol[ację] do Tabów; przedtem na chwilę do Anieli. Jadę z gazdą[?] na Olczę. Wywoły­ wanie z Langierem. Klisze udają się doskonale. - W nocy śpię kiepsko. W Poniedziałek] cudna wprost pogoda. Gorąco. Ma­ rzę o kąpieli, ale czuję się fatalnie. Na Olczę do Ziel fiń­ skich]. [?] Mówimy ze Stfasiem] o głupstwach u niej. Po­ tem z powrfotem]. Jestem b. osłabiony. U Langiera] po­ żegnanie. - W Nosalu nic nie jem na obiad. Po obfiedzie] pożegnanie, pakowanie. Epizody z wujem Swieżawskim.(...) Niedziela 17 V 14 Londyn (...) Męczę się też trochę myślą, że Konr.fConradowie] są u Reting[erów]. Afera jazdy Stasia. Chwilami mam przebłyski podłej zazdrości i niechęci, ale w ogóle chciał­ bym, żeby pojechał; zwłaszcza albo kiedy mnie przyciśnie ból, albo kiedy zaczynam naprawdę się wydobywać. Nazajutrz [?] faza obrzydzenia i względnej siły. Pogoda. Rano siedzimy w domu, tylko spacer na Kozieniec. St[aś] ma ochotę na jazdę do N[owej] Gwinei. Po obiedzie do Zakop[anego], on do Irenki [Solskiej], ja do Apt[eki] do Zuł[awskich] i do Konst[antynówki] wieczorem. Aniela [Zagórska], Wym. w Nosalu. Wracamy ze Stasiem szosą. Smutny i pusty wieczór. Wieczór wywoływanie klisz. Czerwone światło. Piątek, rano pogoda, popoł[udniu] chmury zachodzą. Idziemy do Ziel fińskich] na Olczę. Przypominam Z[eni] wszystkie dawne rzeczy. Siedzę w izbie u Zielińskich] 1 patrzę na łóżko, patrzę przez okno na dobrze znany wi­ dok, przy kt[órym] tyle razy pracowałem, w kt[órym] ty­ le razy topiłem tęsknotę. Góry przysłonięte, tylko miej­ scami się odsłaniają. Nad Gubałówką burza. Idziemy przez Bachl[edowy] Wierch do Zakopanego. Do Aptfeki] Staś do Juf. ]. Jem kolację w Aptfece]. Potem piechotą. Jemy jeszcze kol[ację] w Nosalu. (Aha, jeszcze Marja Bu­ 7 323 Czwartek 21 V 14 (...) Wieczorem piszę listy; dostaję list od Stasia; idę do Borfeniusa], (...) 14 Czerwca, na pokładzie Obecnie jestem już w drodze. Po meczących i pusto­ szących przygotowaniach, po licznych wahaniach uczucia do T. - po niepokoju i wahaniach w sprawie Stasia, jadę z nim - i czuję się, w ogóle mówiąc, fatalnie; choć może nie. Czuję się dość marnie w tej właśnie chwili. W ogóle czuję się nieźle. Przeszedłem duże upojenie turystyczne zwiedzając Paryż i Neapol. Okręt i 2. klasa dość mi się nie podoba, gdyż utrudnia w dość dużym stopniu bezpośre­ dnie zetknięcie się z morzem; ale mam nadzieję, że to przezwyciężę. Stosunek ze St[asiem] b. dobry na ogół i je­ stem niezmiernie zadowolony, że jest ze mną ze względu na samego siebie. Poniedziałek 15 V I 14 (...) Spisanie wypadków ostatnich czasów z Londynu. W Sobotę 23 (...) - Mama w Oxf[ord] Circ[us] mówi mi o Stasiu; bar­ dzo się cieszę; to podnosi mój nastrój. (...) �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI the School. Staś goes to Wa[?], I to a Seminary where there is talk of Bergson. Proseminar, Seligman, Lewiński, Appelberg. (...) Sunday. Late morn[ing] go to Dr. Strong who shows us his Papuan curiosities; lunch at home, then we go with Staś to Seligm[an's], to Bluml. where Misha[?], her husband and 2 German women; later to Reting[ers]. Card tricks; poking fun at each other with Kasia; I am very unkind. Return home. Nonplussed by Staś. Monday 1.6. Morning, writing, etc. Aftern[oon] Kasia and T. come over; Staś and Zulfawski] leave for Heath. Escort T. up to the corner of Englands Lane; arrange for a walk in the evening; the question of a money loan. Staś with me at Miss Fry's. Conversation with her, she has an elevating effect on me. (...) Tuesday 2. In the afternoon Kasia and T. come by. Staś. Escort t [?] but without real sentiment. On Wednesday 3. A t noon an episode with Staś who ruins my mood fot a while because ultimately I have to admit that he is right to a certain degree. - Aha, have forgotten to write about a walk with Т.; think it was Tuesday the 26th. Staś was with me and we stopped by the School where I met with Seligm[an], then went to pick up a paintbox from the metalworker, then met up with Ret[inger] and put him in contact with Staś. (...) Friday. 5. In the aftern[oon] I'm photographing her. Her husband comes; disconcertion; don't invite him for the evening. Developing photographs. In the evening, Kasia, suffragist; T , Memcia and her sister. We arrange r[endez] v[ous] on Woburn Square. Staś comes over. (...) Monday. 8. Last day in London. My teeth are aching horribly and distressing me. In the morning, go with Staś to the Anthropological] Institute], to the Bank, to the Museum, return home; photographing M a [Memcia, Mom?], break the tripod. (...) Tuesday 9. Last morning. Strong toothache; dim outlook for the future. Feelings of complete senselessness of this journey. Wake Staś, go once more to take leave of our garden. Look for a taxi, A t Westermarck station, Memcia. - The ride to Folkestone is sad. Suddenly feel that I am left to my own fate shared with Staś. A t the Zul[awskis] a conversation with Kazia who looks very smart. Later dinner; then with Staś through the Avenue de l'Observatoire, Boulevard, rue Denfert Rochereau, to the Strugs. Tadzio there. (...) O n the 2nd day to the Zul[awaskis], then place de la Concorde, the Champs Elysees where we observe the Avenue de l'Etoile and automobiles. Joyful mood, intoxicated with the city; Kazia tells me of her stay in Paris and expresses her feelings about Staś. A t the Louvre, Gioconda and ancient Egyptian. Staś shows signs of uneasiness. Kazia and I remain; then we go to lunch where there is a discussion about suffragists. Buying an umbrella, we go again to place du Theatre, then through Avenue de l ' Opera to the Cafe de la Paix. From there by bus to Notre Dame; some ancient tower on the plaza, Saint Chapelle, Notre Dame. We keep going along the Quai of the second-hand booksellers. We part on the Boul[evard] Michu and through the Quai d'Orsay go to G[are] d[e] L[yon]. The woods near Paris are beautiful, Fontainebleau; would like to visit France again sometime. Wednesday 17.6.14 (...) As to my present position, must, despite the heat-wave and indisposition slowly but surely work purposefully. Above all pull Staś into it. 18.6.14 Yesterday and today feel significantly better; resigned to my fate and virtually acclimatised on the ship. Day before yesterday, arrival at Port Said. (...) Happy with the memories this brings back; experiencing the newness of this together with Staś. Miserable night; go through the Canal. (...) Saturday 19-20.6.14 (...) Life on board: In the morning around 7 they wake me for bathing. Get dressed, then go for breakfast. Conversation with the French woman and the Australian family sitting across from us. Then go on deck and in the late morning write my diary, read a bit. But often make breaks, take walks, talk and play sports. Lunch; then the sun comes round to the right side, change decks and read something else. The teading goes slowly, poorly. Rummage in notes and Queries. Talk with Staś a bit, though less now than before; yesterday Staś was rather glum. Sunday 21.6.14 (...) Staś composed a very nice melody yesterday evening; disconcerted me a bit as my artistic impotence has always bothered me. As much in attitudes towards women as i n attitudes towards life this is something which it is very difficult for me to get through. (...) Mandauh ck Lavalla - Saturday 4- July. (...) - Hotel in Colombo; broad veranda, canopied yard; open dining room; then the corridor and bedrooms. Sleep a bit better than on the ship under a mosquito-net the 1st night. Staś doesn't sleep; gets up and turns on the light. (...) O n the 2nd day we go around 11 to the small lake, near the restored dagoba to a new dagoba which I haven't seen as yet. A grove of mimosa or acacia and �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO Niedziela 24. Przyjazd Stasia. Kasia przychodzi 0 12 = tej. Spotkanie z Westerm[arckiem] w [?]. Lunch u Singerów; Torday[?]; przemęczenie i kongestya. Jazda z Kasią ku Matble Arch; parę kroków po Parku; u Isobel Kirkwood. Jazda do Grahama Wallasa. Kolacja. Potem czytają mi wiersze, doskonałe w istocie. Powrót tramem do domu. Poniedz[ialek] 25. Z M = [. ] i Stasiem u Gamage'a. Cały dzień potem latam ze Stasiem. Wieczorem spotkanie z Seligm[anem] i Westermarckiem w School. Staś idzie do Wa[?], ja na Seminarjum, gdzie mowa o Bergsonie. Partseminarjum, Seligman, Lewiński, Appelberg. 7 (...) Niedziela. Przedpołudnie] do D = r a Stronga, który pokazuje nam swoje kurjoza papuańskie; obiad w domu, potem idziemy ze Stasiem do Seligmfana], do B l u m l , gdzie Misza[?] jej mąż i 2 Niemeczki; potem do Retingjetów]. Sztuczki katciane; przekomarzanie się z Kasią; jestem b. niesympatyczny. Powrót do domu. Spe­ szenie przez Stasia. nue de l'Observatoire, Boulevard, rue Denfert Rochereau do Strugów. Tam Tadzio. (...) Na 2 dzień do Zuł[awskich], potem place de la Con­ corde, Pola Elizejskiego, gdzie obserwujemy av. de 1'Etoile i automobile. Nastrój tadosny, upojenie miastem; Ka­ zia opowiada mi o swoim pobycie w Paryżu i wyraża się o Stasiu. W Luwrze Gioconda i starożytności egipskie. Staś okazuje znaki niepokoju. Sami zostajemy z Kazia; po­ tem idziemy na lunch, gdzie dyskusja o sufrażystkach. Ku­ pienie parasola, idziemy znów na place du Theatre, po­ tem przez Avenue Opera do Cafe de la Paix. Ztamtąd busem do Notre Dame; wieża jakaś starożytna na placu, Sa­ int Chapelle, Notre Dame. Idziemy jeszcze wzdłuż Quai bukinistów. Zegnamy się na Bul. Michu i przez Quai d'Orsay do G[are] d[e] L[yon]. Laski pod Paryżem ślicz­ ne, Fointainbleau; pragnąłbym jeszcze zwiedzić Francję. Poniedziałek L V I . Rano pisanie etc. Popoł[udniu] przychodzą Kasia i Т.; Staś i Zuł[awski] wychodzą na He­ ath. Odprowadzam T. aż do rogu Englands Lane; układa­ my spacet na wieczór; kwestya pożyczki pieniędzy. Staś ze mną u Miss Fry. Rozmowa z nią, działa na mnie podno­ sząco. (...) Wtorek 2. Popołudniu Kasia i T. przychodzą. Staś. Odprowadzam T. [?] ale bez prawdziwego sentymentu. We Środę 3. w południe zajście ze Stasiem, które psu­ je mi humor na pewien czas, bo ostatecznie muszę przy­ znać, że ma on do pewnego stopnia rację. - Aha zapo­ mniałem napisać jeszcze o jednym spacerze z Т.; zdaje mi się we Wtorek 26. Staś był ze mną i wstąpiliśmy do Scliool, gdzie widziałem się z Seligm[anem] potem po pu­ dełko do blacharza, potem natknąłem się na Ret|ingera] 1 spiknąłem go ze Stasiem.(...) Piątek. 5. Popoł[udniu] fotografuję ją. Przychodzi mąż; speszenie; nie zapraszam go na wieczór. Wywoływa­ nie. Wieczór Kasia, sufrażystki; Т., Memcia i siostra. Układamy r[ende?Ji'[ousj[ ] na Woburn Square. Staś przychodzi. (...) 7 Poniedziałek. 8. Ostatni dzień w Londynie. Zęby mę­ czą mnie sttasznie i niepokoją. Rano idę ze Stasiem do Anthrop[ological] Institute], do Banku, do Museum, wra­ cam do domu; fotografując M = ę [Mamę'] łamię statyw fotograficzny. (...) Wtorek 9. ostatni ranek. Silny ból zębów; ponura per­ spektywa na przyszłość. Wrażenie zupełnej bezsensowno­ ści tej podróży. Budzę Stasia, raz jeszcze idę się pożegnać z naszym ogródkiem. Szukam taxa. Na stacyi Westermarck, Memcia. - Jazda do Folkestone smutna. Czuję na­ gle, że jestem pozostawiony swojemu losowi na współkę ze Stasiem. U Zuł[awskich] rozmowa z Kazia, która wygląda b. efektownie. Potem kolacja; potem ze Stasiem ptzez Ave­ 325 Środa 17 V I 14 (...) Co do mojej obecnej pozycji, to muszę, pomimo upałów i niezdrowia, powoli, ale systematycznie pracować celowo. Przedewszystkiem wciągnąć w to Stasia. 18 V I 14 Wczoraj i dzisiaj czuję się znacznie lepiej; pogodzony z losem i właściwie zaaklimatyzowany na statku. Przed­ wczoraj wieczór dojazd do Port Said.(...) Cieszę się wspomnieniami, jakie to przywodzi; przeży­ wam nowość tego razem ze Stasiem. Kiepska noc; jazda ptzez kanał. (...) Sobota 19, 20 V I 14 (...) Zycie na statku: rano koło 7 = ej budzą mnie na kąpiel. Ubieram się, potem idę na śniadanie. Rozmowa z Francuzką i z rodziną australską siedzącą naprzeciwko nas. Potem idę na pokład i ptzedpoludniem piszę dzien­ nik, trochę czytam. Ale przerywam często, spaceruję, ga­ dam i gram w sporty. Lunch; potem słońce przechodzi na prawą stronę, zmieniam pokład i czytam coś innego. Czy­ tanie idzie mi powoli kiepsko. Grzebię się w hlotes & Querries. Trochę rozmawiam ze Stasiem, chociaż mniej tetaz, niż przedtem; wczoraj Staś był dość ponury. Niedziela 21 V I 14 (...) Staś wczoraj wieczór skomponował b. ładną melodję; speszyło mnie to trochę, gdyż moja impotencja ar­ tystyczna zawsze mi dolega. Zarówno w stosunkach do kobiety, jak i w stosunku do życia jest to rzecz, poprzez którą b. trudno mi się przedostać.(...) Mandauh ćk Lawalla [?] - Sobota 4 Lipca. (...) - Hotel w Colombo; weranda szeroka, przykryte podwórza; otwarte pokoje jadalne; dalej korytatz i poko­ je sypialne. Śpię trochę lepiej niż na sratku pod moskitierą 1. [pierwszą] noc. Staś nie śpi; wstaje i zapala światło. (...) �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI Wednesday's quarrel which drives me into a fury. Dinner; poor sleep in the night. - (...) rubber plants; trees rare, without undergrowth; ground covered with dried leaves; to the left an oblong pond; evidently a bathing pool for elephants, or perhaps for people, priests, too. To the right a dagoba, i n the [?] overgrown grass; Staś on the platform with huge, flat stones. (...) - Staś is having a terrible day; doesn't see, despairs, speaks of s[uicide?]. Was meant to be writing an article. (...) Return to the pond; beautiful view of the hills; monkeys fly overhead along the way. Meet Staś. Rest of the time in the Rest House; conversation with a Tamil; diary writing; Staś is starting the article, very good. (...) Sunday 26.7. (...) The drive to the Cussacks, Staś sits in front. A t the Cussacks I have a long talk with him. Next is tea. Get wommera and churinga[l]; both good. Return, late evening. Conversation in wh[ich] St. attacks me and upsets me so that I have a [?] night; although I behave peacefully towards him. Monday 27. (...) We arrive late; dinner; Staś leaves early (and makes a scene that day and not the previous one as I had noted). Tuesday 28. (...) Long conversation with the governor and his wife. Conversation with the vicegovernor] and Sir John Forest. Walk i n the garden; taking Staś away; return home. Evening at home. 6.7.14 (...) Packing; breakfast; have a moral katzenjammer due to the keeper's mistake and the fact that Staś didn't register i n the book. In the evening it turns out that the keeper has cheated us of 2 rupees. Buddhas in the 1st, very small cavern, he is carved out of the rock, wonderful facial expression, in robes of beautifully carved folds. - (...) O n the sea, from Fremantle to Adelaide, Wednesday 5.8. Description of sojourn in Western Australian Generally very nice, cheerful, frivolous mood. Lack of fascination with a unilateral emotional stimulus. Interest primarily in objective facts; flora of West[ern] Australia]; animals in the garden; also some ethnological problems. A scientific mood par excellence. Towards the end I'm beginning to feel a bit worse due to a quarrel with Staś, general fatigue and, at the very end, news of the war: 21.7. (...) Fremantle as a series of houses without any character in the distance. Long wait for Le Soeff and for Dakin; uncertainty with regards to Staś. L.S. comes; large, disorderly, solid chap. Gambols Polish-style. Delight that I am a guest, that I don't have to think about everything and pay for everything. (...) We put Staś in the Hostel; it's getting dark; we drive back. (...) Port Moresby, September 20, 1914.* September 1 " began a new epoch in my life: an expedition all on my own to the tropics. O n Tuesday, 9.1.14 I went with the British Association as far as Toowoomba. Met Sir Oliver and Lady Lodge. I chatted with them and he offered his assistance. The falseness of my position and Staś' attempt to "set i t right", my taking leave of Desire Dickinson, my anger with Staś which became a deep resentment that persists even now - all this belongs to the previous epoch, the trip to Australia with the British Assoc. I went back to Brisbane alone i n a parlor car reading the Australian Handbook. A t Brisbane I felt quite deserted and had supper alone. Evenings with [Fritz] Grabner and Pringshaim, who hope to be able to go back to Germany; we talked about the war. The lobby of the Hotel Danieli, its cheap furniture, its staircase in full view, are closely bound up with my recollections of this period. I recall morning visits to the museum with Pringsheim. Visit to Burns Phelp; a visit to the goldsmith; a meeting with [A.R. Radcliffe-]Brown. (...) O n Thursday night I went to see Dt. Douglas, to say good-bye to the Goldings and to give Mrs. Golding a letter for Staś. I returned books to her. (...) O n Wednesday 22.7. go take a swim i n the morning, beside wild animals, lions and tigers. Breakfast at which we talk for a long time. About 12 I go alone to Perth. Staś isn't there. Staś and L.S. come after a quarter hour of my waiting. (...) In the evening dinner; escort Staś to the Watsons; quarrel at the hotel. (...) In Kalgoorlie (Friday 24.) cold; clean, clear and sharp air. (...) We're almost late. Buy a sleeper for Staś and myself. - Staś leaves with a grudge about Monday, 10.5. (...) Dream of settling permanently in the South Seas; how will all this strike me when I'm back i n Poland? I think of what is going on there now. O f Mother. Selfreproach. Occasionally I think of Staś, with increasing bitterness, missing his company. But I am glad he is not here.(...) Wasted all day Saturday 17 and Sunday 18 waiting for Saville, and reading Vanity Fair and i n my * Already translated as A Diary in the Strict Sense of the Term 326 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO Na 2. dzień idziemy kolo l l = t e j nad jeziorkiem, koło restaurowanej dagoby do nowej dagoby, której dotąd je­ szcze nie widziałem. Gaj mimoz czy akacyi i fikusów; drze­ wa rzadkie, bez podszycia; ziemia pokryta liściami ze­ schłymi; na lewo staw podłużny; widocznie kąpiel dla sło­ ni, a może i dla ludzi, kapłanów. Na prawo dagoba, w [?] porosła trawą; Staś na platformie z olbrzymich, płaskich kamieni.(...) - Staś ma fatalny dzień; nie patrzy, rozpacza, mówi o sb. [samobójstwie?]. Miał pisać artykuł. (...) Wracam nad stawkiem; śliczny widok na gótki; małpy przelatują po drodze. Spotykam Stasia. Resztę cza­ su w Rest Housie; rozmowa z Tamilem; pisanie dziennika; Staś zaczyna artykuł b. dobtze. (...) 6 V I I 14 (...) Pakowanie; breakfast; mam kota motalnego z po­ wodu omyłki keeper i tego, że Staś się nie wpisał w książ­ ce. Wieczorem okazuje się, że keeper okradł nas o 2 rupie. Buddy. W 1. pieczarze, b. małej, jest on wykuty ze ska­ ły o cudownym wyrazie twarzy, w sukni o ślicznie wyrzeź­ bionych fałdach. - (...) Na morzu, z Fremantle do Adelaide, Środa 5.VIII. Opis pobytu w Zachodniej Australii. Ogólnie b. miły, pogodny, lekkomyślny nastrój. Btak zafascynowania jakąś jednostronną podnietą uczuciową. Zainteresowanie się głównie objektywnymi faktami; ro­ ślinnością Zach[odniej] Austr[alii]; zwierzętami w ogro­ dzie; trochę też problemami etnologicznymi. Nastrój par excellance naukowy. Pod koniec zaczynam się czuć trochę gorzej z powodu kłótni ze Stasiem, ogólnego zmęczenia i , na samym końcu, wiadomości o wojnie. 21 V I I (...) Fremantle jako szereg domów bez charakteru w odda­ li. Długie czekanie na Le Sonifa i na Dakina; niepewność co do Stasia. L.S. przyjeżdża; duże, nieporządne, solidne chłopisko. Bryka w polskim stylu. Radość, że jestem go­ ściem, że nie muszę o wszystkiem myśleć i za wszystko płacić. (...) Umieszczamy Stasia w Hostel; zciemnia się; je­ dziemy z powrotem.(...) We Środę 22 V I I rano idę do kąpieli, koło dzikich zwierząt, lwów i tygrysów. Śniadanie, przy którym długo gadamy. Koło 12 = tej idę sam do Petth. Stasia niema. Przychodzi Staś i L.S. po kwadtansie mojego czeka­ nia. (...) Wieczorem kolacja; odprowadzamy Stasia do Watsonów; kłótnia w hotelu. (...) W Kalgoorlie (Piątek 24) zimno; czyste, przejrzyste i ostre powietrze.(...) O mało co nie spóźnieni. Kupuję sleeper dla siebie i Stasia. - Staś wyjeżdża z pretensjami o Środową kłótnię, co mnie przyprowadza do wściekłości. Kolacja; źle przespana noc. - (...) Niedziela 26 V I I (...) Jazda do Cussacków, Staś siada na froncie. U Cussacków mam długą rozmowę z nim. Następnie herbata. Dostaję wommerę i churinge[?]; obie dobre. Powrót, późnym wieczorem. Rozmowa, w ktfórej] St[aś] napada na mnie i peszy mnie, tak że mam noc [?]; choć odnoszę się do niego pacyficznie. Poniedziałek 27. (...) Przyjeżdżamy późno; kolacja; Staś wychodzi wcześnie (i robi m i awanturę tego dnia, a nie poprzedniego jak zanotowałem). Wtorek 28 (...) Długa rozmowa z gubernatorem i jego żoną. Rozmowa z vicegub. i Sir Johnem Forestem. Spacer po ogrodzie; zabranie Stasia; powrót do domu. Wieczór w domu. Port Moresby, 20 Września 1914* 1. Września rozpoczyna się nowa epoka w moim życiu: samodzielna i samotna wyprawa w tropiki. We Wtorek, 1.IX.14 odprowadziłem Brit. Ass. Do Toowoomby. Roz­ mowa i zaznajamianie się z Sir Oliwerem i Lady Lodge; ofiarowanie mi pomocy przez tegoż; moje fałszywe poło­ żenie i „sprostowanie" przez Stasia. Pożegnanie z Desire Dickinson; wściekłość na Stasia, która przerodziła się na głęboki żal, trwający do tej chwili - to wszystko należy do poprzedniej epoki, do wizyty z Brit. Assem w Australii. Wróciłem sam do Brisbane wagonem salonowym; czyta­ łem po drodze Handbook australski. W Brisbane poczucie opuszczenia i samotności. Samotna kolacja. Wieczorami rozmawiam z Grabnerem i Pringsheimem, którzy mają nadzieję, że będą mogli wrócić do Niemiec; mówię z nimi o wojnie. Otwarty na sień, tandetnie umeblowany salon hotelu Danieli wiąże się ściśle z tą epoką. Pamiętam wizy­ tę rano w muzeum, dokąd Ptingsheim mnie odprowadza. Wizytę u Burnsa Philpa; wizytę u złotnika. Spotykam z Brownem, w Piątek rano, który idzie tego dnia na lunch do Mayo ow. We Czwartek wieczór jadę do D r = a Dou­ glasa, ażeby pożegnać się z Gol[d]ingami i dać Goldingowej list do Stasia oraz oddać jej książki. W Poniedziałek 5 X (...) Marzenia o stałym osiedleniu się w S[outh] Seas; o tern, jak będę patrzał na te rzeczy po powrocie do kra­ ju. Myśli o tern, co się tetaz w kraju dzieje. O matce. Wy­ rzuty sumienia. Chwilami myślę o Stasiu, z cotaz mniej­ szym rozgoryczeniem. Z żalem za jego towarzystwem. Chociaż jestem rad, że jego tu niema. (...) Dziennik moich przeżyć na Mailu: (...) Całą Sobotę 17 i Niedzielę 18 marnuję czekając na Saville'a i na zabój czytam Vanity Fair - zupełne stu- * O d t ą d zaczyna się następny zeszyt, a zarazem opubliko­ wana w języku angielskim część dzienników pt. A Diary in the Strict Sense 327 of the Term �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E П1 ARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI desperation - complete obfuscation, I simply forgot dejected by the novel and Stas's letter. In the evening where I was. I had begun to read V.F. at Zakopane, I felt very disturbed; nevertheless I prepared a plan of having borrowed it from Dziewicki that spring when campaign with S[aville] and went to the village to get Kavaka and Papari. After long parleys I got them out, I spent six days there in May; Staś was in Brittany, I was and I came back home. A t last the mystery of the names of the months is being clarified. Went to sleep staying with the Taks. Now the fate of Becky Sharp and Amelia did not awaken my memories of old times. (...) without reading.(...) 10.29.(...) 11.2. Elated, humming a tune, I walked to the village. (...) Was not seasick. Landed feeling broken; did not Fairly fruitful talk with Kavaka. Watched lovely poetic dances and listened to Suau music. A small ring of lie down at once; had breakfast and looked through the dancers; two dancers facing each other with raised newspapers with illustrations about the war. Looked for drums. The melody reminded me of Kubain laments. something about Poland - there was nothing. Very tired. Went back home where I wasted time leafing through Right after dinner, went to bed. Slept from 2 to 5. I did Punch. Vision of T. Occasionally I think of Staś with not feel too well afterward. I sat by the sea - no fit of real friendliness; principally the melody he composed on dejection. The Staś problem torments me. In fac t his the way to Ceylon. conduct toward me was impossible. There was nothing wrong about what I said in Lodge's presence; he was 10.29. (Written on the 30 th wrong to correct me. His complaints are unjustified, in the afternoon) and the way he expresses himself precludes any Was up before 8 in the morning and wrote my diary. Was busy writing when S. brought my mail. Letters from possibility of reconciliation. Finis amicitiae. Zakopane N . (5) and a number of letters from Australia. without Staś! Nietzsche breaking with Wagner I respect Charming, friendly letters from the Mayos and [Le his art and admire his intelligence and worship his sones] gave me real pleasure. Also an extremely nice individuality, but I cannot stand his character.(...) letter from Mrs. Golding. Stas's letter deeply annoyed Sunday 28. Morning - ? Read a little of [Newton]. In me. A t the same time I reproached myself for not the evening I thought about Staś and began a letter to having behaved i n a petfectly unimpeachable way and him. A t moments I was very exalted; I have been in I felt deep resentment and hatred for his behavior N.G., I have accomplished a good deal. I have prospects toward me. My feeling for him was almost completely of far better work - fairly certain plans. A n d so - ruined by his letters. I see almost no possibility of It's not as hopeless as I thought when I arrived here. reconciliation. I also know that however many faults Moreover I don't feel a bit worse than when I came. I have committed, he acted very ruthlessly toward me; I am a better sailor and I walk much better - the all the time having gestures and airs of persecuted distances no longer terrify me. - Gazing at the sea greatness and moralizing in accents of deep, mature, 1 have a strong feeling of happiness. True, it is not all objective wisdom. There was not a trace of friendliness over yet; but i n the light of old fears and uncertainties in his conduct towards me. - No, objectively, in the I have decidedly won a victory.(...) scale of rights and wrongs the platter dips down on his side... I am terribly dejected and dispirited by the Sunday, Oct.28, 1917, on the Tropic of Capricorn. bankruptcy of my most essential friendship. The first (...) reaction of holding myself responsible for everything Wednesday uneventful - I made friends with a navy predominates, and I feel capitis dirninutio - a worthless officer, read, wrote a little. I was slightly seasick. man, of diminished value. A friend is not merely an Thursday: around 4 p.m. we sailed into Moreton Bay. added quantity, he is a factor, he multiplies Peaceful trip. I did not look around enough, I talked too one's individual value. Too bad - the responsibility for much. I looked at the river in moonlight, and recalled the break lies primarily i n his unrelating pride, i n his the British Assoc., Staś, Mackaren, and Miss Dickinson. lack of consideration, his inability to forgive others for Gloom of deserted wharves; enormous gray transports. anything, though he can forgive himself a great deal. - Message from the Mayos; drive; telegram o E.R.M.(...) r Then I read N.'s letters, which are the only thread linking me with the past, and the Times, which Mrs. Tuesday, 11.13. Mayo sent me. I visited the village depressed. (...) A t 10.30 went to B.R and asked Burton to look for Stas's lost box.(...) Conference with Kavaka in his house, about the burial rites; analysis of the sago spade. In the afternoon I began to read Bolski and did not put the book down until 5. Went to the village for half an hour, feeling very 328 Friday, 12.21. Awoke late, at 7. Dreams in which S.I.W. [Stanisław �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ W DZIENNIKACH BRONISŁAWA MALINOWSKIEGO manienie; zapominam wprost, gdzie jestem. V[anity] F[air] zacząłem czytać, pożyczywszy od Dziewickiego, w Zakopanem; owej wiosny, kiedy byłem tam przez 6 dni w Maju, Staś był w Bretanii, ja mieszkałem u Tabów. Te­ raz losy Becky Sharp i Amelii nie wzbudziły żadnych wspomnień o przeszłości. Tamta epoka była też epoką zu­ pełnego otumanienia. (...) 29 X (...) W? rozchandrzony, nucąc, do wioski. Dość wydaj­ na rozmowa Kawaką. Obserwuję śliczne, poetyczne tańce i słucham muzyki Suau. Małe koło tancerzy; dwuch na­ przeciw siebie tańczy z podniesionymi bębnami. Melodya przypomina kubańskie zawodzenia. - Wracam. W domu tracę czas na feuilletowanie Puncha. Wizja Т. - O Stasiu myślę chwilami z prawdziwą serdecznością; głównie melodja przez niego skomponowana w drodze do Cejlonu. Dzień 29 X (pisane 30 X popoł.) Rano wstaję przed 8 = ą i piszę dziennik. Jestem zajęty pisaniem, kiedy S. da­ je mi mail. Listy od N . (5) i szereg listów z Australii. B. mi­ łe i serd[eczne] listy od May'ów i Le Souefów robią mi serd. przyjemność. Tak samo niezmiernie miły list od Goldingowej. List Stasia peszy mnie głęboko. Odczuwam równocześnie silne wyrzuty sumienia, że nie postępowa­ łem w sposób zupełnie unimpeachable, równocześnie od­ czuwam głęboki żal i nienawiść za jego odniesienie się do mnie. Sentyment prawie całkiem zduszony tym listem. Nie widzę prawie możliwości porozumienia. Wiem także, że, jakkolwiek było wiele win z mojej strony, on postępo­ wał b. bezwzględnie w stosunku do mnie; przez cały czas zachowując gesty i minę uciśnionej wielkości i motalizując mnie z akcentem głębokiej, dojrzałej i objektywnej mądrości w głosie. Nie było cienia życzliwości w jego za­ chowaniu się w stosunku do mnie. - Nie, objektywnie, szala nieprawości przechodzi na jego stronę... Niezmier­ nie mnie peszy i przygnębia bankructwo mojej najistot­ niejszej przyjaźni. Pierwsza reakcja brania odpowiedzial­ ności za wszystko jest przeważająca i czuję się „capitis diminutis"; człowiekiem bez wartości, o zmniejszonej warto­ ści. Przyjaciel nie jest tylko dodatkiem - jest on współ­ czynnikiem; wartość indywidualna staje się pomnożoną. Trudno - wina zerwania leży przedewszystkiem w jego nieubłaganej pysze i bezwzględności, która nic nie umie przebaczyć innym, a b. wiele samemu sobie. - Potem czy­ tam listy n, które są jedyną nicią wiążącą mnie z przeszło­ ścią i „Times"a, którego Mayowa mi przysłała. Idę do wioski speszony. Konferencja z Kawaką w jego domu o obrzędach pogrzebowych i analiza łopaty sago­ wej. Popołudniu zaczynam czytać Bolskiego i nie odkła­ dam książki aż o 5 = tej. Idę na Vi godziny do wioski, moc­ no zdemoralizowany czytaniem powieści i listem Stasia. Wieczorem czuję się b. histerycznie. Pomimo to przygoto­ wuję plan kampanii z S. i idę po Kawakę i Papari'ego do wioski. Po długich pour parler wydobywam ich i wracam. Nareszcie tajemnica nazw miesięcy się wyświetla! Idę spać zaraz bez czytania. (...) 2 X I (...) Unikam choroby. Wysiadam jak zbity; nie kładę się od razu; jem śniadanie i przeglądam gazety ilu­ strowane o wojnie. Szukam czegoś o Polsce - nic niema. Jestem b. zmęczony, zaraz po objedzie idę spać - śpię od 2 = ej do 5 = tej. Nie czuję się świetnie potem. Siedzę nad motzem. Chandra nie przychodzi. Problem Stasia mnie męczy. Faktycznie on postępował w stosunku do mnie niemożliwie. Moje powiedzenie wobec Lodge'a nie było nic złego. Jego sprostowanie było. Jego pretensje są nieu­ zasadnione, a sposób, w kt[óry] je wyraża, przecina z góry możność porozumienia się. Finis amicitiae. Zakopane bez Stasia! Nietzsche zrywa z Wagnerem. Bezwzględnie uzna­ ję jego sztukę; podziwiam inteligencję i wielbię indywidu­ alność, ale nieznoszę charakteru. Niedziela 28. Rano - ? Czytam trochę Newtona. Wie­ czorem myślę o Stasiu i zabieram się do napisania listu do niego. Mam chwilami silną egzaltację: byłem na N.G.; zrobiłem dość dużo względnie. Mam przed sobą widoki je­ szcze znacznie lepszej pracy - plany dość pewne. A więc - nie jest tak beznadziejnie, jak myślałem jadąc tutaj. Pozatem nie czuję się bynajmniej gotzej, niż kiedy jechałem tutaj. Znoszę lepiej chorobę morską i znacznie lepiej cho­ dzę - przestrzeń nie przedstawia mi się w tak odstręczają­ cej formie. - Patrzę na morze i doznaję silnego uczucia szczęścia. Jeszcze nie po wszystkiem - prawda; ale w świe­ tle obaw i niepewności poprzednich mam za sobą stanow­ czo tryumf. Poniedziałek] 25.3.(...) Księżyc nad wzgórzem, poły­ ski blade na lśniących liściach. Kolacja, jem powoli, leni­ wie, będąc zmęczonym. Myśli? Jadę dinghą po kolacyi. Patrzę na gwiazdy: S[outhern] Cross, E.R.M. Staś, Atwood (Semolina Pudding); Syriusz, Canopus - 2 największe gwiazdy „poor show"! Wracam, śpię.(...) Środa 11/4 1. połowa dnia w Gusawecie; normalna rutyna: wsta­ ję późno i po kiepskiej nocy; rozmowy z Billem o fotogra­ fii etc. Oglądam filmy po śniadaniu, czyszczę i [?] kame­ rę, kończę wywoływanie. Myję się i myję głowę. Koło l=szej gotów do odjazdu, deszcz, piszę list do E.R.M. Ca­ ły ten ranek jestem energiczny, czuję się nieźle i kocham się w E.R.M. - Popołudniu na łódce zamiast czytać po­ wieści lub branzlować czas, czytam mój dawny dziennik. Refleksje: stawiam sobie kwestie, czy obecne życie odpo­ wiada maksimum intensywności, którą mogę wydobyć z mego zdrowia i dobrego stanu nerwów. Nie: doktryna, że najlepszą pracę się robi w leisure hours, przetłomaczyłem na doktrynę spadania po linii najmniejszego oporu, taking it easy. Wątpliwości a la St.I.W.: czy watto elimino­ wać płodne źródła natchnienia (które niewątpliwie każdy 329 �Grażyna Kubica • STAŚ WITKIEWICZ IN T H E DIARIES O F BRONISŁAW MALINOWSKI Ignacy ("Staś") Witkiewicz and old W [Staś' father] are Wednesday, 4.18 [sic] mixed up. Also, Judge Herbert, and others.(...) (...) Dream about St.I.W. and N.S. Feeling of having wronged, deceived her.(...) Monday 24(...) Completely forgot it was Christmas Eve. But just now, this very morning, when I couldn't sleep, Mother was thinking of me and was missing me. My God, my God, how terrible it is to live in a continuos ethical conflict. My failure to think seriously about Mother, Staś, Poland - about their sufferings there and about Poland's ordeal - is disgusting! Monday, 3.25.(...) The moon above the hills makes pale reflections on the glistening leaves. Supper; I ate slowly, lazily, being tired. Thought? - Took out the dinghy after supper. Gazed at the stars: S[outhern] Cross - E.R.M. Staś. Atwood (Semolina Pudding); Sirius, Canopus - the two largest stars a "poor show"! Came back, and to bed.(...) Wednesday, 4.11 [sic] First half of day in Gusaweta; normal routine: got up late after bad night, had conversations with Bill about photography, etc. Examined films (after breakfast), cleaned camera, finished developing. Washed and shampooed. A t 1 ready to leave; rain; wrote E.R.M. A l l morning I was energetic, felt well, in love with E.R.M. In the afternoon, instead of reading novel or idling, I read my old diary. Reflections: I asked myself whether my present life achieves the maximum of intensity obtainable in view of my health and good nervous condition. No. I interpreted the doctrine that best work is dome during leisure hours as doctrine of following a line of least resistance, as taking it easy. Doubts a la S.I.W. [Stanisław I . Witkiewicz] - is it worth while to eliminate fruitful sources of inspiration (which every thinker and artist will find by following the line of least resistance) ? But it is a fact that when you eliminate one form of inspiration you gain another, and that to eliminate line of least resistance is above all to eliminate pure waste of time (reading novels, sitting extra long in company, etc.). (...) 6.30.18. (...) A t night, sad, plaintive dreams, like childhood feelings. I dreamed about Warsaw, about our apartment in the boarding school, about some apartment with a bathroom (Zenia and Staś) in Warsaw. Everything permeated with Mother.(...) 7.18.18. O n the theory of religion. My ethical position in relation to Mother, Staś, E.R.M. Twinges of conscience result from lack of integrated feelings and truth in relation to individuals. My whole ethics is based on the fundamental instinct of unified personality. From this follows the need to be the same in different situations (truth in relation to oneself) and the need, indispensability, of sincerity: the whole value of friendship is based on the possibility of expressing oneself, of being oneself with absolute frankness. Alternative between a lie and spoiling a relationship. (My attitude to Mother, Staś, and all my friends was strained). - Love does not flow from ethics, but ethics from love. There is no way of deducing Christian ethics from my theory. But that ethic has never expressed the actual truth - love your neighbor - to the degree actually possible. The real problem is: why must you always behave as if God were watching you? 7.18.18. (...) A l l the tender feeling of my childhood came back: I feel as when I had left Mother for a few days, returning from Zwierzyniec with Father. - I go back in my thoughts to Anna Bt. - how utterly everything has vanished from my life! - Stas's betrayal, and N.S. Truly I lack real character. 330 Translated by Annamaria Orla-Bukowska �Grażyna Kubica • STAS W I T K I E W I C Z W D Z I E N N I K A C H BRONISŁAWA M A L I N O W S K I E G O myśliciel i artysta znajdzie obficie na linii najmniejszego oporu)? Ale faktem jest, że za jedną formę natchnienia uzyskuje się inną i że eliminując l.n.p. eliminuję przede wszystkiem czystą stratę czasu (czytanie powieści, przesia­ dywanie extra long w towarzystwie już wyjalowionem itp.).(-) Środa 18/4 M - Sen o St.Ign.W. i N.S. Uczucie skrzywdzenia, oszukania jej.(...) Niedziela. 30/6/18 (...) - W nocy sny smutne, żałosne, jak uczucia z dzie­ ciństwa. Śnię o Warszawie, o naszem mieszkaniu w Bur­ sie, o jakiemś mieszkaniu z kąpielą (Zenia i Staś) w Warsz. Wszystko przeniknięte Mamą i budzę się co chwila. Nad ranem zatopiony w smutku. Idę na drogę i płaczę. - Na­ głe przebłyski zrozumienia, wizje przeszłości. Zycie prze­ szyte strzałą żalu, wyrzutów sumienia, rzeczy niepowrotnych.(...) 17/7/18 (...) Wszystkie czułe uczucia dzieciństwa wracają; czu­ ję jak wtedy, kiedy rozstałem się z Matką na parę dni, wracając ze Zwierzyńca z ojcem. - Wracam też myślą do Annie Br. - jak kompletnie wszystko znikło z mojego ży­ cia! - Zdrada Stasia i N.S. Nie jestem naprawdę prawdzi­ wym charakterem. Do teoryi religii. Etyczne stanowisko w stosunku do Mamusi, Stasia, E.R.M. Wyrzuty sumienia: wynikają z braku jednolitości uczuciowej i prawdy w stosunku do indywidualności. Cala etyka moja opiera się na podsta­ wowym instynkcie jednolitości osobistości. Z tego wynika potrzeba bycia tymsamym w różnych sytuacjach (prawda w stosunku do samego siebie), potrzeba koniecznej szcze­ rości: cała wartość przyjaźni oparta na możliwości wywnętrzania się, bycia samym sobą w zupełnej szczerości. Kłamstwo zatruwa stosunek osobisty. Alternatywa mię­ dzy kłamstwem a rozszarpaniem stosunku. (Mój stosunek do Mamy, Stasia i wszystkich przyjaciół był poszarpany). - Miłość nie wypływa z etyki, lecz etyka z miłości. Etyki chrześcijańskiej nie sposób wyprowadzić z mojej teoryi. Ale etyka ta nigdy nie wyrażała istotnej prawdy. Miłuj bli­ źniego swego - o ile to możliwe. Istotny problem: dlacze­ go musisz postępować zawsze tak, jakby Cię Bóg widział. Ten problem [urwane] Piątek 21/12 [17] Budzę się późno o 7=ej. Sny, w których S.I.W. i stary W[itkiewicz] zmieszani. Także judge Herbert i inni. (...) Poniedziałek 24 [12.17] (...) Zapominam zupełnie o wilii Bożego Narodzenia. Ale właśnie teraz, właśnie dziś rano, kiedy nie spałem, Mamusia tam myślała o mnie i tęskniła za mną. O Boże, Boże, jakież marne jest życie w ciągłym rozdźwięku etycz­ nym. Ten brak myśli głębszych o Mamie, o Stasiu, o kra­ ju i tem, co oni wszyscy cierpią i co Polska cierpi - jest czemś wstrętnem. (...) Wtorek 13 11.[17] (...) О Ю'Л idę do B.R i proszę Burtona, żeby mi po­ szukał zaginionej kiesy Stasia. (...) 331 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/adc7a3f190fde238435ccea3dd46b18b.pdf d36387387d0ea108071dd8be2cc9d887 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2840 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2000 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2647 Title A name given to the resource "The Shoemakers" by Witkiewicz: Eroticism and Power="Szewcy" Witkacego: erotyzm i władza / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2000 t.54 z.1-4, s.350-363 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Sokół, Lech Language A language of the resource pol., ang. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D POWER L E C H SOKÓŁ The Shoemakers by Witkiewicz: Eroticism and Power* T he Shoemakers, the last surviving play of Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz (1885-1939), was begun in 1927, continued in 1931 and finished in 1934. The play was never published or performed in the author's life-time. Its considerable difference from all previous plays is visible already in its subtitle: "A Scientific Play with 'Songs' in Three Acts". According to Daniel Gerould, The Shoemakers continues themes and techniques found in two long novels Farewell to Autumn (1927, written in 1925) and Insatiability (1930, written in 1927) which Witkiewicz had conceived not long before. Like the novels, the play is a reflection of the author's growing social concerns. As Gerould says: "The dramatist is now writing, in part, as a social scientist studying the evolution of society" (Gerould 1981:321). The main characters of The Shoemakers represent definite social groups, thus making the play a complete depiction of society. I am deliberately using the term "a society", not "Polish society", because I am convinced that, in spite of many Polish details, the society pictured in The Shoemakers is not Polish society and the play does not refer to Poland but to the world at large. Witkiewicz's play is primarily a historiosophical and an existentialist treatise and only secondarily a social and political one. Social and political questions are investigated in a global context and not only a national one. The obvious fact that Witkiewicz took advantage of his personal and national experience does not alter this basic statement. The action of The Shoemakers takes place in the second half of the 20th century or, as Witkiewicz liked to call it, " i n the last half of the 20th century". The society pictured in the play is quite anachronistic and consists of the representatives of three estates. There is a representative of the aristocracy - the Duchess Irina Vsevolodovna, who would like to play a political role although she is quite conscious that it is too late to do so. The bourgeoisie is represented by the Prosecuting Attorney (and subsequent Minister of Justice) Robert Scurvy. Finally, there are the shoemakers, "representatives of the middle handicraft". The industrial working class and the peasants are present in the play, but not as individualized dramatis personae. Apart from purely artistic concerns, Witkiewicz's goal is to present a diagnosis of the current state of society and culture and of prognosis of the future awaiting mankind. The problem of the previous plays, that of the fall of art and the tragedy of the artist, is now replaced by the decline and the tragedy of man in general. Problems of artistic creativity, however, are not totally absent from the play; they appear as a general problem concerning not only artists but all the members of society: the creative element is present in work - the basic human activity. If work loses its quality of creation, it becomes monotonous, sterile and deadening. The Shoemakers were meant to open a new stage in Witkiewicz's play-writing, but there was to be no continuation. We know that he certainly began, or perhaps even completed, a succeeding play, or maybe even a number of plays, but no texts have survived. * T h e article was first published in Allvarling debatt The working class is represented by the HyperWorker, or Hyper-workoid in Daniel Gerould's translation - a synthetic or symbolic figure. Both his appearance ("Dressed in overalls and a cap" /Witkiewicz 1968: 225/) and his curriculum vitae ("I spent fourteen years in a prison cell studying economics" /Witkiewicz 1968:278/)' make him an embodiment of the working class with its political ambitions and suffering under and oppressive political order which the worker's activists try to overthrow. The role of the peasantry in his play is more complex. A symbolic group: an old peasant, young peasant and a barefooted country girl in colourful Cracow peasant costumes arrive at the shoemakers' workshop straight from The Wedding - a play by Stanisław Wyspiański (1869-1907); there is also Wyspianski's symbolic creation - the Mulch (Chochoł), which in his play arrives from the garden. These characters refer to a peasant mythology which existed in the times of Wyspiański and which was still alive when Witkiewicz wrote his play, but has very little to do with peasants as a social class. While dealing with social aspects of the play we must first of all answer the question why should it be that Witkiewicz chose to present shoemakers, and not workers, as heroes of the play? The answer is to be och rolig lek E n festskrift tillagnad Andrzej Nils Uggla. Edited by Elżbieta Szwejkowska-Olson & Michał Bron Jr. with collaboration of L e c h Sokół, Uppsala 2000 350 �Lech Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA O statni znany dramat Witkacego, Szewcy, powstawał wyjątkowo długo: zaczęty w 1927, pisany w 1931, zakończony został w 1934 roku. Nie został ogłoszo­ ny, nie był też grany za życia autota. Różni się pod wieloma względami od innych jego sztuk, co widać już w podtytule: Naukowa sztuka ze „śpiewkami" w trzech aktach. Witkacy coraz bardziej intetesuje się wówczas sprawami społecznymi i politycznymi, na historiozoficznym tle. Zdaniem Daniela Geroulda: „W pewnej mierze występuje on jako socjolog ba­ dający ewolucję społeczeństwa". Poza kwestiami czysto artystycznymi celem Witkacego jest teraz diagnoza ówczesnego stanu kultury i społeczeństwa oraz prognoza przyszłości, jaka oczekuje ludzkość. Problema­ tyka zasadnicza dla sztuk wcześniejszych: upadek sztuki i ttagedia artysty, zostaje zastąpiona ptzez problem upadku i tra­ gedii człowieka w ogólności. Kwestia twótczości nie została jednak całkowicie usunię­ ta ze sztuki; pojawia się ona jako zagadnienie dotyczące nie tylko artystów, ale wszystkich członków społeczeństwa: ele­ ment twórczy winien być obecny w pracy, może najistotniej­ szej z zatrudnień człowieka. Jeśli praca traci jakość twótczo­ ści, staje się monotonna, bezpłodna i zabijająca. Wydaje się oczywiste, że Szewcy mieli otworzyć nowy etap w twórczości Witkacego, ale nie został on w istocie otwarty. Wiemy z pewnością, że Witkacy zaczął, a może na­ wet ukończył jakąś sztukę bądź sztuki, ale żaden tekst nie za­ chował się. Główne postacie Szewców reprezentują okteślone grupy społeczne, przekształcając dramat w kompletne opisanie społeczeństwa. Piszę z rozmysłem „społeczeństwa", a nie „społeczeństwa polskiego", gdyż jestem przekonany, że mimo wielu polskich realiów społeczeństwo przedstawione w Szew­ cach nie jest tylko społeczeństwem polskim i sztuka nie przedstawia Polski, ale - świat. Sztuka Witkacego jest ptzede wszystkim ujętym w formę dramatu traktatem historiozoficz­ nym i egzystencjalnym, a dopiero wtórnie - społecznym i po­ litycznym. Kwestie społeczne i polityczne rozpatrywane są w kontekście globalnym, a nie jedynie lokalnym. Oczywisty fakt, że Witkacy wykotzystał swoje doświadczenie osobiste i polskie, w niewielkim stopniu zmienia podstawowe stwietdzenie. Akcja Szewców rozgrywa się w drugiej połowie dwudzie­ stego wieku, jak lubił pisać Witkacy: w „ostatniej połowie dwudziestego wieku". Społeczeństwo ptzedstawione w sztu­ ce jest anachroniczne i składa się z trzech stanów. Jest przed­ stawicielka arystoktacji - Księżna Itina Wsiewołodowna, któta chciałaby odgrywać rolę polityczną w społeczeństwie, ale ma świadomość, że jest już na to za późno i że arystokra­ cja nie ma żadnej roli do odegrania. Mieszczaństwo jest re­ prezentowane przez prokuratora (a następnie ministra) Ro­ berta Scurvy. Są wreszcie szewcy, „przedstawiciele średniego rzemiosła". Klasa robotników przemysłowych i chłopi poja­ wiają się w sztuce, ale pozbawieni są statusu zindywidualizo­ wanych postaci. L E C H S O K Ó Ł „Szewcy" Witkacego: erotyzm i władza* 1 Klasę robotniczą reprezentuje Hiper-Robociarz, postać syntetyczna czy symboliczna; zarówno jego wygląd zewnętrz­ ny: „ubrany w bluzę i kaszkiet", jak jego życiorys: „siedziałem czternaście lat w celkowym więzieniu, studiując ekonomię" , czynią z niego zbiorowe wcielenie klasy robotniczej, z jej am­ bicjami politycznymi i odwołaniem do cierpień i prześlado­ wań pod rządami opresyjnego porządku politycznego, który próbują obalić działacze robotniczy. 2 Rola chłopstwa w sztuce jest bardziej złożona. Symbolicz­ na grupa: „stary kmieć, młody kmiotek i dziwka. Stroje kra­ kowskie" (S., 511) przychodzi do sztuki Witkacego wprost z Wesela Wyspiańskiego, podobnie jak Chochoł, który staje się witkacowskim Chochołem - Bubkiem. Postacie przycho­ dzą właściwie z młodopolskiego mitu chłopstwa i niewiele wspólnego mają z chłopami jako klasą społeczną. Powstaje oczywiste pytanie, dlaczego Witkacy wybrał szewców, a nie robotników na bohaterów swojej sztuki. Od­ powiedź na nie zawarta jest w jej tekście. Księżna, wyrażając w akcie I swój sentyment do szewców, oświadcza: „kochani szewcy moi: bliscy mi duchem jesteście batdziej nawet od fa­ brycznych, zmechanizowanych dzięki Taylorowi robotników; bo w was, przedstawicielach ręcznego rzemiosła, utaiła się je­ szcze osobowa tęsknota pietwotnego, leśnego i wodnego by­ dlęcia, którą my, arystoktacja, zattaciliśmy wraz z intelektem i najprostszym nawet, chłopskim po prostu rozumem zupeł­ nie" (S., 529). „Osobowa tęsknota pierwotnego bydlęcia", któtej Księż­ na zazdrości szewcom, wydaje się kluczem do odpowiedzi na ptzedstawione wyżej pytanie. Szewcy po prostu zachowali, choć w fotmie szczątkowej, pietwotną zdolność do utrzymywania kontaktu z Tajemnicą Istnienia, do przeżywa­ nia uczuć metafizycznych. Owa jakość ginie ostatecznie za­ bita przez rozwój kultury i społeczeństwa prowadzący do me­ chanizacji. Ale Księżna, która była w stanie wyśledzić ową * Nieco zmieniona polska wersja artykułu napisanego po The „Shoemakers" by Witkiewicz: Erotism and Poieer, ogłoszonego w Allvarlig debatt och rolig lek. En festskrift tillagnad Andrzej Nils Uggia. Pod redakcją Elżbiety Szwejkowskiej-Olson angielsku, ćk Michała Brona Jr. przy współpracy L e c h a Sokoła, Uppsala 2000 351 �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D POWER found in the text of the play. The Duchess, revealing het affection to the shoemakers in one of the scenes of act I , says: acts seems to be determined by impulses, confused presentiments, and intuition. The actions of one character conflict with the actions of another, action provokes reaction. As there is no Providence, Chance proves decisive, and on a social and global scale the Laws of History, which are hostile to mankind, shape the destinies of both the individual and whole societies. Not only life, but also Existence as a whole seem absurd. The First Apptentice expresses this conviction by saying: "Dearest shoemakers: you're even closer to me in spirit than the factory workers, who, thanks to Taylor, have been thoroughly automated; because you representatives of the handicrafts still have hidden in you the special nostalgia of a primitive animal that once lived in the woods and lakes. We aristocrats have lost it completely along with our intellect and even the most basic peasant common sense" (Witkiewicz 1968:239). "The special nostalgia of a primitive animal", which the Duchess envies in the shoemakers, seems to be the key to the answer we are searching for. The shoemakers still preserve the potential capacity of experiencing the metaphysical wonder which in the idiom of Witkiewicz is called "the capacity to experience the Mystery of Existence", or "metaphysical feelings". The shoemakers prove many times over that they actually have preserved this precious capacity, even if only in a rudimentary form. One should not fail to observe that the Duchess, by proving capable of discovering and of sensing this metaphysical quality in the shoemakers, also proves her own capacity for feeling the existence of metaphysical problems. Now, if the shoemakers have preserved metaphysical feelings it is no wonder that they become the heroes of the play; the more so as the workers are "thoroughly automated" not only "thanks to Taylor" but also because of the deep changes within society; also the upper classes could not for many reasons have access to the Mystery of Existence. The metaphysical elevation of the shoemakers makes the historiosophical and existential play by Witkiewicz a politically conservative one; but the conservatism is of a very specific kind. The craftsmen are the play's collective hero, thereby excluding the working class (a left-wing solution to the social problems), the aristocracy (a right-wing solution), or the bourgeoisie (a liberal solution). In The Shoemakers only the handicraftsmen prove capable of committing themselves seriously to the defense of the metaphysical values of life and art, which means that they try to defend human values in a world which has become inhuman. They have rivals in this fight; other characters also pretend to be saviours of mankind, but the shoemakers are the only people who may be trusted in this respect. "Man, just try to find something in this world that isn't being pushed to absurd lengths since all of existence (...) is one great absurdity - a struggle among monsters, that's all..." (Witkiewicz 1968:237). Existence is also chaos; if there is any order it is only a statistical one; justice, a kind of order in the domain of law, and morality has a statistical character: "There isn't any justice and never shall be - at least we've got statistics - that's something to be thankful for" (Witkiewicz 1968:279). Such is, generally speaking, the world in which the characters of The Shoemakers wrestle with Existence. The sexual urge forces the characters of the play to seek a way to satisfy their libido, to liquidate tension; e.g. to find happiness. Another basic impulse is aggression, which aims at dominating or destroying fellow creatures. The two drives, in fact, merge into one: it is evident that a merciless realization of the sexual urge is also a royal road to subjugating one's neighbour, to sexual predominance. If so, at least one of the forms of power in Witkiewicz's cosmos possesses a sexual character. The question arises whether also political power has sexual character. To answer the question we should first observe the relationships between the main characters of the play and the basic events of its plot. 7 A t the beginning of act I the shoemakers experience torment, humiliation and boredom, which awakens their aggression and leads them to revolt against society. They also suffer from unsatisfied or poorly satisfied sexual urge which pushes them to wild desire for the Duchess; it is coloured by aggression and culminating in the motif of "Lustmord". The shoemakers' dissatisfaction has both a social as well as a metaphysical character. They occupy a low position within society; they also experience existential boredom and nausea. Their fate is quite well described by Sajetan when he says: The characters of The Shoemakers are governed by impulses: by libido and aggression. Consciousness, or reason play only a minimal role in their deeds and thoughts, their acts and decisions. The essence of their 352 �Lech Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA jakość metafizyczną u szewców, dowodzi własnej wrażliwości na metafizykę w sensie Witkacowskim. Nie dziwi zatem, że szewcy stali się bohaterami dramatu, tym bardziej że robot­ nicy zostali już „zmechanizowani dzięki Taylorowi", a właści­ wie nie tyle dzięki niemu, co wskutek głębokich przemian społecznych. Także klasy wyższe społeczeństwa nie mają już dostępu do Tajemnicy Istnienia, dzieje się to jedynie zupeł­ nie wyjątkowo, jak w przypadku Księżnej. Metafizyczne wyniesienie szewców przekształca metafi­ zyczną i egzystencjalną sztukę Witkacego w dramat politycz­ nie konserwatywny. Konserwatyzm to jednak szczególny: rzemieślnicy stają się zbiorowym bohaterem Szewców, wyłą­ czając klasę robotniczą (lewicowe tozwiązanie problemów społecznych), arystokrację (rozwiązanie prawicowe) i mie­ szczaństwo (rozwiązanie liberalne). W Szewcach jedynie rze­ mieślnicy są w stanie naprawdę oddać się obronie wartości metafizycznych w życiu i w sztuce, co oznacza, że stają oni w obronie wattości prawdziwie ludzkich w świecie, który stał się nieludzki. Mają jednak rywali w tej walce: inne postacie sztuki również pretendują do odegrania roli zbawców ludz­ kości. Jeżeli jednak można komukolwiek choć trochę zaufać w tym względzie, to jedynie szewcom. Postaciami Szewców kierują popędy: popęd seksualny i agresja. Świadomość, rozum odgrywają minimalną rolę w ich myślach i czynach, w ich decyzjach i działaniach. Cha­ rakter ich działań determinują popędy, niejasne przeczucia i intuicja. Działania jednego z bohaterów wchodzą w kon­ flikt z działaniami drogiego, akcja prowokuje reakcję. Ponie­ waż nie ma Opatrzności, decyduje Przypadek; w skali społecznej i globalnej wrogie ludzkości Prawa Historii kształ­ tują losy jednostek i całych społeczeństw. Nie tylko życie, ale egzystencja jako całość wydaje się absurdalna; I Czeladnik zdaje się wyrażać takie ptzekonanie, kiedy mówi: „Spróbuj tu, bracie, czego w tym życiu do absurdu nie doprowadzić. Jako że to cale istnienie, święte i niepojęte, to jeden wielki absurd - walka potworów i tyle..." (S., 527). Egzystencja jest także chaosem; jeśli jakiś potządek mimo wszystko istnieje, ma charaktet jedynie statystyczny. Spra­ wiedliwość, rodzaj porządku w dziedzinie prawa i moralno­ ści, jest jedynie statystyczna w swojej natutze: „żadnej spra­ wiedliwości nie ma i być nie może - dobrze, że jest statysty­ ka - i z tego trzeba się cieszyć" (S., 581). wania sobie innej jednostki ludzkiej, do seksualnej domina­ cji. Jeśli tak jest, to w świecie Witkacego co najmniej jedna z form władzy ma charakter seksualny. Czy dotyczy to także władzy politycznej? Aby odpowiedzieć na to pytanie, musi­ my rozpattzyć stosunki między głównymi postaciami sztuki i podstawowe wydarzenia jej fabuły. Na początku aktu I szewcy doświadczają udręki, upoko­ rzenia i nudy, co budzi w nich agresję i prowadzi do buntu skierowanego przeciwko społeczeństwu. Dokucza im także niezaspokojony bądź nie dość satysfakcjonująco zaspokojony popęd płciowy, który popycha ich ku Księżnej jako obiektowi spotworniałego pożądania. Ich popęd seksualny jest zatem silnie zabarwiony agresywnością i znajduje swoją kulminację w motywie Lustmordu. Niezadowolenie szewców z ich życia ma charaktet zatówno społeczny, jak metafizyczny, a nie tyl­ ko psychologiczny. Zajmują oni niską pozycję w społeczeń­ stwie i doświadczają egzystencjalnej nudy i obtzydzenia. Los szewców nieźle oddają słowa Sajetana, który mówi: „ja, wieczny tułacz, tym się tułający, że do miejsca zawsze przyku­ ty. Hej! Kuj podeszwy dla tych ścierw! Nie będziemy gadać niepottzebnych rzeczy" (S., 513). Świat szewców jest dotknięty pataliżem i zdezintegrowa­ ny; społeczna machina dezintegracji pracuje nadal i nie ma nadziei, żeby ktoś lub coś mogło ją zattzymać. „Już wszystko tak zbrzydło na tym świecie, że więcej o ni­ czym gadać nie watto. Kona ona ludzkość pod gniotem cielska gnijącego, złośliwego nowotwota kapitału, na którym, nikiej putryfakcyjne owe bąble, faszystowskie tządy powstają i pękają, puszczając smrodliwe gazy zagniłej w sobie, w sosie własnym, bezosobowej ciżby ludzkiej. Już nic gadać nie trzeba. Wszystko je wygadane do cna" (S., 514). Świat w tak mało zachęcający sposób opisany przez Saje­ tana nie może zostać odmieniony nawet przez rewolucję, odwieczne panaceum na wszelkie zło społeczne. „Nie wierzę już w żadną rewolucję - mówi Sajetan. - Samo słowo wstręt­ ne jest jak karaluch abo i prusak czy wesz". (S., 514)- Mówiąc ogólnie, taki jest świat, w którym przyszło posta­ ciom z Szewców żyć i zmagać się z problemami egzystencji. Popęd seksualny wymusza na postaciach sztuki gorączko­ we poszukiwanie drogi do zaspokojenia libido, likwidacji na­ pięcia, czyli do znalezienia sposobu osiągnięcia szczęścia chociażby w jego elementarnej, omalże fizjologicznej formie. Jak zostało powiedziane, dtugim z dominujących popędów jest agresja, której celem - podporządkowanie czy nawet zni­ szczenie bliźniego. Te dwa popędy w istocie są jednym; Szewcach, co oczywiste i łatwe do zaobsetwowania, nie li­ czące się z niczym dążenie do zaspokojenia popędu płciowe­ go jest także drogą wiodącą do opanowania i podporządko­ w 353 To, co udręcza szewców w sposób boleśnie bezpośredni, to ciężka, monotonna, prawie dosłownie zabijająca praca. Sajetan wpada jednak na pomysł, jak uleczyć pracę z tego, co jest przekleństwem: „Chce mu się, aby robota była rów­ nocześnie mechaniczna i żeby duchem tę mechanikę wyosobliwiać, jak te dawne muzykanty i malarze swoje wydzieliny, w unikaty osobowego ptzejawu" (S., 515). Sajetan chce, by praca była pokrewna twótczości, jak by­ ło kiedyś, w odległym i nieokreślonym bliżej czasie prze­ szłym. Chce on, aby praca była wykonywana w sposób nowo­ czesny, ale żeby nie była automatyczna, tzn. nie całkowicie bezosobowa, a zatem zabójcza dla indywidualności. Sajetan podejmie działania, by dojść do władzy i wcielić w życie swo­ je idee dotyczące pracy, ratując zatówno pracę, jak indywi­ duum przed mechanizacją i unicestwieniem. Jest on obroń- �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D POWER "But being an eternal wanderer, I wander so much I'm always nailed to the same spot. Hey! Hammer the soles for those dirty bastards. Let's not talk about unimportant things - ever!" (Witkiewicz 1968:227). The shoemakers' world is paralysed and disintegtated; the social machinery of disintegtation continues to work and there is little chance that anything or anybody could stop it. abbreviation of a vulgar expression which means "son of a bitch" (or Elizabethan "whoreson"); the pejorative meaning of the name in English is also to be taken into consideration, both in its substantival and adjectival meaning. The Hyperworkoid explains the first as follows: "What does scurvy mean? Your name is symbolic: you've been the scurvy of mankind which is suffering from a soul deficiency" (Witkiewicz 1968:280). "Everything's growing so ugly in the world, there's no use talking about anything at all. Mankind is suffocating, squashed under the body of the rotting, malignant tumor of capital, on which fascist governments swell and burst, like putrefying blisters, discharging foul-smelling gases from the faceless mass of humanity gone rotten from stewing in its own juice. There's no need to say anything anymore. Everything's already been said over and over again" (Witkiewicz 1968:228). The adjectival meaning, which is to be found in any dictionary, corresponds quite well to what we know about the Prosecuting Attorney, a truly contemptible figure. His political career was made possible thanks to the opportunities given to individuals by a liberal society. At the beginning of his career, Scurvy seemed to have much bigger ambitions; he wanted to be the saviour of the world: The world thus described by Sajetan cannot be cured even by revolution, the old panacea to all social evils. Sajetan says: "I'll save the world with a single magic word, but not in the way you'd like: everything equalized - exit culture. The magic value of words hasn't died out yet: our old bards used to believe in it, and logicians and Husserlites still do today. I've already said something on that subject - look, here are my pamphlets - which, nota bene, no one ever read even before the crash" (Witkiewicz 1968:238). " I don't believe in revolution any more... The very word is revolting, like 'cockroach' or 'spider' or 'louse'" (Witkiewicz 1968:227). What torments the shoemakers in a painfully direct way is hard, monotonous, almost literally killing work. Sajetan has an original conception of healing the work from its curse: Scurvy's pamphlets should not be underestimated: Leon in The Mother condensed his theory of the salvation of mankind to only 36 pages of a similar pamphlet and its brevity was not an obstacle to its success. When the Duchess enters the stage the audience becomes acquainted with the last character from the circle of protagonists involved in the problem of eroticism and power. The Duches's appearance is carefully prepared. She is first spoken of as a centre of erotic attraction of incredible force. Already her first lines are erotically provocative. She introduces herself in a suggestive and clear way: "He wants the work to be automated and at the same time to animate this mechanism with soul, the way those musicians and painters of the past did their outpourings by giving them the unique stamp of their own personalities" (Witkiewicz 1968:228). Sajetan wants work to be akin to creation as it used to be in an unspecified past; he wants it to be modern but not automated; e.g. not totally impersonal and thus murderous for personality. Sajetan will act and make a grasp for political power in order to introduce his ideas about work and thus to defend work itself. He stands, in fact, for culture and the kind of social life in which the individual, creative element will be always present. " I can see you're working zealously, as the spiritual forefathers of our writers used to put it in the eighteenth century. Zealously - a beautiful word. Could you love zealously, Mr. Prosecuting Attorney?" The motifs of Robert Scurvy are totally different. A t the beginning of the play he is already a representative of power; at the end of act II he is promoted "by phone" to the post of Minister of Justice (or rather of Injustice). His very name is significant; it sounds in Polish like the 354 And a little later she adds: "Dr. Scurvy, your utter helplessness excites me to perfect madness. I'd like you to have watched me �Lech Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA cą kultury i praw jednostki w sensie, jaki tym słowom nada­ wał Witkacy. Motywy działania Prokuratora są zupełnie odmienne. Na początku aktu 1 jest on już reprezentantem władzy wyko­ nawczej; w akcie II zostaje mianowany „ptzez telefon" Mini­ strem Sprawiedliwości, a raczej Niesprawiedliwości. Jego na­ zwisko jest znaczące, nawet: wysoce znaczące; czytane po polsku nazwisko Scurvy ma sens oczywisty, ale przecież jest to słowo angielskie, które znaczy „szkorbut", a w znaczeniu przymiotnikowym, łatwym do znalezienia w każdym słowni­ ku nędzny", „podły", co go świetnie charakteryzuje. Na pierwsze z angielskich znaczeń słowa wskazał sam Witkacy: Scurvy - co oznacza szkorbut - twoje nazwisko jest symbo­ liczne. Byłeś szkorbutem chorej na przemianę ducha w analogii do przemiany materii - ludzkości" (S., 581). Kariera polityczna Prokuratora dokonała się dzięki moż­ liwościom, jakie stwarza jednostce społeczeństwo liberalne. Na początku swojej kariery Scurvy, jak się zdaje, miał o wie­ le większe ambicje niż jedynie kariera polityczna: pragnął ni mniej, ni więcej tylko zbawić świat: „zbawię ten świat jed­ nym tajemniczym słowem, ale nie w waszym znaczeniu: rów­ na się - cofnięcie kultury. Jeszcze nie wygasła magiczna war­ tość słów, w które wierzyli dawniej nasi wieszczowie, a dziś wierzą logistycy i husserliści. Ja o tym mówiłem już - patrz­ cie: moje broszurki - których notabene nikt nie czyta - je­ szcze przed kryzysem" (S., 527). Nie należy lekceważyć broszurek Prokuratora: Leon w Matce zamknął swoją teorię zbawienia ludzkości przed me­ chanizacją na 36 jedynie stronicach podobnej broszurki i jej krótkość nie stalą się przeszkodą dla jej sukcesu, oczywiście, takiego sukcesu, jaki mogą odnieść w świecie skazanym na zagładę antymechanistyczne teorie. Gdy na scenie pojawia się Księżna, poznajemy już wszyst­ kie postacie sztuki uwikłane w problem erotyzmu i władzy. Pojawienie się Księżnej zostało starannie przygotowane. Naj­ pierw wiele się o niej mówi jako o centtum atrakcji erotycz­ nej o niespotykanej sile. Kiedy ją wreszcie poznajemy, już pierwsze linijki jej pierwszej wypowiedzi są erotycznie prowo­ kacyjne: „robota wre, jak widzę, ochoczo, jak to dawniej pi­ sali przodkowie duchowi naszych pisarzy z osiemnastego wie­ ku. Ochoczo - śliczne słowo. Czy pan by potrafił się ochoczo kochać, panie prokuratorze'" (S., 520). I nieco dalej dodaje: „Bezsilność pana, doktorze Scurvy, podnieca mnie do zupeł­ nego wariactwa. Chciałabym, aby pan patrzył na to, kiedy ja - wie pan? - ten tego - tylko nie powiem z kim - jest taki cudny porucznik błękitnych huzarów życia, w dodatku ktoś z mojej klasy czy sfery. Jest też pewien artysta... Niepewność pańska jest dla mnie rezerwuarem nektaru najwyuzdańszej, płciowej, samiczkowatej, bebechowato-owadziej rozkoszy chciałabym jak samice modliszki, które ku końcowi zjadają od głowy swoich partnerów, którzy mimo to nie przestają te­ go - wie pan, hehe!"(S., 520-521). Odwołując się do obyczajów i mitologii modliszki, Wit­ kacy wprowadza bogaty i znaczący motyw związany z tym niesamowitym owadem. Jest w pełni świadomy złożoności mitologii modliszki. Jego i jego postaci wiedza opięta się na Souvenirs enthomologiques Jean-Henri Fabre'a. Możemy obecnie rozważać problem na szerokim i interesująco zaryso­ wanym tle, odwołując się do znanego eseju Roger Caillois Modliszka (La marte religiense, 1938). Przedstawiając swoją bohaterkę w związku z obyczajami i mitologią modliszki, Witkacy ukazuje ją jako femme fatale czy kobietę demonicz­ ną, postać dobrze znaną z literatury Jin de siecle'u, polskiej i europejskiej, z twórczości Strindberga.' Manifest kobiecego sadyzmu Księżnej, cytowany wyżej, rzuca światło na postać Ptokutatora: jako jej ewentualny kochanek, który cierpi ero­ tyczne i seksualne katusze, występuje on jako masochista, zdolny zaspokoić sadystyczne pragnienia i apetyty Księżnej. Natomiast w dziedzinie społecznej i politycznej on sam jest sadystą, rozkoszującym się cierpieniem skazańców tuż przed egzekucją. Obie postacie okazują się zatem sadomasochistyczne. Różnica polega na tym, że Księżna jest po prostu sadomasochistką, podczas gdy Prokurator jest masochistą w sferze seksu, sadystą zaś w sferze polityki i władzy. To ostat­ nie stwierdzenie pozostaje w zgodzie z przekonaniem Witka­ cego wyrażonym w Szewcach, że władza polityczna jest nie­ rozerwalnie skojarzona z agresją, uciskiem, okrucieństwem, a zatem ma otwarcie sadystyczny charakter. Prowokując mężczyzn seksualnie, Księżna nie tylko poszukuje zaspokoje­ nia swoich wyrafinowanych pragnień. Zwracając się do szewców, wyjawia w stanie ekstazy swoje ukryte zamiary: „Spełnia się sen! Znalazłam media dla mego drugiego wcie­ lenia na tej ziemi. [...] Chciałabym uwznioślić waszą niena­ wiść, zamienić zawiść, zazdrość, wściekłość i nienasycenie życiem na dziką twórczą energię dla hiperkonstrukcji [...] nowego życia społecznego, którego zarodki tkwią na pewno w waszych duszach, nie mających na pewno również nic wspólnego z waszymi spoconymi, zaśmierdzialymi, spracowa­ nymi ciałami. Chciałabym mękę waszej pracy pić przez rur­ kę, jak komar krew hipopotama [...] i przemieniać na moje idejki, takie piękne, takie motylki, które kiedyś wołami się staną" (S., 530). Cel Księżnej wydaje się teraz jasny: podniecając szewców, chce użyć ich jako mediów, które pozwolą jej co najmniej na uczestnictwo we władzy politycznej. Przekształca ona ener­ gię seksualną w polityczną. Jej plan powiedzie się: gdy szew­ cy przejmą władzę, ona będzie w niej również, poprzez nich, uczestniczyć. Jej ambicje są jednak wyższe: gdy Prokurator na czele Dziarskich Chłopców dokonuje najścia na warsztat szewski, by zaaresztować szewców i Księżnę, stawia areszto­ wanym następujące zarzuty: „Tu jest gniazdo najohydniejszej, przeciwelitycznej rewolucji świata, chcącej sparaliżować wszelkie poczynania od góry - tu rodzi się ona z pomocą perwersji nienasyconej samicy, renegatki jej własnej klasy, a ostatecznym celem jej - babomatriarchat ku pohańbieniu męskiej, jędrnej siły" (S., 534)Aresztowanie Księżnej oznacza w istocie jej wyniesienie do statusu polityka: jeśli jest godna aresztu, oznacza to, że 355 �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D TOWER while I was - you know ? - doing it - but I'm not fou hei act going to say with whom - but there's a really divine lieutenant in the blue hussars, so someone from my own class or social sphere, too, and there's a certain actor too... Your doubts are a reservoir for me of the nectat of the choicest, sexual, female, strait-fromthe-gutS'insect-style sexuality - I'd like to be like the T, I'd like to drink the agony your work causes you through a straw, the way a gnat sucks a hippopotamus' blood - to the extent that that's possible - and transmute yout pain into my pet schemes for the future; they're such beauties, delicate butterflies that'll one day turn into oxen" (Witkiewicz 1968:240). female praying mantis - near the climax they devour The purpose of the Duchess seems now clear: by their partners from the head down, who, despite that, keep on doing it - you know, hee, hee!" exciting the shoemakers, she wanted to use them as (Witkiewicz 1968:2321). media which would allow her to participate in power. She transforms, in fact, the sexual energy into Referring to the habits and the mythology of the a political one. Her plan succeeds: when the praying mantis Witkiewicz introduces a rich and shoemakers seize power she shares in it with them. Her meaningful imagery connected with this unearthly ambitions are even bigger: when Robert Scurvy invades insect. He is fully conscious of the complexity of this the stage at the head of a troop of Vigilant Youths to th mythology. His own and his chatactet's knowledge is arrest the shoemakers and the Duchess, he formulates kc based in this respect upon the Souvenirs enthomologiques the following accusations: st by Jean-Henti Fabre; today we may treat the problem m which fascinated Witkiewicz against a still broader "This is a hotbed of the most abominable anti-elitist is background of motifs and images collected by Roger revolutionaries in the world. They're trying to E Caillois in his well-known essay La mantc religieuse patalyze all activity from the top down - and (1938). While presenting his heroine against such it's being hatched right here by a perverse woman, P a background, the author shows her as a Femme Fatale, an insatiable female, a traitot to her own class, and a tl or the Demonic Woman - a character which is well- her ultimate goal is an old-bag matriarchy whose known from the litetature of the fin-de-siecle, both sole purpose is to degrade virile, masculine force" st Polish and European. Her manifesto of female sadism as (Witkiewicz 1968:243). a n quoted above throws new light upon the position of the Г t v t s r Prosecuting Attorney; as her would-be lover who suffers The arrest of the Duchess means, in fact, her from unsatisfied desire he appears as a masochist and as promotion to the status of a politician; if she is worthy such he is able to satisfy the Duches's sadistic sexual of being arrested, she is acknowledged as a real danger, appetites. In the domain of political and social life he is she is set up as a real political opponent. It might seem a sadist himself, savouring the agony of his victims that once i n prison the Duchess would be hatmless, but berate their execution. Both chatacters appear then as het erotic power causes one of the most astonishing sado-masochists; the difference is that the Duchess is turns in the play. While in prison, the shoemakers suffer a sado-masochist outright while the Prosecuting from absolute inactivity, boredom and sexual Attorney is sexually masochistic and politically sadistic. abstinence; on the othet hand the Duchess suffers from The latter point is in agreement with enforced work (she has to make shoes now). Scurvy Witkiewicz's general idea that political power is always both delights in his powet and suffers from unsatisfied connected with aggression; oppression therefore desire and love of the Duchess. He even becomes possesses an openly sadistic character. While provoking capable of viewing his condition as one of the basic man sexually the Duchess is not only seeking problems of existence: satisfaction of her refined desires. While addressing the shoemakers, she reveals in a state of ecstasy her hidden " I taste both pleasure and pain. Fot some people purposes: there's no better emotional cocktail: it gives you in concentrated form the deepest, never-to-be repeated "My dream is coming true! I've discovered the proper medium for my second incarnation on this earth... I'd like to enoble your hatred and change your envy, jealousy, frenzy, and insatiablihty into wild creative energy for the superconsttuction (...) of a new social life, whose seeds must be embedded i n your souls which certainly have nothing in common with your sweating, stinking, overworked bodies. 356 mitacle of existence, and at the same time its hopelessness" (Witkiewicz 1968:248). The statement of the Prosecuting Attorney seems to prove that he is able to understand if not to experience that most valuable of all human feelings: the metaphysical thrill. It is quite possible to treat The Shoemakers as an existentialist drama approaching �Lach Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA Seans fotograficzny Stanisława I. Witkiewicza z Janiną Bykowiakówną, fot. Józef Głogowski, Zakopane, lato 1931. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okolowicza Photographic session of Stanisław l. Witkiewicz and Janina Rykowiak, photo by Józef Głogowski, Zakopane, summer 1931. The collection of E . Franczak and S. Okołowicz stanowi realne zagrożenie dla porządku politycznego, a zatem niejako mianowana zostaje rzeczywistym oponentem politycznym. Mogłoby się zdawać, że - wtrącona do więzie­ nia - Księżna została unieszkodliwiona; dzieje się przeciwnie: jej erotyczna władza nad mężczyznami prowadzi do zaistnie­ nia jednego z najbardziej zdumiewających wydarzeń w sztu­ ce. W więzieniu szewcy cierpią z powodu absolutnej bez­ czynności, całkowitej abstynencji płciowej i nudy, Księżna natomiast przeżywa męki przymusowej pracy (musi szyć bu­ ty). Prokurator rozkoszuje się swoją władzą (jest już mini­ strem), ale cierpi z powodu niespełnionej miłości do Księż­ nej. Swój stan duchowy uważa za jeden z podstawowych pro­ blemów istnienia: „Czuję ból i rozkosz - ten dla pewnych ty­ pów najwspanialszy koktajl uczuć, w którym beznadziejność istnienia, razem z jego najgłębszą, niepowrotną cudowno­ ścią, najgłębiej się przeżywa" (S., 541). To stwierdzenie Prokuratora zdaje się wskazywać, że jest on zdolny rozumieć, jeśli nie przeżywać, najwartościowsze ze wszystkich uczuć ludzkich: uczucie metafizyczne. Wydaje się możliwe interpretowanie Szewców jako dramatu egzystencjalistycznego, zbliżającego się niekiedy do Heideggera i Sartre'a. 4 Akt I I sztuki wypełnia w dużym stopniu dyskusja o poli­ tyce, historii i historiografii, narasta wśród więźniów oczeki­ wanie, że coś się zmieni i że ich okropna sytuacja ulegnie po­ prawie. Prokuratot doświadcza niepokojącej niepewności obejmującej wszystko, co było dotychczas przynajmniej względnie pewne. Czuje się pusty wewnętrznie i prawie mar­ twy. Nie ma w nim już niczego z wyjątkiem tzw. „problemu Iriny Wsiewołodowny". Jego uprzednie cele były najzupełniej jasne: chciał dojść do władzy, aby wieść luksusowe życie: „Ja kłamię z całą świadomością jako minister, ja wieszam bez przekonania, aby żreć te wąparsje, te mątwy tak smaczne diabelnie z Zatoki Meksykańskiej - tak: muszę kłamać" (S., 548). W tym stanie ducha Prokurator nie jest w stanie spokoj­ nie znosić obecności Księżnej: jego pożądanie rośnie i dopro­ wadza go do ataku histerii. Księżna natychmiast orientuje się w sytuacji i napawa się sadystyczną rozkoszą, smakując męki samców: szewców w więzieniu i Prokuratora-Ministra na wolności. Mówi niczego nie ukrywając: „To jest sadyzm - to moja sfera i teteny" (S., 555), decyduje też, że nadszedł czas, by opuścić więzienie. Postanawia zostać kochanką Scurvy'ego w zamian za wolność. Jest przekonana, że spędzi z nim tylko jedną, szaloną i rozkoszną noc, gdyż szewcy doj- 357 �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D POWER "Fot at least five minutes we'll live it up and work our heads off, before they chain us and slaughtet us" (Witkiewicz 1968:261). Heidegger and Sartre. I have treated the problem in a more exhaustive way in my other essay (cf Sokół 1988). During the greatest discussion on politics, history, histotiosophy and metaphysics which occurs in the second act, the expectation arises that something has to happen, that the horrible situation of the shoemakers and the Duchess cannot last any longer. Scurvy experiences the uncertainty of everything that he thus far considered as at least relatively certain. He feels empty and almost dead; there is nothing left in his mind but what he calls the "problem of Irina Vsevolodovna". His previous goals were clear: he wanted to gain power in order to lead a luxurious life: "As minister of justice I lie intentionally and deliberately, have people hanged without conviction, just so I can go on gotging myself on jellied plencus and cuttlefish from the Gulf of Mexico which are so damned delicious - yes: I have to lie" (Witkiewicz 1968:253). Now, the repeated appeatance ot the Duchess increases Scurvy's desire to possess het and brings him to an hysterical attack. The Duchess very quickly guesses what is going on; she starts once again to enjoy her sadistic deviation by delighting in the agony of male gender - both of the shoemakers in prison and of the Prosecuting Attorney at liberty. She openly says: "That's sadism - my sphere and domain" (Witkiewicz 1968:258) and finally comes to the conclusion that it is time to leave prison: she decides to become Scurvy's mistress in exchange for liberty. She thinks, however, that they will have only one single, crazy and delicious night because the shoemakers are soon going to take power and Scurvy will end in a dungeon. Her prophecy proves to be true. The tape which the shoemakers commit is, in fact, both a prison revolt and a real rape, a sort of public sexual intercourse in the presence of the Duchess and of the Prosecuting Attorney. They breathe heavily, rythmically hammer shoes, move in wild sexual rythms. Sajetan's speech becomes not only rythmical but also rymed. A sexual act is both suggested and imitated. When the Boys of Gnębon Puczymotda or (in English) Pugnatsy Jawbloatski grow infected by the shoemakers' frenzy, the rape becomes complete and at the same time revolution begins. What was conceived by Sajetan as an attempt to obtain a short release in the agony of imprisonment grows by its own impetus into a teal revolution which raises the shoemakets to power. A t the same time Sajetan, the leader of the shoemakers' revolution, formulates the metaphysical system he dreamt of in his workshop, a metaphysics of Arbeit an und fur sich. This new kind of metaphysics is equally dangerous for the pseudo-fascist state of Scurvy as revolution itself. Work has gone "wild, excreted like the pure primitive emotions, like the instinct fot feeding oneself and for procreation" (Witkiewicz 1968:263). The sexual impulse, given to the shoemakers by the Duchess induced them not only to commit rape on work, but gave work itself a metaphysical foundation, and finally brought about a political tevolution. Once again, political power, revolution, and political upheaval gains a sexual aspect. While the Duchess and the Prosecuting Attorney continue their precopulative conversations, the shoemakers who are excited to the end of their endurance experience a sublime feeling: "a pure desire to produce something" (Witkiewicz 1968:260). Sajetan shouts in the ecstasy of inspitation: "I've just had a dazzling new idea. Hey, boys: let's knock down those puny balusters and get right down to work like all hell broke lose. Get going!" (Witkiewicz 1968:260). In this way begins what Witkiewicz calls "a tape committed by workers on work". I t is a despetate gesture. Because Sajetan adds: 358 Under the new regime the Duchess posseses, of course, a high and unquestioned position; as an embodiment of eroticism she is a sort of eminence grise of the shoemakets' government. But the shoemakets experience a state of void in their minds and their souls. They are unable to create the new life that they dteamt of and talked of so much in prison. They have inherited all the vices from the fallen regime and cannot create any positive values. They possess political power and all the pleasures and delights of this world; nothing less than that but nothing mote. From an existentialist point of view one could say that what they have gained in powet, and worldly recognition has been lost in existence. I t was in prison that they had the fullest access to being, when they wete deprived of almost everything. A teversed process is occurring in their former oppressor. The Prosecuting Attorney and Ministet of Justice now becomes Scurvy-the Dog and by losing political power he seems to regain at least a little access to being. He still considers "the problem of Irina Vsevolodovna" as the most important one and finally dies of unsatisfied sexual desire, but philosophical and �Lech Solcól • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA Stanisław I. Witkiewicz - seria dwudziestu jeden „min", fot. Józef Głogowski, Zakopane, lato 1931. Ze zbioru E . Franczak i S. Okołowicza Stanisław 1. Witkiewicz - series of twenty one "faces", photo by Józef Gbgowski, Zakopane, summer 1931. The collection of E. Franczak and S. Okobwicz dą do władzy i jej jednonocny kochanek spędzi resztę żywo­ ta w lochu. Myśl o tym jest dla niej dodatkowym źródłem sa­ dystycznych rozkoszy. Jej proroctwo spełnia się szybciej, niż można się było tego spodziewać. Gdy Księżna i Prokurator prowadzą przedkopulacyjną konwersację, szewcy, podnieceni do granic wytrzymałości nieoczekiwanie doznają uwznioślających uczuć: „czystej żą­ dzy sfabrykowania czegokolwiek bądź" (S., 557). Sajetan wy­ krzykuje nagle w ekstazie objawienia: „Jestem wprost olśnio­ ny nową ideą od środka. Hej, chłopcy: rozwalmy te nędzne, dziecinne balaski i pracujmy wraz jak diabły. Bierwa się" (S., 557). Trzeba przypomnieć, że udręczeni przymusową bezczynnością szewcy muszą patrzeć na niedostępny dla nich, luksusowo urządzony warsztat szewski. Ich gest rozpa­ czy, obliczony „na pięć minut [...], nim nas skują i zmasakru­ ją" staje się nieoczekiwanie „gwałtem pracowników nad pra­ cą" (S., 557). Gwałt ów jest zarazem buntem więziennym i rzeczywistym gwałtem, todzajem wymuszonego zbiorowego 359 �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D TOWER metaphysical problems begin to dawn upon him. The form of his utterance is grotesque, but his statement is very important: he experiences "einen Hauch von anderer Seite - a breath from the other side"; he says: "Metaphysics, which I've despised until now, now pounces on me from all the back alleys of existence. A u commencement Bythos etait - the abyss of chaos" (Witkiewicz 1968:267). We should not dismiss the metaphysics of Scurvy-the Dog on account of its abbreviated formulation. Its highly interesting features is gnosticism. The fragment of the mysterious French sentence contains the term of Bythos, which in Greek designates the inscrutable abyss of being while Ennoia is the being's thought. Witkiewicz himself did not accept Gnostic thought, but one thing is evident: he wanted even Scurvy to feel a kind of metaphysical hunger or appetite. In act I I I the utterance dealing with eroticism and politics, existence and metaphysics are thoroughly interwoven and constitute equally important parts of the dialogue. What seems worth emphasizing is, that unlike i n earlier plays, characters who do not belong to the metaphysical clan of artists and philosophers can acquire access to the Mystery of Being; even if it is not real access, there is, at least, a clear consciousness of the existence and of the importance of the problem. a grotesque phoenix with batwings. It is quite easy to guess what such a costume means: the Duchess, as the embodiment of erotic power, always resurrects from the ashes of every revolution or upheaval. In fact, she is indestructible. The Duchess is not only able to survive all the vicissitudes of fortune, but even to grasp for power again; this time i n a direct way and not by using the shoemakers anymore. In a situation of general chaos, when the political system created by the shoemakers is about to collapse, there appears a political vacuum which the Duchess tries to enter. Her action is presented by means of a theatrical trick. In the background of the scene "a red pedestal suddenly shoots up" (Witkiewicz 1968:284). The Duchess runs up to it "and stands on it in all her glory , with her batwings spread out, i n the glare of Bengal light and of other ordinary fireworks" (Witkiewicz 1968:285). It is her apotheosis as a new political ruler, as the empress of matriarchy. She requires homage to be paid to her by men as the final confirmation of her power. Her sexual-political coup d'etat is quite wellcalculated. She bases her calculations on a severe criticism of the state of the world as created and run by men. According to her, this world is ultimately decaying, going to the dogs more completely than Scurvy-the Dog in act I I I of the play. During act I I I an event is being prepared which is equivalent to the sexual-political revolution of the shoemakers in act I I . Similarly to the rape of the workers committed on work it matures slowly and quite imperceptibly. The atmosphere of uncertainty and later on of anxiety increases, the shoemakers lose step by step the rest of their impact on political reality. Scurvy i n act II could still quote Lorenzo de' Medici's saying from Canzonet di Bacco (1490): Di doman поп с'ё certezza; the shoemakers already have a certainty of tomorrow's catastrophe. In the atmosphere of general anxiety the Duchess is being dressed for the night's orgy by her footmen who gives her one by one elements of a strange costume which, when complete, is described in the following way: "You men - says the Duchess - may suddenly rot: you may turn into a little pool of liquid putrefaction, like Mr. Valdemar in the short story by that unfortunate character Edgar Allan Рое. You men are turning into endomorphs! Your male schizoids are dying out, while our female schizoids are multiplaying. The proof is that Sajetan got it in the head, but Jawbloatski will stuff himself on langouste that's symbolic - as long as he can still open his mouth and turn the valves on i n his stomach. Men are turning into women - women are turning into men i n droves. The time may come when we'll begin dividing like cells, without even being aware of the metaphysical strangeness of Existence!" (Witkiewicz 1968:286). The sense of this rather lengthy quotation is quite obvious: men as a race degenerate more and more while the number of creative individuals is more and more growing among women. The Duchess foresees, i n fact, not only the coming of matriarchy, but also the creation of a new original civilization of woman (as it is advocated today by feminists), which will replace the decadent culture created centuries ago and developed by men. Their time is already gone. Unfortunately, although the men who are presented on stage during "bare feet, legs bare up to the knees. Short green petticoat through which you can see red drawers. Green batwings. Decolletage down to the navel. O n her head a huge three-cornered hat, put on en bataille, with a huge plume and green and white feathers" (Witkiewicz 1968:282). It is not so much the costume of a "bird of paradise" as Witkiewicz stated before, but rather that of 360 �Lech Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA ktu seksualnego dokonanego na pracy w obecności Księżi Prokuratora. Oddychając ciężko, rytmicznie walą młot­ kami w podeszwy butów, potuszają się w dzikim seksualnym rytmie. Mowa Sajetana staje się nie tylko rytmiczna, ale i ry­ mowana (por. S., 558-559). A k t seksualny staje się zarówno sugerowany, jak naśladowany. Gdy Grzębon Puczymorda j jego Dziarscy Chłopcy zamiast zmasakrować szewców i pr-ywrócić porządek „uszewcują się", zaczyna się rewolucja. To co wedle zamysłu Sajetana miało być krótkim momen­ tem ulgi w ich męce, wymknęło mu się spod konttoli, spotę­ gowało, rozwinęło się samo z siebie i . . . wyniosło szewców do władzy Jednocześnie Sajetan, przywódca szewskiej rewolu­ cji, sformułował system metafizyczny, o którym rozmyślał w swoim warsztacie: jest to metafizyka Arbeit an und fur sich, pracy w sobie i dla siebie. Ten nowy rodzaj metafizyki jest dla pseudofaszystowskiego państwa Prokuratora równie niebez­ pieczny, jak rewolucja. Pojawiła się „dzika, a raczej udziczona praca wydzielona jako czysty instynkt pierwotny, jak in­ stynkt żatcia i płodzenia. Uciekajmy stąd, bo ja oszaleję po prostu" (S., 560). Impuls seksualny, dany szewcom przez Księżnę, pobudził ich nie tylko do popełnienia gwałtu na pracy, ale dał pracy metafizyczną podstawę i ostatecznie doprowadził do wybu­ chu rewolucji. Jak widać, ponownie władza polityczna, rewolucja, ptzewrót zyskują aspekt seksualny. W nowo ustanowionym reżimie Księżna ma oczywiście wysoką i niekwestionowaną pozycję: jako wcielenie seksual­ ności i erotyzmu jest rodzajem szarej eminencji szewskiego rządu. Ale szewcy doświadczają nie entuzjazmu tworzenia nowego państwa, lecz pustki umysłowej i duchowej. Nie tworzą nowego życia, o którym marzyli w więzieniu. Odzie­ dziczyli wszystkie występki upadłego porządku, a nie są w stanie stworzyć żadnych pozytywnych wartości. Mają wła­ dzę otaz wszystkie przyjemności i rozkosze tego świata: nic mniej, ale nic więcej. Można powiedzieć o sytuacji szewców, że więcej mają: władzę i pozycję społeczną i polityczną, ale o wiele mniej są: osacza ich pustka. Najpełniejszy dostęp do bytu mieli w więzieniu, pozbawieni niemal wszystkiego, do­ słownie i metafizycznie ogołoceni. Proces idący w kierunku przeciwnym zachodzi u ich dawnego gnębiciela. Prokurator, a następnie Minister Sprawiedliwości, schodzi na psy, staje się trochę psem, trochę człowiekiem. W tym hybrydycznym stanie wciąż uważa „problem Iriny Wsiewołodowny" za zasa­ dniczy (ostatecznie umiera z powodu niezaspokojonego po­ żądania), chociaż problemy filozoficzne i metafizyczne zaczy­ nają do niego przemawiać. Groteskowy, ale nadzwyczaj istot­ ny fragment jednej z kwestii Ptokutatota, kiedy doświadcza tego, co nazywa „ein Haucft von anderer Seite - powiew z tam­ tej strony", btzmi następująco: „Metafizyka, któtą pogardzałem dotąd, wali teraz na mnie ze wszystkich zakamarów by­ tu. Au commencement Bythos etait - otchłań chaosu!" (S., 566). Warto odnotować, że w powyższym cytacie pojawia się tetmin gnostyczny bythos, oznaczający nieprzeniknioną otchłań istnienia, gdy ennoia jest owego istnienia myślą. Witkacy nie akceptował gnozy, ale jego intencja jest oczywi­ sta: chciał, żeby nawet Scutvy przejawił w akcie III dramatu głód metafizyczny. Wypowiedzi postaci w tym akcie są splo­ tem wątków erotycznych, politycznych i metafizycznych. Trzeba podkteślić, że w Szewcach postacie nie należące do metafizycznego klanu artystów i filozofów mają dostęp do metafizyki; jeśli nawet nie jest to dostęp, to wykazują one pewną świadomość i zrozumienie wagi metafizyki. W toku aktu I I I przygotowuje się wydatzenie, któte jest ekwiwalentem seksualno-politycznej rewolucji szewców w akcie II. Podobnie jak gwałt pracowników nad pracą, wy­ darzenie to dojrzewa powoli i niedostrzegalnie. Zagęszcza się atmosfera niepewności, a następnie lęku, szewcy tracą krok po kroku wpływ na rzeczywistość polityczną. Scurvy w akcie II mógł jeszcze cytować Lorenza de' Medici (wers z Canzona di Bacco, 1490): „Di dornan non ce certezza", szewcy w akcie III mają już pewność jutrzejszej katastrofy. W atmosferze narastającego lęku Księżna ptzebiera się do nocnej orgii w kostium „rajskiego ptaka". Jest to raczej kostium groteskowego feniksa ze sktzydłami nietoperza: Księżna, wcielenie władzy erotycznej, powstanie zawsze z po­ piołów każdej rewolucji. Jest ona niezniszczalna, jak seks, wola zachowania gatunku, życia. Księżna nie tylko jest w stanie przeżyć wszelkie koleje lo­ su, podejmuje próbę przejęcia władzy, tym razem bezpośre­ dnio, nie za pośrednictwem szewców. W sytuacji powszech­ nego chaosu, gdy system polityczny stworzony przez szewców jest w stanie rozkładu, powstaje polityczna próżnia, którą Księżna pragnie zapełnić. Jej działanie polityczne ptzedsta­ wione jest za pomocą triku teatralnego. W głębi sceny „wy­ rasta nagle czerwony piedestał" (S., 587), Księżna „wbiega na piedestał i tam staje w chwale najwyższej zrozpiętyminietopezimi skrzydłami w łunie bengalskich i zwykłych ogni" (S., 588). Jest to jej apoteoza jako nowego ptzywódcy poli­ tycznego, jako cesarzowej matriarchatu. Domaga się hołdu od mężczyzn jako ostatecznego potwietdzenia władzy. Jej seksualno-polityczny coup d'etat jest całkiem dobrze obmyślony. Kalkulacje swoje opiera na surowej ocenie stanu świata stwotzonego i kierowanego przez mężczyzn. Jej zda­ niem ten świat jest w kompletnym rozkładzie i zszedł na psy skuteczniej niż Scurvy-pies. Jej manifest polityczny jest go­ dzien uwagi: „ukorzcie się przed symbolem wszechmatry czy raczej suprapanbabojarchatu! On wybuchnie lada chwi­ la. Bo wy, mężczyźni, możecie zgnić nagle: zamienić się w kupkę płynnej zgnilizny jak pan Waldemar w nowelce te­ go nieszczęśnika Edgara Рое. Wy pykniczejecie: wasi schyzoidzi wymierają - nasze schyzoidki mnożą się. [...] Mężczyźni babieją - kobiety en masse mężczyźnieją. Przyjdzie czas, że może zaczniemy się dzielić jak komórki, w nieświadomości metafizycznej dziwności Bytu!" (S., 589). Sens tej wypowiedzi jest całkiem jasny: mężczyźni jako rasa, czy raczej połowa gatunku Homo sapiens degenerują się coraz bardziej, podczas gdy ilość osobników twótczych wśtód 361 �Lech Sokół • " T H E SHOEMAKERS" BY WITKIEWICZ: EROTICISM A N D POWER the Duchess's apotheosis are ready to pay homage to her, her time has not come yet. A wire cage for a parrot is lowered from above her, she folds her wings in a literal and metaphorical sense: the Bitd of Paradise, the Phoenix, the Femme Fatale is teduced to the status of a parrot. Yet, het fall is far from being absolute. Scurvy died, Sajetan finally expired after having been killed many times as a new embodiment of the tough Rasputin, but the Duchess is still alive. She will become the mistress of the new Lords of the wotld. They do not exclude matriarchy as a future form of government: "Maybe matriarchy will come into its own one of these days, but there's no need to make a big fuss about it too much i n advance" (Witkiewicz 1968:288). In contrast with a play, a conclusion is necessary to complete a paper. My concluding points could be ptesented in brief as follows: sex and politics, eroticism and power in The Shoemakers are set against an existentialist background and are closely interwoven. In actual fact Witkiewicz analyzes a peculiar problem of sexual-political power. For man in Witkiewicz's cosmos the highest value is to maintain contact with the Mystery of Existence. Both eroticism and wielding power diminish and finally kill this value, murdering the human individual at the same time. The conclusion drawn from the play sounds like a warning. Notes For the quotations from Tfie After these events the action of the play can go on; Comrade Abramowski and Comrade X are not final products of the evolution of mankind as sketched i n The Shoemakers. In spite of the fact that Comrade X is deprived of his own name and may be treated as replaceable, the Comrades are not yet fully mechanized. That is why Witkiewicz decides to make a break i n his play and not to finish it. I have made renderings. For the sake of the present article I have several times slightly changed the translation mostly to make it more literal. References: Witkacy. Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz as an Imaginative Writer, Seattle & L o n d o n Gerould, D a n i e l C. 1981: Sokół, L e c h 1988: " T h e Philosophy of Boredom in The Shoemakers "You've got to have a lot of tact To finish with the final act. It's no delusion - it's a fact" (Witkiewicz 1968:288). Shoemakers thankful use of Gerould's (Witkiewicz 1968) by S. I. Witkiewicz", B a n d 3, Heft 2/88 Forum Modemes Theater, (Tubingen), pp. 155-167 Witkiewicz, Stanisław Ignacy 1968: The Madman and the N u n and other Plays. Translated and edited by Daniel C . Gerould ćk. C . S . Durer, Seattle 6k L o n d o n 362 �Lech Sokół • „SZEWCY" W I T K A C E G O : EROTYZM I WŁADZA kobiet powiększa się. Księżna przewiduje w istocie nie tylko nadejście materiarchatu, ale stworzenie nowej oryginalnej cywilizacji kobiet, której nadejście głoszą dzisiaj feministki. Ta cywilizacja zastąpi słabą i zmurszałą, stworzoną przed wie­ kami przez mężczyzn. Czas mężczyzn już minął. Na nieszczę­ ście dla Księżnej, chociaż obecni na scenie mężczyźni są go­ towi złożyć jej hołd i oddać władzę, jej czas jeszcze nie nad­ szedł. Druciana klatka dla papugi opuszcza się z góry na Księżnę, a ona zmuszona jest złożyć skrzydła, w sensie do­ słownym i metaforycznym: rajski ptak, feniks, femme fatale zostaje zredukowana do statusu papugi. Ale jej upadek dale­ ce nie jest ostateczny. Scurvy umarł, Sajetan kona monologując, Księżna - żyje. Zostanie kochanką nowych pa­ nów świata, i z pewnością fakt ten wykorzysta. Zresztą nowi władcy nie wykluczają nadejścia matriarchatu, „ale nie nale­ ży robić z niego hałaśliwej jakiejś gaskonady zawczasu" (S., 591). Po zakończeniu tych wydatzeń akcja dramatu toczy się dalej: Towarzysz Abramowski i Towarzysz X nie są ostatecz­ nymi produktami ewolucji ludzkości zarysowanej w Szew­ cach, mimo faktu, że Towarzysz X jest „iksem", nie ma nawet imienia, można go może zastąpić Towarzyszem X Towarzy­ sze nie są jeszcze całkowicie zmechanizowani. Dlatego Wit­ kacy postanawia przerwać, a nie zakończyć swoją sztukę. p są pokazane w Szewcach na tle egzystencjalistycznym i ściśle ze sobą powiązane. Witkacy analizuje specyficzny problem władzy seksualno-politycznej. Dla człowieka w świecie Wit­ kacego najwyższą wartością jest (powinien być) kontakt z Tajemnicą Istnienia, z metafizyką. Zarówno erotyzm, jak władza polityczna pomniejszają i ostatecznie niszczą tę war­ tość, zabijając także indywiduum. Wnioski te btzmią jak ptzestroga. Ale czy można uniknąć erotyzmu i władzy? Przypisy ' D . C . Gerould, Stanisław Ignacy Witkiewicz jako pisarz. Przeł. J. Sieradzki, Warszawa 1981, s. 424 2 S.I. Witkiewicz, Dramat, t. II. Wydanie II tozszetzone i popra­ wione. Oprać, i wstępem poptzedził K . Puzyna, Watszawa 1972, s. 510 i 579. Wszystkie cytaty z Szewców wg tego wydania; dal­ sze odwołania odnotowane zostały bezpośrednio w tekście ptzy użyciu skrótu S z podaniem stronicy. Tekst poprawiany w sto­ sunku do wydania Puzyny według odnalezionego maszynopisu z poptawkami odręcznymi Witkacego. ' Por. L . Sokół, Witkacy i Strmdberg: dalecy i bliscy, Wrocław 1995, s. 233-248 4 Filozofia nudy w „Szewcach" Witkacego, w: O tea­ i dramacie. Studia - przyczynki - mateńaly. Pod red. E . Kra­ Por. L . Sokół, trze sińskiego, J. Lipińskiego, S. Marczaka-Oborskiego, T. Siverta, К. „Trzeba mieć duży takt By skończyć trzeci akt. To nie złudzenie - to fakt" (S., 592). Wierzbickiej-Michalskiej. Studia i materiały do dziejów teatru polskiego, t. X X ( 3 2 ) , Wrocław 1989 oraz w zmienionej nieco Philosophy of Boredom in „The Shoemakers" by S.I. Witkiewicz, „Fotum - Modetnes Theater" 1988 (Band 3, Heft 2, wersji: The W przeciwieństwie do dramatu, artykuł winien kończyć się jakimś, choćby prowizorycznym wnioskiem. Moje kon­ kluzje dają się ująć krótko: seks i polityka, erotyzm i władza 363 Tubingen). Polemikę z tak rozumianym pojęciem nudy u Wit­ kacego podjął W. Rzońca, Witkacy - Norwid. Projekt kom- paratystyki dekonstrukcjortistycznej, Warszawa 1998, s. 69-88 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/77e83a474e86e13952320af3505c94af.pdf 057560e219323bc26c43b5aa303df67b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3760 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1960 Subject The topic of the resource Kieleckie - snycerstwo Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3530 Title A name given to the resource Z zagadnień kieleckiej snycerki/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1960 t.14 z.4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1960 t.14 z.4, s.195-205 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Mulkiewicz, Olga Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Olga Mulkiewicz Z Z A G A D N I E Ń K I E L E C K I E J W dziedzinie ludowej sztuki plastycznej rzeźba w drzewie wysuwa się na jedno z czołowych miejsc — dzięki d u ż e j łatwości o b r ó b k i surowca, j a k r ó w n i e ż obfitości m a t e r i a ł u . Ten. rozległy dział twórczoścf ludowej m o ż n a podzielić ogólnie na d w i e grupy; r o l a każdej z nich jest w kulturze ludowej odmienna, ma inne nasilenie na terenie Polski i r ó ż n y zasięg geograficzny. Pierwsza grupa — to rzeźba p e ł n a , f i ­ guralna; w p r z e w a ż a j ą c e j swej masie p o d p o r z ą d k o ­ wana celom k u l t o w y m , reprezentowana jest g ł ó w n i e przez tak zwane popularnie „ ś w i ą t k i " , w mniejszej zaś części w y r a ż a się w tematyce świeckiej. Rzeźba p e ł n a o charakterze k u l t o w y m b y ł a w przeszłości mniej więcej r ó w n o m i e r n i e rozpowszechniona na te­ renie całego kraju, z w y j ą t k i e m jedynie okolic za­ mieszkiwanych przez ludność protestancką. Pod wpływem warunków historycznych (wojny, akty ucisku n a r o d o w o ś c i o w e g o l u b religijnego, k t ó r e w cza­ sach z a b o r ó w objęły poszczególne połacie kraju) ilość figuralnych rzeźb religijnych uległa znacznym zmia­ nom. W z w i ą z k u z t y m mamy dziś — obok t e r e n ó w stosunkowo bogatych w ś w i ą t k i (jak np. M a ł o p o l ­ ska) — tereny, gdzie zabytki tej dziedziny sztuki zo­ stały j u ż silnie przetrzebione (Ziemie Zachodnie, Wielkopolska, Podlasie, wschodnia Lubelszczyzna). D r u g ą g r u p ę stanowi rzeźba o charakterze deko­ racyjnym, w y s t ę p u j ą c a na r ó ż n y c h przedmiotach drewnianych, najczęściej w postaci płaskorzeźby, w y ­ konywanej przy użyciu jednej l u b k i l k u technik sny­ cerskich. Rzeźba dekoracyjna — w p r z e c i w i e ń s t w i e do szeroko rozpowszechnionej n i e g d y ś figuralnej rzeźby religijnej — w y s t ę p o w a ł a w n i e k t ó r y c h tylko okolicach kraju, przy czym najsilniej u w a g ę badaczy p r z y c i ą g a ł a bogata, wysoko za swe artystyczne w a ­ lory ceniona snycerka góralska. Szereg ilustrowanych o p r a c o w a ń , k t ó r e poświęcono dotychczas zdobnictwu w drzewie na terenie Podhala i Beskidu Zachodnie­ go, może s u g e r o w a ć , że jedynie te obszary w Pol­ sce posiadają r o z w i n i ę t ą s n y c e r k ę , w z g l ę d n i e że je­ dynie t a m w formach jej przejawia się p e ł n a d o j ­ rzałość artystyczna. P o g l ą d taki nie b y ł b y jednak uzasadniony. P r ó c z Karpat, gdzie istotnie zdobnictwo w drzewie osiągnęło wysoki poziom, s ą i inne tere­ ny, gdzie sztuka snycerska stanowi w ludowej t w ó r ­ czości artystycznej pozycję w a ż n ą i bynajmniej nie zasługującą na pomijanie jej milczeniem. P r z y k ł a d e m m o g ą b y ć rozległe obszary woje­ w ó d z t w a kieleckiego c i ą g n ą c e s i ę po północnej stro­ nie G ó r Ś w i ę t o k r z y s k i c h , od Wisły na Wschodzie po okolice Opoczna, gdzie jeszcze w okresie m i ę d z y ­ w o j e n n y m w y s t ę p o w a ł a bardzo i n t e r e s u j ą c a r z e ź b a dekoracyjna, wprawdzie w zakresie zdobnictwa nie­ których tylko przedmiotów, posiadająca jednak swoisty charakter i wysokie w a l o r y formalne. S N Y C E R K I Jednak, podczas gdy na obszarach górskich sny­ cerska dekoracja jest bardziej rozpowszechniona i obejmuje szeroki wachlarz w y r o b ó w drewnianych, na terenie przez nas o m a w i a n y m ogranicza się ona jedynie do bardzo w ą s k i e g o zespołu p r z e d m i o t ó w , s t a n o w i ą c y c h tradycyjne prezenty s k ł a d a n e d z i e w c z ę ­ tom przez chłopców. Ofiarowanie dziewczynie drobnego przedmiotu z w i ą z a n e g o z jej p r a c ą c o d z i e n n ą (jak np. przęślicy, wrzeciona czy czółenka tkackiego) przez s t a r a j ą c e g o się o jej w z g l ę d y c h ł o p c a m i a ł o s w ą s p e c j a l n ą w y ­ m o w ę , przyjęcie z a ś daru i u ż y w a n i e go świadczyło o przychylności i wzajemności. Podarunek o tak do­ n i o s ł y m znaczeniu powinien oczywiście w y r ó ż n i a ć się s t a r a n n o ś c i ą wykonania i p i ę k n ą d e k o r a c j ą , co stwa­ rzało s p r z y j a j ą c e w a r u n k i dla rozwoju zdobnictwa snycerskiego. Chłopcy p r z y g o t o w u j ą c prezenty r y w a ­ lizowali ze sobą, aby w oczach swych w y b r a n y c h za­ b ł y s n ą ć artystycznym talentem i z a k a s o w a ć swych ewentualnych k o n k u r e n t ó w . Jak w y n i k a z o p o w i a d a ń starych i n f o r m a t o r ó w , w północnej części w o j e w ó d z t w a kieleckiego „od wie­ k ó w j u ż ta moda była, co panny od c h ł o p a k ó w do­ s t a w a ł y wystrugane przęślice". W zasadzie k a ż d y c h ł o p a k sam sobie d a w a ł r a d ę z w y k o n a n i e m prezen­ tu. Zazwyczaj zajmowano się t y m podczas zimowych wieczorów na tzw. „ p r z ą d k a c h " , kiedy d z i e w c z ę t a przędły, chłopcy z a ś w ś r ó d ż a r t ó w i p r z e k o m a r z a ń strugali dla nich p o d a r k i . . Z d a r z a ł o się czasem, że chłopiec pozbawiony u z d o l n i e ń artystycznych nie po­ trafił w y k o n a ć np. rzeźbionej przęślicy; w ó w c z a s za­ m a w i a ł j ą w wielkiej tajemnicy u bardziej uzdolnio­ nego kolegi, r e w a n ż u j ą c się m u później poczęstun­ kiem w karczmie. Uprawianie snycerki w czasie owych w s p ó l n y c h z e b r a ń s t w a r z a ł o specyficzny k l i m a t s p r z y j a j ą c y b u j ­ nemu rozwojowi tej dziedziny sztuki dekoracyjnej, z drugiej zaś strony u ł a t w i a ł o wzajemne przejmowa­ nie w ą t k ó w i technik zdobniczych, co przyczyniło się w rezultacie do powstania lokalnego stylu charakte­ ryzującego l u d o w ą rzeźbę kielecką. R z e ź b i a r z e w y ­ k o n u j ą c y zdobione przęślice czy c z ó ł e n k a nie b y l i o w y m i w p e w n y m sensie wyspecjalizowanymi a r t y ­ stami ludowymi, k t ó r y c h spotykamy dość często w ś r ó d „ ś w i ą t k a r z y " u p r a w i a j ą c y c h rzeźbę f i g u r a l n ą do ce­ l ó w kultowych. Snycerze kieleccy to amatorzy, k t ó r z y w ciągu swej młodości zaledwie k i l k a razy c h w y t a l i się artystycznej pracy r z e ź b i a r s k i e j , o g r a n i c z a j ą c się do paru przęślic wykonanych w okresie „ k a w a l e r k i " . Po ożenku kończyły się artystyczne zajęcia snycerskie, gdyż — w e d ł u g miejscowej o p i n i i (Mąkosy Stare, pow. Radom) — „ ż o n a t e m u to j u ż nie wypada, żeby dla dziewcząt s t r u g a ł prezenty". 195 ��i? II. 1. Fragm. przęślicy. Jastrzębia, pow. Radom. Wl. Muz. Świętokrzyskiego w Kiel­ cach. II. 2. Pola pióra przęślicy. Wyk. J. Januszewski. Jedlnia Kościelna, pow. Ko­ zienice. II. 3. Przysiadka przęślicy. Mąkosy Stare, pow. Kozienice. Wl. Muz. Święto­ krzyskiego w Kielcach. II. 4. Fragm. pióra przęślicy. Pow. Końskie. Wl. Zakładu Etnografii Słowian U. J. w Krakowie. II. 5. Fragm. wzoru na przęślicy. Jastrzębia. II. 6. Pola pióra przęślicy. Wyk. Kazimierz Wojtaszek. Smardzewice, pow. Opoczno. Wl. Muz. w Tomaszowie Maz. II. 7. Fragm. wzoru na przęślicy. Wyk. Władysław Solarz. Odrowąż, pow. Końskie. II. 8. Pola pióra przęślicy. Jastrzębia. Na tle gromady bezimiennych snycerzy, k t ó r y c h dzieła udaje się czasem odnaleźć w okolicy Opoczna czy Radomia, z a c h o w a ł y się w p a m i ę c i ludzkiej liczne nazwiska wybitniejszych t w ó r c ó w , k t ó r z y zasłynęli jako utalentowani wykonawcy najpiękniejszych przęślic. B y l i to p r z e w a ż n i e ludzie zawodowo obezna­ n i z o b r ó b k ą drzewa, cieśle lub stolarze, którzy, w y ­ k o r z y s t u j ą c s w ą w i e d z ę technologiczną i biegłość w p o s ł u g i w a n i u się n a r z ę d z i a m i , ł a t w i e j dystansowali k o n k u r e n t ó w nie m a j ą c y c h w t y m zakresie n a l e ż y ­ tego przygotowania. T a k i m w ł a ś n i e cieślą i stolarzem zarazem był A n t o n i W r ó b e l z Jedlni K o ś c i e l n e j ; z d u ż y m z a m i ł o w a n i e m z a j m o w a ł się on s n y c e r k ą , tak że „potrafił i noc c a ł ą przesiedzieć, żeby s k o ń ­ czyć zaczętą r o b o t ę " . O p r ó c z przęślic, k t ó r y c h w y ­ k o n a ł k i l k a , ozdobił t a k ż e p r a s ę do wyciskania sera. P r z ę ś l i c e roboty W r ó b l a odznaczają się d u ż ą staran­ nością wykonania i bogactwem w z o r ó w o przewadze m o t y w ó w geometrycznych. W M ą k o s a c h Starych jed­ n y m z najlepszych r z e ź b i a r z y był za m ł o d u Józef Mąkosa, k t ó r y w roku 1953 udzielił wielu ciekawych informacji c z ł o n k o m p r a c u j ą c e j w terenie ekipy ba­ dawczej. Do c e l ó w r z e ź b i a r s k i c h u ż y w a n o najczęściej topoli, osiki, brzozy, ś l i w y w z g l ę d n i e olchy. Podstawowe n a r z ę d z i e pracy s t a n o w i ł nóż s k ł a d a n y , tzw. „cyga­ nek", o dobrze wyostrzonym, szpiczasto z a k o ń c z o n y m ostrzu, oraz c y r k i e l u ż y w a n y do ryzowania m o t y w ó w kolistych i tzw. gwiazd cyrklowych. Obok tych na­ rzędzi, p o s ł u g i w a n o się czasem w celach zdobniczych 'i t o k a r k ą . Z n a j d o w a ł a ona zastosowanie przy dekora­ c y j n y m k s z t a ł t o w a n i u formy pewnych p r z e d m i o t ó w , j a k np. krężli i piór do przęślic, k t ó r y c h fragmenty były zdobione najczęściej sposobem snycerskim. S p o ś r ó d technik snycerskich, na o m a w i a n y m obsza­ rze stosowana bywa technika r y t u prostego, r y t u cyrklowego, w i ó r o w a prosta, k l i n o w a oraz krystalicz­ na. Ryt prosty — w postaci l i n i i wyskrobywanych na powierzchni drzewa przy pomocy ostrego rylca — stosowany był raczej pomocniczo, gdy chodziło o de­ likatne ograniczenie pola zdobniczego lub też zróżni­ cowanie powierzchni i wzbogacenie m o t y w u wykona­ nego i n n ą t e c h n i k ą ( i l . na okładce). Typowy r y t c y r k l o w y z n a j d o w a ł zastosowanie przy wyznaczaniu m o t y w ó w kolistych i rozet, k t ó r e n a s t ę p n i e zwykle wzbogacano przy pomocy innych technik snycerskich. Na ogół rola obydwu wymienionych tu r o d z a j ó w r y t u była raczej skromna. O wiele bardziej rozpowszechniona b y ł a technika w i ó r o w a prosta; przy pomocy najczęściej stosowa­ nych p ł y t k i c h r o w k ó w o t r ó j k ą t n y m przekroju w y ­ konane są elementy i motywy złożone z prostych kre­ sek w y p e ł n i a j ą c y c h lub obrzeżających pole zdobni­ cze, kontury m o t y w ó w roślinnych i figuralnych, mo­ nogramy itp. Ponadto technika w i ó r o w a znajduje szerokie zastosowanie w wypadkach ozdobnego k s z t a ł t o w a n i a formy przedmiotu, z czym spotykamy się np. w ś l i m a k o w a t y c h z a k o ń c z e n i a c h przysiadek do przęślic itp. ( i l . 1). Stosunkowo szeroko u ż y w a n a była technika klinowa, najczęściej stosowana w obra- 197 �11. 9. Przęślica, II. 10. Czółenka Szczepan Skóra. 1927. Wyk. Piotr Łagowski. Jedlnia Kościelna, pow. Kozienice. zdobione. Kol. Kruszewiec, pow. Opoczno. 11. 11. Przęślica. Wyk. Łączna, pow. Kielce. mieniach pól zdobniczych, a także w motywach w y ­ pełniających te pola ( i l . 1). T e c h n i k ą k r y s t a l i c z n ą p o s ł u g i w a n o się na o m a w i a n y m terenie stosunkowo rzadko. Z n a j d o w a ł a ona najczęściej zastosowanie w motywach w y p e ł n i a j ą c y c h c e n t r a l n ą część moty­ w u zdobniczego, co przyczyniało się do osiągnięcia ciekawych e f e k t ó w światłocieniowych ( i l . 3). A m a t o r s k i m sposobem uprawiania snycerki n a l e ż y prawdopodobnie t ł u m a c z y ć fakt, że w omawianej tu r z e ź b i e nie spotykamy ś l a d ó w użycia półokrągłego d ł u t k a ; s t ą d w y n i k a z u p e ł n y brak tzw. techniki w r ą b kowej, k t ó r a polega na żłobieniu łączących się ze sobą nieckowatych w r ą b k ó w . W dekoracji snycerskiej na omawianym terenie w y s t ę p u j e w d e c y d u j ą c e j przewadze ornamentyka geometryczna, a w ś r ó d s k ł a d a j ą c y c h się na n i ą ele­ m e n t ó w przede wszystkim l i n i a prosta i ł a m a n a , j o ­ dełka, krzyżyk, względnie najprostsze figury geome­ tryczne: trójkąt, prostokąt, romb czy wielobok (tabl. I rys. 8—20); w y j ą t k o w o z d a r z a j ą się elementy w po­ staci ł u k u (tabl. I rys. 1—2). Z trójkątów względnie rombów układane bywają m o t y w y o ś r o d k o w e , zbudowane na zasadzie r ó w n o ­ ramiennego k r z y ż a prostego lub ukośnego (tabl. I rys. 21—27). Pola n i e k t ó r y c h e l e m e n t ó w , j a k t r ó j k ą ­ ta, rombu, p r o s t o k ą t a czy koła, w y p e ł n i a n o rytmicz­ n y m i u k ł a d a m i złożonymi z l i n i i prostych czy k ą t ó w , rzadziej k r a t k i . W elementach o kształcie p r o s t o k ą t ­ n y m często p o d k r e ś l a n o podział wykonany przy po­ mocy p r z e k ą t n i (tabl. I i l . 33—36). M o t y w y koliste posiadają p o w i e r z c h n i ę w y p e ł n i o n ą b ą d ź szeregiem kół w s p ó ł ś r o d k o w y c h (tabl. I i l . 41—42) z polami we­ w n ę t r z n y m i rytmicznie kreskowanymi, b ą d ź moty­ w a m i o ś r o d k o w y m i . Z d a r z a j ą się tu m o t y w y zbudo­ wane na zasadzie k r z y ż a (tabl. I i l . 45—46), promie­ niste (tabl. I i l . 47—49), w z g l ę d n i e — co spotyka się najczęściej — sześciopłatowe rozety cyrklowe (tabl. I i l . 50—52). 198 Z wymienionych w y ż e j m o t y w ó w i e l e m e n t ó w komponowane s ą u k ł a d y , w ś r ó d k t ó r y c h najliczniejsze to u k ł a d y pasowe. Najczęściej w y s t ę p u j e tu kompo­ zycja o prostym u k ł a d z i e rytmicznym, polegającym na powtarzaniu tego samego elementu l u b m o t y w u (tabl. I I i l . 1—11), w z g l ę d n i e d w ó c h r ó ż n y c h elemen­ t ó w czy m o t y w ó w ( r y t m typu a b a b, tabl. I I i l . 12—21). Bardziej skomplikowane u k ł a d y rytmiczne w ornamentach pasowych spotyka się niezwykle rzadko. W y m i e n i ć tu n a l e ż y d w u k r o t n i e w y s t ę p u j ą c y r y t m złożony z czterech e l e m e n t ó w kolejno po sobie n a s t ę p u j ą c y c h (abcd abcd, tabl. I I rys. 22—23). Niekiedy z d a r z a j ą się p r z y k ł a d y kompozycji paso­ wych, w k t ó r y c h r y t m m o ż e być na skutek p o m y ł k i rzeźbiarzy w ogóle nie przestrzegany ( i l . 2 kolumna I I od lewej). W n i e k t ó r y c h wypadkach z d a r z a j ą się u k ł a d y pasowe d w u - lub więcej strefowe, tzn. złożo­ ne z r ó w n o l e g l e biegnących węższych u k ł a d ó w paso­ w y c h b ą d ź jednakowych (tabl. I I rys. 24—25), b ą d ź różnych. W t y m ostatnim w y p a d k u u k ł a d poprzeczny pasa b y w a najczęściej symetryczny, przy czym k o m ­ pozycja pasa ś r o d k o w e g o kontrastuje z u k ł a d a m i pa­ sów p r z y k r a w ę ż n y c h (tabl. I I rys. 28—33). Do w y ­ j ą t k ó w n a l e ż ą d w u - lub więcej strefowe zespoły pa­ s ó w o kompozycji asymetrycznej (tabl. I I rys. 35—36). U k ł a d y ornamentalne typu o ś r o d k o w e g o w po­ r ó w n a n i u z u k ł a d a m i pasowymi w y k a z u j ą daleko mniejsze zróżnicowanie. Są to kompozycje z a m k n i ę t e w kwadracie lub p r o s t o k ą c i e podzielonym najczęściej p r z e k ą t n y m i (tabl. I I rys. 38—39), obwiedzione nie­ kiedy motywem k r a w ę d z i o w y m (tabl. I I rys. 40—42): raz jeden w y s t ą p i ł motyw rombu p r z e k r e ś l o n e g o na k r z y ż (tabl. I I rys. 43). M o t y w y niegeometryczne s t a n o w i ą w omawianej tu ornamentyce z d e c y d o w a n ą mniejszość. Spotyka się bądź schematycznie traktowany m o t y w rośliny w y ­ r a s t a j ą c e j z doniczki — j a k to widzimy na przęślicy pochodzącej z Jedlni Kościelnej ( i l . 2) czy z bliżej �nieokreślonej miejscowości w powiecie Końskie (il. 4), b ą d ź t e ż , co zdarza się rzadko i jest zdecydo­ wanie nowszego pochodzenia, m o t y w swobodnie trak­ towanej w i c i ( i l . 6) czy gałązki o formach zbliżonych do botanicznych. Sporadycznie z d a r z a j ą się motywy zwierzęce: k i l ­ ka p t a s z k ó w wplecionych, w roślinny ornament w i ­ ciowy ( i l . 6) w z g l ę d n i e sylwetka ptaka siedzącego na gnieździe, w y r z e ź b i o n a na przysiadce przęślicy z Ja­ strzębiej, pow. Radom ( i l . 5). Raz jeden w y r z e ź b i o n y został m o t y l ( i l . 8 kolumna I I I od lewej); na tej sa­ mej przęślicy w y s t ę p u j e r ó w n i e ż jedyny m o t y w ludz­ k i — p r z e d s t a w i a j ą c y młodzieńca w cyklistówce ma­ szerującego z z a w i n i ą t k i e m na plecach i podpiera­ jącego s i ę l a s k ą ( i l . 8 kolumna 4 o d lewej). O d r ę b n ą , aczkolwiek bardzo nieliczną g r u p ę sta­ n o w i ą m o t y w y z a c z e r p n i ę t e z symboliki c h r z e ś c i j a ń ­ skiej. S ą to krzyżyki ustawione na p r o s t o k ą t n e j pod­ stawie ( i l . 2 kolumna 4 od lewej), kielich, serce i — spotkany raz jeden — motyw p r z e d s t a w i a j ą c y s y l w e t k ę kościoła ( i l . 7). Jak wspomniano na wstępie, zespół p r z e d m i o t ó w zdobionych t e c h n i k ą s n y c e r s k ą jest niewielki, ograni­ cza się on bowiem do czółenek tkackich, przęślic oraz „rozpinki", czyli rozsuwanej deseczki u ż y w a n e j przez tkaczki do r o z p o ś c i e r a n i a na krosnach utkanego m a t e r i a ł u . Rozpinka ta ( i l . 9), p o c h o d z ą c a z Jedlni Kościelnej (pow. Kozienice), s k ł a d a się z d w ó c h części. Jedna z nich posiada p o ś r o d k u swej długości w ą s k i e wycięcie, w k t ó r e wsuwa się odpowiednio d o p a s o w a n ą część drugiej deseczki. Dzięki p o w y ż s z e ­ m u u r z ą d z e n i u długość „ r o z p i n k i " m o ż n a d o s t o s o w a ć do szerokości tkaniny. Z e w n ę t r z n e z a k o ń c z e n i a obu wspomnianych deseczek są ozdobnie profilowane, g ó r n a zaś powierzchnia posiada d e k o r a c j ę w y k o n a n ą p r z e w a ż n i e t e c h n i k ą k r y s t a l i c z n ą i klinową. Ornament złożony wyłącznie z e l e m e n t ó w geometrycznych za- II. 12. Fragm. przęślicy. Etn. Słowian U. J. w Pow. Końskie. Krakoivle. Wl. Zakładu komponowany jest z d u ż y m wyczuciem formy. W y ­ d ł u ż e n i e części ś r o d k o w e j p o d k r e ś l a biegnący w z d ł u ż k r a w ę d z i m o t y w zygzakowaty, środek zaś — u k ł a d pasowy złożony z dwunastu r ó ż n y c h z a m k n i ę t y c h w prostokątach motywów przeważnie ośrodkowych, częściowo p o w t a r z a j ą c y c h się, ale n a s t ę p u j ą c y c h po sobie bez określonego r y t m u . Z e w n ę t r z n e z a k o ń c z e n i e opisywanego t u u k ł a d u pasowego s t a n o w i ą z a m k n i ę t e w d u ż y m kwadracie motywy o ś r o d k o w e , k t ó r y c h ze­ w n ę t r z n e o b r z e ż e n i e przechodzi w z d ł u ż k r a w ę d z i de­ seczki i nie dosięgając jej k o ń c ó w zamyka pole zdob­ nicze w y p e ł n i o n y m i trzema rytmicznie rozłożonymi motywami p r o s t o k ą t n y m i , doskonale uwypuklający­ m i zwężający się w t y m miejscu kształt deseczki. Ze­ w n ę t r z n e , r ó w n i e ż z w ę ż o n e i półkoliście wycięte końce deseczki p o s i a d a j ą ozdobę w postaci r ó w n o r a ­ miennego krzyżyka, s t a n o w i ą c e g o bardzo szczęśliwe r o z w i ą z a n i e akcentu z a m y k a j ą c e g o całość ornamen­ talnej kompozycji. Podczas gdy zdobione „ r o z p i n k i " n a l e ż a ł y do w i e l ­ kiej rzadkości (w posiadanym materiale p o c h o d z ą c y m z b a d a ń na znacznym obszarze w o j e w ó d z t w a kielec­ kiego mamy zaledwie jeden tego rodzaju przykład), rzeźbione c z ó ł e n k a tkackie z d a r z a j ą się częściej. Do celów dekoracyjnych wykorzystywane s ą t u z w ę ż a ­ j ą c e się z a k o ń c z e n i a czółenek po obu stronach w y ­ żłobienia przeznaczonego do umieszczenia cewki. Jako motywy dekoracyjne w y s t ę p u j ą tu zwykle motywy półkoliste lub koliste z r ó ż n y m i p o d z i a ł a m i z e w n ę t r z ­ n y m i i w y p e ł n i e n i a m i w postaci jednoosiowego u k ł a d u złożonego z czterech l i s t k ó w ( i l . 10 a, b). Czasem obok m o t y w ó w kolistych spotyka się r ó w n i e ż krzyżyki złożone z m a ł y c h t r ó j k ą c i k ó w . Jak m o ż n a w n o s i ć z posiadanego m a t e r i a ł u , o k r e ś l o ­ ne wyżej pola zdobnicze r ó w n i e ż pod w z g l ę d e m w i e l ­ kości i możliwości dekoracyjnych nie b y ł y w jedna­ kowy sposób wykorzystane. Z w y k l e elementy deko­ racyjne k o n c e n t r u j ą się bardziej po jednej stronie wyżłobienia, gdzie m i ę d z y u j ę t y m i w kole m o t y w a m i zdobniczymi znajduje się r ó w n i e ż w y c i ę t a data w y ­ konania czółenka. Najczęściej w ś r ó d zdobionych rzeźbą przedmio­ t ó w spotyka się przęślice. W y s t ę p u j ą one, j a k w i d a ć z załączonej mapy, na terenie p o w i a t ó w : Opoczno, Przysucha, Radom, Kozienice, Iłża, Kielce oraz — jak świadczy o t y m jeden okaz n i e o k r e ś l o n e g o po­ chodzenia (przechowywany w Z a k ł a d z i e Etnografii Słowian U . J. w Krakowie) — p o w i a t u K o ń s k i e . W y s t ę p u j ą c e n a t y m obszarze p r z ę ś l i c e zdobione n a l e ż ą do typu przęślic k r ę ż o ł k o w y c h z p r z y s i a d k ą . Przęślica taka s k ł a d a się z cienkiej poziomej deskiprzysiadki (dług. 60—75 cm, szer. 5,5—10 cm), w której przy j e d n y m k o ń c u osadzona jest pionowa beleczka, zwana „piórem", d ł u g . 55—80 cm, z nasadzonym od góry ruchomym „ k r ę ż l e m " . W starszych przęślicach, celem mocniejszego osadzenia pióra, o d n o ś n a część przysiadki posiada wydatne zgrubienie, k t ó r e osiąga się przez wystruganie deseczki z klocka odpowiedniej grubości ( i l . 12) lub przez przymocowanie oddzielnej podstawki, wys. ok. 6 c m (tabl. I I I rys. 8—12). Opisy­ wana tu część przysiadki posiada często k s z t a ł t ozdob­ i e �II. 13. Przęślica. Jastrzębia, pow. Radom. Wł. Muz. Świętokrzyskiego w Kielcach. II. 14. Przęślica. Mąkosy Stare, pow. Kozienice. Wł. Muz. Świętokrzyskiego w Kielcach. 11. 15. Przęślica. Pow. Końskie. Wł. Zakład Etn. Słowian U. J. w Krakowie. II. 16. Pole przysiadki przęślicy. Kakonin, pow. Kielce. Wł. Muz. Etnograficznego i Archeologicznego w Łodzi. U. 17. Boki i pola przysiadki przęślicy. Jedlnia Kościelna, pow. Radom. �ny (tabl. I I I ) ; odnosi się to z a r ó w n o do samej obsad­ k i , k t ó r a przyjmuje często k s z t a ł t stożka ściętego, oktogonu lub schodkowanej p i r a m i d k i , j a k i do sa­ mego zakończenia, k t ó r e b y w a profilowane (tabl. I I I rys. 1—3, 8—12) w z g l ę d n i e p o d g i ę t e k u górze' (tabl. I I I rys. 6—7). W w y d ł u ż o n y c h podstawkach p i ó r a wyżłobione są niekiedy p r o s t o k ą t n e w g ł ę b i e n i a (tabl. I I I rys. 1—i) przeznaczone na w o d ę , w k t ó r e j p r z ą d k a zwilża palce w czasie pracy. Deseczki przysiadek m a j ą najczęściej kształt pro­ s t o k ą t n y lub lekko rozszerzający się w k i e r u n k u p r z e c i w l e g ł y m do podstawy pióra. Samo z a k o ń c z e n i e deseczki od tej strony r ó w n i e ż bywa ozdobnie pro­ filowane. W y j ą t k o w o z d a r z a j ą się p r z y k ł a d y , gdzie k r a w ę d ź przysiadki jest ozdobnie profilowana ( i l . 11). Drążek, czyli „ p i ó r o " przęślicy, w starszych okazach posiada p r z e k r ó j k w a d r a t o w y ( i l . 13) l u b ośmioboczny. Niekiedy jedynie dolna część p i ó r a jest k w a d r a ­ towa, g ó r n a zaś o ś m i o b o c z n a ( i l . 14). W nowszych przęślicach z d a r z a j ą się p i ó r a ozdobnie toczone na tokarni. U z u p e ł n i e n i e m przęślicy jest n a k ł a d a n y na p i ó r o „ k r ę ż e l " l u b „ k r ę ż o ł e k " w kształcie w y d ł u ż o n e g o stożka, w y c h o d z ą c e g o z szerszej kolistej l u b ośmlobocznej podstawy. Dekoracja snycerska w y s t ę p u j e zasadniczo na wszystkich wymienionych wyżej częściach s k ł a d o ­ wych przęślicy, z t y m jednak że w sposobie roz­ mieszczenia ornamentu m o ż n a w y r ó ż n i ć k i l k a n a j ­ bardziej charakterystycznych s c h e m a t ó w . Najczęściej więc ozdobione jest pióro przysiadki oraz podstawa, w k t ó r e j jest osadzone. Czasem ornamentyka sny­ cerska obejmuje r ó w n i e ż część powierzchni przysiad­ k i od strony p i ó r a l u b też przerzuca się na jej prze­ ciwległy koniec. Rzadko natomiast zdarza się, aby przysiadka b y ł a ornamentowana na całej swej po­ wierzchni, j a k to w i d z i m y np. na wspomnianej j u ż poprzednio przęślicy z powiatu K o ń s k i e ( i l . 15). W przęślicach, w k t ó r y c h podstawa p i ó r a wykonana jest w całości wraz z d e s k ą przysiadki, najbardziej ozdobione b y w a j ą boczne strony obsadki do pióra. W y p e ł n i a je b ą d ź ornament pasowy w poziomym u k ł a d z i e strefowym ( i l . 12), b ą d ź s t a n o w i ą one pola zdobnicze w y o d r ę b n i o n e pasowym ornamentem k r a ­ w ę d z i o w y m , w y p e ł n i o n e w ś r o d k u kompozycją deko­ r a c y j n ą złożoną z rozet w r ó ż n y m u k ł a d z i e ( i l . 13, 17). W y p e ł n i e n i e obu przeciwległych ścian podstawy utrzymane jest w zasadzie w j e d n a k o w y m charakte­ rze, j a k k o l w i e k zasada identyczności obydwu kom­ pozycji nie jest przestrzegana w sposób ścisły ( i l . 17). Niekiedy z d a r z a j ą się przęślice, w k t ó r y c h boki podstawy p i ó r a w y p e ł n i a j ą u k ł a d y pasowe biegnące w jednej połowie pionowo, w drugiej zaś poziomo. W y s t a j ą c a poza p o d s t a w ę p i ó r a krótsza część przy­ siadki, ozdobiona profilowanym z a k o ń c z e n i e m w po­ staci rombu czy koła, posiada często na t y m z a k o ń ­ czeniu w y r z e ź b i o n y m o t y w rozety. Dłuższą część przysiadki od strony pióra, a czasem też i przy końcu, zdobi ornament z a m k n i ę t y w o b r ę b i e zakomponowa­ nego pola zdobniczego. Z w y k l e pole to z a m k n i ę t e jest dookoła w ą s k i m szlakiem k r a w ę d z i o w y m , w ś r o d k u I I . 18. Pola pióra przęślicy. Jastrzębia, pow. Radom. Wyk. Jan Zając. zaś w y p e ł n i o n e z w a r t ą kompozycją złożoną z moty­ w ó w geometrycznych w u k ł a d z i e pasowym l u b ośrod­ k o w y m ( i l . 15, 17). Na wolnej powierzchni przysiad­ k i , najczęściej w pobliżu kończącej s i ę dekoracji ornamentalnej, wycinane b y w a j ą daty wykonania przęślicy oraz inicjały ofiarodawcy l u b obdarowanej. Przęślic, w k t ó r y c h cała powierzchnia przysiadki b y ł a b y pokryta d e k o r a c j ą s n y c e r s k ą , spotyka s i ę nie­ wiele. Najczęściej są to p o w t a r z a j ą c e się symetrycz­ nie u k ł a d y złożone z rozet cyrklowych ( i l . 16), w now­ szych zaś — dość chaotycznie rozrzucone m o t y w y roślinne. Rzadziej natomiast spotykamy na przysiadce zwarcie zakomponowany ornament w y k o r z y s t u j ą ­ cy całość powierzchni zdobniczej. D o s k o n a ł y p r z y k ł a d tego rodzaju stanowi przęślica z powiatu K o ń s k i e (il. 15) o p i ę k n i e zaplanowanym wzorze geometrycz­ n y m . Powierzchnia p i ó r a przęślicy dzieli się w spo­ sób naturalny na pola zdobnicze, k t ó r y c h ilość odpo­ wiada ilości boków. Może ich być — j a k w i e m y — cztery lub osiem. Pojedyncze boki p i ó r a s ą w y p e ł n i o ­ ne najczęściej pasowym ornamentem geometrycznym, w y j ą t k o w o r o ś l i n n y m — przy czym k a ż d y z b o k ó w ozdobiony jest p r z e w a ż n i e inaczej ( i l . 18). Zestawy sąsiadujących z sobą u k ł a d ó w robią czasem w r a ż e n i e z u p e ł n i e przypadkowych, nie p o d p o r z ą d k o w a n y c h a n i p r a w o m harmonii, a n i kontrastu. P r z y k ł a d e m tego jest r o z w i n i ę t a na płaszczyźnie dekoracja ośmiobocznego p i ó r a na przęślicy z Zakościela, pow. Opoczno (il. 20). P r z y k ł a d ó w takich m o ż n a by przytoczyć w i ę - 201 �C™^ ///// ))))) /V\ A £ '« # 1Ś H # \\v// A 23 \\\// 2^ 25 1 1 1 | 26 Tabl. I . Motywy snycerskie występujące na przęślicach: 1 Zakościele (Opoczno), 2 Kakonin (Kielce), 3 Stare Stużno, 4 Gałki, 5 Wysokin, 6 Wincentynów, 7 Zakościele (Opoczno), 8 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozienice), 9 Kakonin (Kielce), 10, 11, 12 Libiszów, 13, 14 Zakoś­ ciele, 15 Gałki, 16, 17, 18, 19 Łokietka (Opoczno), 20, 21 Libiszów (Opoczno), 22 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozie­ nice), 23 Libiszów, 24 Wysokin, 25 Wysokin (Opocz­ no), 26, 27 Mąkosy Nowe, 28 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozie­ nice), 29 Mąkosy Nowe, 30 Mąkosy Stare, 31 Mąkosy Nowe, 32 Mąkosy Stare (Kozienice), 33 Stużno Stare (Opoczno), 34 Mąkosy Stare (Kozienice), 35 Jedlnia Kośc, 36, 37 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozienice), 38 Libiszów (Opoczno), 39 Kakonin (Kielce), 40 Stużno Stare (Opoczno), 41 Kakonin (Kielce), 42 Smardzewice, 43 Wrzelowiec (Opoczno), 44 Mąkosy Stare (Kozie­ nice), 45 Libiszów (Opoczno), 46 Jedlnia Kośc. (Ko­ zienice), 47, 48 Libiszów (Opoczno), 49, 50 Kakonin (Kielce), 51, 52 Wysokin (Opoczno). cej. Niekiedy pióro przęślicy podzielone jest poprzecz­ n y m i r o w k a m i na k i l k a s e g m e n t ó w , co daje o k a z j ę do zmiany dekoracji w o b r ę b i e poszczególnych od­ c i n k ó w każdego boku ( i l . 21). Nie zawsze zresztą kompozycja wzoru na poszczególnych ś c i a n k a c h p i ó r a posiada u k ł a d pasowy; niejednokrotnie powierzchnia ich w y p e ł n i o n a jest r ó ż n o r o d n y m i motywami, w y ­ s t ę p u j ą c y m i samodzielnie, nie p o w i ą z a n y m i ze sobą w rytmiczne u k ł a d y ani w o b r ę b i e jednej ściany przęślicy, ani w stosunku do ścian s ą s i e d n i c h ( i l . 8). Stosunkowo rzadziej zdarza się, aby ornament u k ł a d a ł się na piórze strefowo, tzn. aby obiegał dookoła p i ó r a z m i e n i a j ą c się w o d s t ę p a c h m i ę d z y poszczegól­ n y m i segmentami ( i l . 19). Na k r ę ż l a c h ornament snycerski biegnie z r e g u ł y dookoła zgrubienia podstawy. Jest to zazwyczaj w ą s k i , 202 27 II. 19. Przęślica. Świętokrzyskiego przęślicy. Wyk. Opoczno. Brzeziny, pow. Kielce. Wł. w Kielcach. II. 20. Pole Antoni Kmita. Zakościele, poziomo ułożony motyw pasowy, względnie (o ile z a k o ń c z e n i e k r ę ż l a jest oktogonalne) s k ł a d a się z pio­ nowo orientowanych u k ł a d ó w pasowych w y p e ł n i a j ą jących poszczególne ś c i a n y ośmioboku. Część ś r o d k o ­ wa i g ó r n a krężla, zakryta w czasie pracy p r z ę d z i ­ wem, jest oczywiście nie zdobiona. W y j ą t e k od tej zasady stanowi krężel, k t ó r y w z d ł u ż całej swej w y ­ sokości posiada b i e g n ą c e w o d s t ę p a c h , poziomo ułożo­ ne drobne wzory pasowe. Przeprowadzenie analizy przedstawionego t u w szki­ cowym zarysie zdobnictwa snycerskiego, w y s t ę p u j ą ­ cego w w o j e w ó d z t w i e kieleckim, na tle p o r ó w n a w ­ czym innych t e r e n ó w Polski — nasuwa znaczne t r u d ­ ności z powodu bardzo n i e r ó w n o m i e r n e g o opracowa­ nia — w skali krajowej — tej dziedziny ludowej t w ó r ­ czości. Muz. pióra pow. �^Oi C f ! A V A ? (iV i V 1 OV 6V ŚV t>V liii <<<Ą<-Ąr<« 0\0 6 W V 7 7 W W 7 7 O T W W W W KEKKEKEK .0,0,0,0,0,0,0,01 35 3<< 33 32 36 "Xi 37 <i3 71. 22. Jedlnia Tabl. U. Motywy snycerskie występujące na przęślicach: 1 Zakościele, 2 Bieliny, 4 Jedlnia Kościelna (Kozienice), 5 Wincentynów, 6 Bieliny, 7 Gałki, 8 Rusinów, 10 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozienice), 11 Antoniów, 12 Radzice Duże, 13 Gałki (Opoczno), nice), 15 Gałki, 16 Wincentynów, 17 Gałki, 18 Rusinów, 19 Libiszów, 20 Antoniów, 23 Antoniów, 24 Rusinów, 25 Antoniów, 26 Stużno Stare, 27 Oziębławice (Opoczno), ce), 29 Kakonin (Kielce), 30 Gałki, 31 Bieliny, 32 Zakościele, 33 Zakościele (Opoczno), nice), 35, 36 Zakościele (Opoczno), 37 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozienice), 38 Wincentynów Kośc. (Kozienice). 41 Rusinów. 42. 43 Zakościele (Opoczno). W ś w i e t l e posiadanych m a t e r i a ł ó w n a j w y r a ź n i e j s z e o d r ę b n o ś c i z a r y s o w u j ą się m i ę d z y i n t e r e s u j ą c ą nas s n y c e r k ą k i e l e c k ą a rzeźbą d e k o r a c y j n ą obszarów położonych na północ i z a c h ó d od Kielecczyzny. Przy­ kłady, k t ó r e posiadamy z t e r e n ó w Mazowsza (np. z Kurpiowszczyzny czy Łowickiego), ze s w ą m ł o d ą p ł a s k o - w y p u k ł ą d e k o r a c j ą w y s t ę p u j ą c ą na pewnych s p r z ę t a c h domowych i n a r z ę d z i a c h \ z a r ó w n o w swej technice j a k i w o g ó l n y m charakterze ornamentyki w niczym nie n a w i ą z u j ą do form znanych w Kielec­ kiem. Analogie z terenami zachodnimi {Mazury, Pomorze. Dolny Śląsk) ograniczają się do faktu w y s t ę p o w a n i a 1 Ewa F r y ś , Jan Golis łowicki stolarz i rzeźbiarz. „Polska Sztuka Ludowa", 1959, n r 3; R. Reinfuss, Pokonkursowe wystawy sztuki ludowej w Augustowie i Kolnie, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa", 1951, n r 6, s. 189, rys. 11, 12. K . H . Clasen, Deutsche Volkskunst Ostpreussen, Weimar 1942, rys. 104, 105; G. Grundman, K . Hahm, Deutsche Volkskunst Schlesien, M ü n c h e n , rys. 122, 123; F. Adler, Deutsche Volkskunst Pommern, Mün­ chen, rys. 119, 122; A . Perlick, Der Schönwalder Rocken-ständer, Die Hohe Strasse, schlesische Jahr2 Pola Kość, pióra pow. przęśUcy. Kozienice. 3 Wincentynów (Opoczno). 9 Rusinów (Opoczno), 14 Jedlnia Kośc. (Kozie­ 21 Rusinów, 22 Łokietka, 28 Seredzice (Starachowi­ 34 Mąkosy Stare (Kozie­ (Opoczno). 39. 40 Jedlnia n i e k t ó r y c h technik zdobniczych (wiórowa, prosta, k l i ­ nowa, krystaliczna) i p o d o b i e ń s t w a najprostszych ele­ m e n t ó w dekoracyjnych. Natomiast kompozycja orna­ mentu w z i ę t a jako całość posiada charakter zgoła od­ mienny, w y n i k a j ą c y z innego sposobu rozplanowania ornamentu. W y j ą t e k s t a n o w i ą n i e k t ó r e X V I I I - w i e c z n e miary łokciowe p r z y p o m i n a j ą c e — w w y p a d k u zasto­ sowania ornamentyki geometrycznej zróżnicowanej w obrębie poszczególnych płaszczyzn zdobniczych — p i ó r a przęślic kieleckich . 2 W stosunku do ludowego snycerstwa w y s t ę p u j ą ­ cego w Polsce p o ł u d n i o w e j (skąd — j a k dotychczas — posiadamy najobfitsze m a t e r i a ł y p o r ó w n a w c z e ) zdob3 b ü c h e r für Deutsche A r t und Kunst i m Ostraum. Band 1, Herausgegeben von Gustav Barthel, Breslau 1938, s. 256; G. Otto, Bauerliche „Minnegaben" und Brauchtum der Liebesleute im Schlesien, Die Hohe Strasse, Breslau 1938, s. 223, 224. M . Gładysz, Góralskie zdobnictwo drzewne na Śląsku, K r a k ó w 1938; W. Matlakowski, Zdobienie i sprzęt ludu polskiego na Podhalu, Warszawa 1901; S. Barabasz, Sztuka ludowa na Podhalu, Lwów—War­ szawa 1930; W. Kolago, Łyżniki podhalańskie, „Pol­ ska Sztuka Ludowa", 1948, n r 9—10. 3 203 �nictwo kieleckie wykazuje pewne p o d o b i e ń s t w a , choć r ó w n o c z e ś n i e istnieje t u wiele istotnych różnic. A n a ­ logie dotyczą przede wszystkim technik zdobniczych, w ś r ó d k t ó r y c h w y m i e n i ć n a l e ż y w y s t ę p u j ą c y na tere­ nie Opolszczyzny i K a r p a t r y t z w y k ł y i c y r k l o w y , t e c h n i k ę w i ó r o w ą prostą, k l i n o w ą , k r y s t a l i c z n ą , a tak­ że n i e k t ó r e proste elementy geometryczne łącznie z powszechnie w snycerce ludowej s t o s o w a n ą g w i a z d ą cyrklową. Niektóre podobieństwa obejmują również sposób rozmieszczenia w z o r ó w na przedmiocie, co można stwierdzić porównując na przykład niektóre przęślice p o d h a l a ń s k i e z k i e l e c k i m i . Natomiast rza­ dziej m o ż n a s t w i e r d z i ć analogie w zakresie kompo­ zycji u k ł a d u ornamentalnego. Z a r ó w n o w snycerce p o d h a l a ń s k i e j j a k i śląskiej panuje na ogół d u ż a dyscyplina w sposobie komponowania, w y r a ż a j ą c a się m i ę d z y i n n y m i w i d o c z n ą t e n d e n c j ą do u t r z y m y w a n i a przejrzystych i regularnych u k ł a d ó w rytmicznych. Owa swoboda w sposobie u k ł a d a n i a obok siebie r ó ż ­ nych m o t y w ó w nie p o w i ą z a n y c h ze s o b ą i w y s t ę p u ­ j ą c y c h po sobie bez o k r e ś l o n e g o p o r z ą d k u , k t ó r a tak uderza w dekoracji piór przęślic kieleckich, posiada czasem analogie na p o ł u d n i u Polski — jedynie w zdobnictwie starszych, X V I I I - w i e c z n y c h m i a r łok­ ciowych z Opolszczyzny. 4 Wskazane t u cechy dotyczące szczegółów g ł ó w n i e o charakterze elementarnym i powszechnym w sny­ cerce p r y m i t y w n e j p r z e d s t a w i a j ą się j a k o zespół cech o d r ę b n y c h , k t ó r e w p ł y w a j ą d e c y d u j ą c o na k s z t a ł t o w a n i e s i ę odrębności formalnych ludowej sny­ cerki Kielecczyzny. Na w s t ę p i e w y m i e n i ć t u n a l e ż y różnice w zakresie stosowanych technik. Z a r ó w n o na Ś l ą s k u Opolskim j a k i na terenach karpackich — w ś r ó d n a r z ę d z i sny­ cerskich obok n o ż a u ż y w a n o półokrągłego d ł u t a , co powoduje, że poczesne miejsce w tamtejszej ornamen­ tyce zajmuje nie w y s t ę p u j ą c a na Kielecczyźnie tech­ nika w r ą b k o w a . D r u g i m n a r z ę d z i e m , r ó w n i e ż w sny­ cerce kieleckiej nie stosowanym, jest u ż y w a n y przez rzeźbiarzy góralskich tzw. ś w i d e r zdobniczy, k t ó r y pozwala w p r o w a d z a ć do ludowej ornamentyki element w postaci małego, konturowo zarysowanego k ó ł k a z p u n k t e m w środku. Czasem nawet te techniki, k t ó r e są w s p ó l n e na obu p o r ó w n a n y c h ze sobą terenach, nie zawsze w praktyce stosowane są w sposób iden­ tyczny. Np. technika klinowa stosowana jest z a r ó w n o w w o j e w ó d z t w i e kieleckim j a k i w Karpatach czy na Opolszczyźnie, jednak na Kielecczyźnie t r ó j k ą t n e k l i n y w y s t ę p u j ą pojedynczo lub połączone s ą ze sobą w i e r z c h o ł k a m i , na Opolszczyźnie zaś i w rzeźbie g ó ­ ralskiej spotyka się, obok tego, łączenie d w ó c h k l i ­ n ó w w z d ł u ż podstawy, co daje w rezultacie zarys rombu z lekko zaznaczoną k r ó t s z ą p r z e k ą t n ą . W zakresie o r n a m e n t y k i snycerka g ó r a l s k a i śląska nie unika tak konsekwentnie ł u k u czy l i n i i falistej (np. p o d h a l a ń s k i „gadzik"), a przede wszystkim sięga do tematyki r o ś l i n n e j , k t ó r a — potwierdzona na Ś l ą s k u j u ż w w i e k u X V I I I (datowany łokieć z r o k u 1781 z Opolszczyzny) — d a ł a tu, j a k r ó w n i e ż na Pod* W. Matlakowski, 204 op. cit., tabl. X L I I . halu, d u ż ą r o z m a i t o ś ć bogato r o z w i n i ę t y c h f o r m (pod­ h a l a ń s k a „leluja"); widoczne s ą t u , przetworzone na sposób ludowy, w p ł y w y ornamentyki stylowej (np. w y s t ę p u j ą c y na łokciach z Opolszczyzny i w zdob­ nictwie p o d h a l a ń s k i m m o t y w tulipana). M o t y w y r o ś l i n n e , bardziej zadomowione w rzeźbie p o ł u d n i o w e j Polski, o d z n a c z a j ą się w i ę k s z ą r ó ż n o ­ rodnością i dojrzałością f o r m a l n ą , czego brak ubogim i s ł a b o jeszcze r o z w i n i ę t y m drzewkom z przęślic kie­ leckich. Podobnie, znacznie bogatsze w swej oprawie ornamentalnej s ą na obszarze Polski p o ł u d n i o w e j r o ­ zety c y r k l o w e czy m o t y w y w postaci kół w s p ó ł ś r o d kowych. N a terenie Góralszczyzny w y s t ę p u j e w licz­ nych odmianach ornamentalnych m o t y w serca, k t ó r y w snycerce kieleckiej zanotowany został zaledwie raz jeden, i to w najprostszym ujęciu k o n t u r o w y m . W zakresie kompozycji u k ł a d ó w ornamentu sny­ cerka ludowa p o ł u d n i o w e j Polski jest, j a k to wspom­ niano w y ż e j , bardziej zdyscyplinowana, co w y r a ż a się w dążności do ścisłego rytmizowania, zachowania symetrii i przejrzystości w budowie ornamentu. R e a s u m u j ą c w y n i k i powyższego p o r ó w n a n i a m o ż n a ogólnie s t w i e r d z i ć , że snycerka kielecka reprezentuje stadium pierwotniejsze. Przejawia się to z a r ó w n o w rodzaju stosowanych technik opartych na naj­ prostszym n a r z ę d z i u snycerskim, k t ó r y m jest szpi­ czasty nóż, j a k i w charakterze ornamentu złożonego niemal wyłącznie z elementów geometrycznych. Ś w i a d e c t w e m pierwotnej prostoty jest w y s t ę p u j ą c a w licznych p r z y k ł a d a c h swoboda kompozycyjna w ze­ stawianiu u k ł a d ó w ornamentalnych, k t ó r a niejedno­ krotnie m o ż e niepokoić b r a k i e m p r a w i d e ł organizu­ jących ornament i w y w o ł y w a ć w r a ż e n i e przypadko­ wości czy n i e p o r z ą d k u , a w rzeczywistości jest w y ­ razem ż y w i o ł o w e j , często naiwnej pasji tworzenia, d l a k t ó r e j analogii n a l e ż a ł o b y s z u k a ć w sferze sztuki ludów prymitywnych. W dziedzinie ornamentu geometrycznego snycerka kielecka osiąga niejednokrotnie wyższy poziom pla­ styczny aniżeli na Podhalu czy Śląsku. Odnosi się to szczególnie do rzeźby kieleckiej, głęboko ciętej, o fak­ turze j a k gdyby krystalicznej ( i l . 12), k t ó r a stwarza na powierzchni przedmiotu bogatszą g a m ę ś w i a t ł o ­ cieniową. O i l e snycerze z Kielecczyzny potrafili o s i ą g n ą ć d o s k o n a ł e w y n i k i w zakresie ornamentu geometrycz­ nego, o tyle ornament r o ś l i n n y w y s t ę p u j e t u w sta­ d i u m z u p e ł n i e p o c z ą t k o w y m . Są to spontanicznie po­ dejmowane p r ó b y wzbogacenia tradycyjnej ornamen­ t y k i , pozbawione jakichkolwiek w p ł y w ó w wzornic­ twa zaczerpniętego z inwentarza s t y l ó w historycznych, k t ó r e t u w i d a ć nie d o t a r ł y . Arealistycznie traktowane formy r o ś l i n n e nie zdążyły się na terenie Kielecczyzny bogaciej r o z w i n ą ć , gdyż n a w a r s t w i ł a się na nie i za­ głuszyła je najnowsza moda, w n o s z ą c a do tutejszej snycerki naturalistyczne tendencje w t r a k t o w a n i u de­ koracji r o ś l i n n e j . Z tego, co powiedziano dotychczas na temat ludo­ wej rzeźby dekoracyjnej na Kielecczyźnie, wynika, że nie posiada ona w ł a ś c i w i e ścisłych analogii, k t ó r e �T—."Tj 12««' KOŃSKIE „a„„ '/ • • ta ''SKARŻYSKO 2S.' I KAM. , i/; • 1 OKIELCE - *20 STARACHOWICE O <5 ! 1 2! OPATÓW o 21 ( J£,ORZE)dw .->•, O CHMIELNIK STASZdw> , o —j PIŃCZÓW O BUSKO i < i ^KAZIMIERZA-O WLk ,( w <L. ) " O MIASTA • MIEJSCOWOŚCI POWIATOWE S K Ą D POCHODZĄ, MATERIAŁY Zasiąg występowania przęślic zdobionych. Spis miejscowości: 1 Twarda, 2 Małoszyce, 3 Kruszewiec, 4 Libiszów, 5 Radzice Małe, 6 Ossa, 7 Wysokin, 8 Całki (pow. Opoczno), 9 Rusinów, 10 Bieliny (pow. Przy­ sucha), 11 Stare Stużno, 12 Zakościele (pow. Opoczno), 13 Brzoza, 14 Mąkosy Stare, 15 Mąkosy Nowe, 16 Cecyliówka Głowaczowska (pow. Kozienice), 17 Jastrzębia (pow. Radom), 18 Jedlnia Kościelna (pow. Kozienice), 19 Krzyżanowice, 20 Seredzice (pow. Starachowice), 21 Su­ chedniów, 22 Bieliny, 23 Kakonin (pow. Kielce). 24 Morawicka Wola (poi<>. Kielce). 25 Odrowąż (pow. Końskie). pozwoliłyby na bardziej globalne zestawienie snycerki kieleckiej ze s n y c e r k ą jakiegoś innego obszaru na terenie Polski. Analogii takich n i e znajdziemy r ó w ­ nież na terenie obszaru Słowacji czy Węgier. Naj­ bliższą j e j , jeżeli chodzi o ogólny wyraz w y n i k a j ą c y Fot. Jan Świderski. Rys.: Maria Z Wiglusz — il. 11. Czarnecka Tabl. III. Fragmenty przysiadek przęślic u nasady pióra: 1 Libiszów, 2 Wincentynów, 3 Małoszyce (pow. Opoczno), 4 Mąkosy Stare (pow. Kozie­ nice), 5 Oziębłowice (pow. Opatów), 6 Jedlnia Kośc. (pow. Kozienice), 7 Okół (pow. Iłża), 8 Twarda, 9 Brzoza, 10 Bieli­ ny (pow. Opoczno), 11 Kako­ nin. 12 Łączna (pow. Kielce). z zasobu ś r o d k ó w technicznych i gamy e l e m e n t ó w formalnych, wydaje s i ę w n i e k t ó r y c h swych przeja­ wach (nie p o w i ą z a n a genetycznie ze s n y c e r k ą kie­ lecką) snycerka ludowa Rumunii, k r a j ó w b a ł k a ń s k i c h i Rosji. — tabl. I . II, III, mapka, il. 9; Tyrs-Wenhrynatwicz — il. 10; � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/a6b3b8ee9ad20166f18012fb0cf0de6c.pdf d6fec41976b782da68f34c46fdbb45c1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3406 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1982 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3193 Title A name given to the resource Działalność National Gypsy Education Council / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1982 t.36 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1982 t.36 z.1-4, s.158 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Bartosz, Adam Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Adam Bartosz DZIAŁALNOŚĆ NATIONAL GYPSY EDUCATION COUNCIL N a terenie Wielkiej Brytanii Cyganie s t a n o w i ą specyficzną N . G . E . C . jest organizacją p a t r o n u j ą c ą szkolnictwu dzieci grupę o cechach o d r ę b n y c h W stosunku do Cyganów z konty­ i d o r o s ł y c h , n a d a j ą c ą schemat pracy wszystkim s z k o ł o m , służącą nentu. W obyczaju, a takżo w j ę z y k u społeczność t i z a c h o w a ł a informacją i p o m o c ą naukowa. Г о pewnych stosunkowo archaiczne elementy. P o s ł u g u j ą się dwoma odmia­ organizacyjnych N . G . E . C . jest dziś zrzeszeniem n i e z a l e ż n y c h grup nami j ę z y k a : Englisch-Romani — cygański z dużymi naleciałoś­ ciami angielskiego lub Celtic Gammon (inaczej Shelta) — u ż y w a n y przez C y g a n ó w irlandzkich, w k t ó r y m obok w p ł y w ó w przekształceniach i o d d z i a ł ó w w c h o d z ą c y c h w skład 3 R a d o b e j m u j ą c y c h w i ę k s z e części k r a j u i m a j ą c y c h osobne siedziby. języka Statut N.G.E.C. powiada, że: „celem (organizacji) angielskiego przechowało się sporo bardzo d a w n y c ł i f i r m pocho­ wzrost p o s t ę p u w edukacji C y g a n ó w i innych dzenia z a r ó w n o dzieci j a k i dorosłych". P r z y j ę t o n a s t ę p u j ą c e celtyckiego. Obok autentycznych Cyganów drogami Wielkiej Brytanii wędruje sporo rozmaitych grup niecygańskiełi. W i ę k s z o ś ć z nich Jednak przejęła c y g a ń s k i j ę z y k i obyczaje i często traktowani są przez brytyjskie s p o ł e c z e ń s t w o jako Cyganio (Gypsies). Często też wszystkich tamtejszych k o c z o w n i k ó w określa się w p ó l n y m mianem ludzi w ę d r u j ą c y c h (Travellers). Wszelkie instytucjo —• w procesie nauki u ż y w a się j ę z y k a romani, a w y k ł a d y popiera się p r z y k ł a d a m i z historii i kultury C y g a n ó w , — nauka ma służyć wjaajaniu zasad ż y c i a w społeczeństwie w s p ó ł c z e s n y m , z a z n a j a m i a ć z o b o w i ą z k a m i i prawami oby­ watela kraju, — Cyganie sprawują kontrolę nad pracą nauczycioli, wszystkimi — Cyganie p o n o s z ą część k o s z t ó w utrzymania szkół. koczownikami. Owych Travellers zasady organizacji i nauczania: interesujące się sprawami c y g a ń s k i m i z a j m u j ą się więc na ogól współczesnymi jest koczowników, około 30 t y s i ę c y (liczba bardzo N . G . E . C . prowadzi instruktaż dla nauczycieli, poradnictwo, n i e d o k ł a d n a ) przy c z y m pewna ich część osiedliła się, z a c h o w u j ą c zaznajamia ich z c y g a ń s k ą kulturą. Organizuje się spotkania jednak w zupełności t r a d y c y j n ą kulturę. nauczycieli, regularną w y m i a n ę jest na Wyspach B r y t y j s k i c h Cyganów lub przynajmniej zorganizowanych doświadczeń itd. W 1975 r. osiedlenia w ponad 30 s z k o ł a c h u c z y ł o 60 nauczycieli specjalnie przygoto­ dla nich odpo­ wanych do uczenia C y g a n ó w lub tylko zapoznanych z metodami Pioiwsze poważniejszo działania zmierzające do 1951 r. pracy wśród nich. Nauczyciele s ą obecnie o p ł a c a n i przez p a ń s t w o . z inicjatywy c z ł o n k a parlamentu p o w s t a ł International Gypsy N a u k ą o b j ę t o w 1975 r. o k o ł o 1100 dzieci, ale w dalszym ciągu wiedniej opieki p o d j ę t o w latach p i ę ć d z i e s i ą t y c h . W Committee. Program działania K o m i t e t u zawierał się w trzech M—4 t y s i ą c e dzieci k o c z o w n i k ó w nio uczęszcza do s z k o ł y lub punktach i d o t y c z y ł uczęszczają nieregularnie. wszystkich w ę d r u j ą c y c h , przynależności etnicznej. niezależnie od R ó w n o l e g l e do działalności w e w n ą t r z społeczności koczow­ Postulowano: — utworzenie w k a ż d y m hrabstwie pól biwakowych d o s t ę p n y c h wszystkim n i k ó w N . G . E . C . prowadzi działalność pośród s p o ł e c z e ń s t w a bry­ tyjskiego koczownikom, mającą na celu prezentację kultury koczowników, — swobodny d i s t ę p do nauki, pracy i mieszkali, ukazanie specyfiki ich o b y c z a j o w o ś c i i historii. D z i ę k i projekcjom —• traktowanie k o c z o w n i k ó w na równi z ludnością osiadłą. filmowym w s z k o ł a c h , telewizji, a r t y k u ł o m w prasie, spotkaniom Przy udziale G y p s y Committee p o w s t a ł a w k o ń c u 1906 r. Gypsy Council m a j ą c a na colu integrację k o c z o w n i k ó w i ułat­ wienie im codziennego życia. W zarządzie Rady Cygańskiej zasiadają koczownicy, a czlonkowio B i d y posiadają karty przy­ należności do organizacji wraz z numerem telefonu c z ł o n k ó w z w ł a d z a m i lokalnymi, N . G . E . C . w y p r a c o w a ł a nowy, sprzyjający koczownikom klimat w s p o ł e c z e ń s t w i e . Czyni się t a k ż e staiania o organizowanie odpowiednich pól campingowych dla koczowni­ k ó w . W okresie od 1970 r. do 1975 r. liczba ich wzrosła z 13 do 11S. Organizacja dysponuje w ł a s n y m wydawnictwem z a r z ą d u , z k t ó r y m i k o n t a k t u j ą się w potrzebie. Z a czołiWo zadania G . C . przyjęła sprawę o ś w i a t y . D l a tyoh celów w 1970 r. p o w o ł a n o National G y p s y E d u c a t i o n Council, st.-.n Publication) publikującym instrukcje dla (Romanę- nauczycieli, bibliografię prac o Cyganach, sprawozdania z działalności organi­ która zajęła się organizacją szkolnictwa w ę d r o w n e g o , a ściślej — zacji, a t a k ż e podręczniki szkolno przystosowane t e m a t y k ą i po­ k o o r d y n a c j ą już i s t n i e j ą c y c h szkół w ę d r o w n y c h (caravan schools) ziomom do potrzeb dzieci k o c z o w n i k ó w . Publikacje te drukuje i powi^k^zmiem ich liczby. S z k o ł y w ę d r o w n e istniały w c z e ś n i e j , się zarówno po angielsku, j a k toż w j ę z y k u anglo-romani i w gam­ p r ó b y pr ,widzono już w roku 1934, a s y s t e m a t y c z n ą akcję o ś w i a ­ mon. t o w ą z a i z ę t o w 1967 r. urządzając szkołę w obozie c y g a ń s k i m N.G.E.C. prowadzi współpracę i wymianę doświadczeń rozlokowanym n i starym lot-iisku pod Londynem. B y ł y to po­ z innymi podobnymi c z ą t k o w o szkoły sezonowo, prowadzono przoz nauczycieli ochot­ z ich inicjatywy o d b y ł sic w Londynie I Ś w i a t o w y ników . Cyganów. 158 organizacjami n a ś w i e c i e , a w 1971 r. Kongres � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/5eb1eb6cf538f462d86b22b3cbf860fe.pdf ad09e416e5f4369549f6247b1d5d12ad Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2598 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1996 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2415 Title A name given to the resource Wschodnie i zachodnie pogranicze polski / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4, s.171-176 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Fedyszak-Radziejowska, Barbara Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Wschodnie i zachodnie pogranicze polski Spotkanie narodów po otwarciu granic Barbara Fedyszak-Radziejowska WPROWADZENIE Rozważania nad dwoma odmiennie kształtującymi się rodza­ jami sąsiedztwa na wschodzie i zachodzie kraju sprowokowane zostały osobistymi doświadczeniemi badawczymi Autorki, N I E P O P R Z E D Z I Ł O ich postawienie hipotezy przewidującej lub sugerującej taki właśnie charakter przebiegu procesów społecz­ nych. Dwa sąsiedztwa na dwu różnych pograniczach to problem dostrzeżony w trakcie badań terenowych realizowanych z myślą 0 innych celach badawczych. Pogranicze wschodnie stało się przedmiotem mojego zainte­ resowania ze względu na opinie dominujące w publicystyce prasowej o szczególnym nasileniu postaw ksenofobicznych 1 uprzedzeń wśród ludności wiejskiej i małomiasteczkowej zamieszkałej wc wschodnich województwach. Stąd wziął się pomysł badań sondażowych w gminie C, położonej przy drodze łączącej Sanok z Przemyślem, w województwie przemyskim. Pogranicze zachodnie pojawiło się jako przedmiot mojego zainteresowania w związku z badaniami obejmującymi szeroki zakres zagadnień przygranicznej współpracy polsko-niemieckiej na terenie województw zielonogórskiego i gorzowskiego Pracami licznego, interdyscyplinarnego Zespołu kierował prof, dr hab. M . Kłodziński. M o i m zadaniem było określenie społecznych uwarunkowań współpracy polsko-niemieckiej, a dokładniej diagnoza wzajemnych stosunków polsko-nicmieckich w opiniach młodzieży i dorosłych mieszkańców czterech wiejskich gmin zachodniego pogranicza. Pierwsze badania, ze względu na sytuację finansową in­ stytutu, ograniczone zostały do kilkudniowego pobytu w tere­ nie, poświęconego obserwacjom, rozmowom i wywiadom przeprowadzonym z mieszkańcami gminy C. Badania drugie objęły 207 respondentów (136 uczniów i 71 rodziców, wy­ chowawców i radnych), mieszkańców trzech wsi oraz miastecz­ ka - siedziby gminy miejsko - wiejskiej, wszystkie położone w strefie nadgranicznej. Podobnie, jak w sondażu zrealizowa­ nym w gminie wschodniej, także na zachodzie kraju po­ sługiwałam się kwestionariuszem złożonym głównie z pytań otwartych. Porównanie rezultatów badań, a także bogactwo zgromadzo­ nego materiału pozwala, jak sądzę, dotknąć interesującej róż­ nicy kształtowania się postaw wobec sąsiadów w dwu odmien­ nych rejonach kraju i na dwu zupełnie różnych pograniczach. Pierwsze pogranicze, którego symbolem jest gmina C. położona w woj, przemyskim, określiłabym jako POGRANICZE NIEPE­ WNEJ T O Ż S A M O Ś C I NARODOWEJ, w którym granica rozdziela państwa, lecz nie zawsze i niekoniecznie narody. Zaś .Pogranicze drugie, zachodnie, przebiegające przez wojewódz­ two zielonogórskie i gorzowskie, to POGRANICZE SPOT­ KANIA D W U N A R O D Ó W , w którym granica rozdziela Zarówno dwa państwa jak i dwa narody. 1 2 1- Pogranicze wschodnie, sąsiedztwo polsko-ukraińskie ja­ ko przykład POGRANICZA NIEPEWNEJ TOŻSAMOŚCI NARODOWEJ Gmina C. leży na Pogórzu Przemyskim, ograniczonym od Północy i zachodu Sanem. W czasach I I Rzeczpospolitej Pogórze Przemyskie zamieszkiwała w większości ludność ukraińska. Miasteczko C , obok Polaków i Ukraińców, zamiesz­ kiwała ludność żydowska, a wśród mieszkańców okolicznych wsi było mniej więcej tylu Ukraińców, ilu Polaków. Spośród przedwojennej ludności gminy, po 1947 roku pozostało około 20% mieszkańców. Większość przesiedlono do USRR, tylko część w rejon białostockiego. Stosunkowo najliczniejszą grupę „tutejszych" mieszkańców gminy (mieszkających na tych terenach także przed I I wojną światową) stanowi właśnie ludność C, ponieważ w miasteczku miała swoją siedzibę jednostka wojskowa, pod osłoną której przetrwali Polacy z okolicznych wsi. Ten rejon, a szczególnie najbliższa okolica C, był w latach 1945-1947 trzykrotnie „ p a l o n y " . Nie chciała­ bym szczegółowo omawiać problemu działalności O U N i Ukra­ ińskiej Powstańczej Armii na Pogórzu Przemyskiem, a także przymusowych i „ d o b r o w o l n y c h " przesiedleń mieszkańców (do USRR) tych okolic w inne rejony. 1 Dla dalszych rozważań ważne jest przede wszystkim stwier­ dzenie, że w okoliczach C. toczyły się stosunkowo zaciekłe walki, spalono 5 wsi, a stacjonowanie jednostki wojskowej sprawiło, że ludność polska (ok.20% całej przedwojennej populacji) przetrwała i pozostała na tych terenach do dzisiaj. Głównym zatrudnieniem mieszkańców gminy jest dzisiaj rolnictwo, dodatkowe możliwości zarobkowania są niewielkie, a perspektywy rozwoju wiążą się z powstaniem Wschodnio- Karpackiego Parku Narodowego oraz Euroregionu Karpac­ kiego. Władze liczą na rozwój turystyki, jako szansę dodat­ kowych zarobków dla mieszkańców gminy. Przedstawmy bliżej mieszkańców badanej wsi; większość respondentów to, jak powiadają, „urodzeni z dziada pradziada tutejsi", czyli Polacy. Wszyscy na pytanie o to kim są, odpowiadali: Polakami i katolikami. Narodowość „dziadów p r a d z i a d ó w " także okreś­ lano jako polską, jedynie czterech respondentów wyraziło pewne wątpliwości co do narodowości swoich przodków, wspominając o Ukraińcu lub o Łemku, jako jednym z dziadków lub pradziadków. Zdecydowana większość respondentów utrzy­ muje, iż w najbliższej rodzinie nie ma małżeństw mieszanych. Być Polakiem oznacza dla większości respondentów być urodzonym i wychowanym z dziada pradziada na Polaka. To „ c o ś " , co otrzymało się od rodziców. To „ c o ś " , co się czuje, co wynika z. miejsca urodzenia i zamieszkania. Zdecydowana większość respondentów lubi swoją wieś i nie zamierza opuszczać rodzinnych stron. Wspomnienia o przeszłości formułowane są bardzo podob­ nie. Niezależnie od wieku, prawie wszyscy respondenci sięgają pamięcią do okresu I I wojny światowej, dla najmłodszych oznacza to nawiązywanie do doświadczeń pokolenia dziadków. Wszyscy pamiętają i wspominają przede wszystkim lata 1945-1947, dotyczy to także najmłodszych respondentów. Większość mówi o zagrożeniu i cierpieniach spowodowanych przez „ b a n d e r o w c ó w " , „ b a n d y " i UPA. Tylko dwukrotnie pojawia się w tym kontekście określenie Ukraińcy. Troje mieszkańców wsi wspomina cierpienia i zagrożenia w sposób ogólny, nie wskazując winnych. Jeden z młodych respondentów 171 �powiada: „to jest wciąż żywe, przekazywane z pokolenia na pokolenie, wzajemna nienawiść, ale to Polacy mają więcej win na sumieniu i od nich powinno wyjść pojednanie". Personifikacja i odpowiedzialność za cierpienia pojawia się w 5 wypowiedziach, większość opowiadających mówi o cier­ pieniach „nas wszystkich". Zauważmy, że źródłem cierpienia są w tych opowieściach „ b a n d e r o w c y " , „ b a n d y " , także UPA, którzy przyszli na te tereny z zewnątrz, a nie sąsiedzi - Ukraińcy, których wspomina się dobrze. Interesujące wydają się odpowiedzi respondentów na pytanie o kontakty z mieszkańcami sąsiedniego państwa po otwarciu granic. Zdecydowana większość twierdzi, że nie była nigdy na Ukrainie, nie chce tam jechać , wielu respondentów utrzymuje, że nikogo tam nie zna, lub, że zna, ale to tylko znajomi, a nie rodzina. Równocześnie większość respondentów twierdzi, że „ludzie we wsi mają częste kontakty z U k r a i ń c a m i " . W trakcie rozmowy z jednym z respondentów padło stwierdzenie: „więk­ szość ma kogoś na Ukrainie, ale nikt się do tego nie przyzna". Informację o tym k i m są nasi respondenci warto uzupełnić 0 ich samoocenę jako Polaków. Ośmiu respondentów uważa, że jest coś z czego Polacy mogą być dumni, czterech, że niczego takiego nie ma, natomiast prawie wszyscy mówią o wadach Polaków: pijaństwie, złodziejstwie, nieumiejętności rządzenia 1 braku dbałości o polskość. Jeden z respondentów podkreśla, że w telewizji ukraińskiej można oglądać wiele patriotycznych programów i słuchać ludowych i narodowych pieśni, to mu się bardzo podoba, żałuje, że naszej telewizja tego nie pokazuje (tzn. polskich patriotycznych programów). Inny porównując nasze narody konstatuje: „Polacy za granicą są dla siebie wrogami, toczą walki, Ukraińcy są bardziej solidarni, wspólnota ukraińska jest bardziej solidarna". Wśród cech, z których Polacy mogą być dumni wymieniane są przede wszystkim wartości odświętne, takie jak bohaterstwo, patriotyzm, umiło­ wanie wolności, zwycięstwo nad „ k o m u n ą " etc. Natomiast podstawowe wady Polaków wymieniane przez prawie wszyst­ kich respondentów dotyczą codziennego, zwykłego zachowania rodaków. Dodatkową informacją potwierdzającą tezę o raczej niskiej samoocenie respondentów w roli Polaków są ich odpowiedzi na pytanie o warunki, które powinien spełnić cudzoziemiec, by można go było uznać za Polaka. Pozornie możliwość taka wydaje się w opinii respondentów nieosiągalna dla nie-Polaków. Pytani o to, dlaczego cudzoziemiec nie może być Polakiem, respondenci odpowiadali: „Pani, cudzoziemiec nie zechce być Polakiem, bo jaką Polak ma w a r t o ś ć ? " „cudzozie­ miec zawsze będzie miał nas za d z i a d ó w " , „coś takiego się nie zdarza", „niech ma swoją n a r o d o w o ś ć " , „on tylko będzie udawał Polaka", „Polska była i jest dziadem". Wydaje się, że wątpliwości, co do możliwości zostania przez cudzoziemca Polakiem zbudowane są przede wszystkim na niskiej samooce­ nie własnej narodowości i braku wiary w to, że taka zmiana może być dla kogokolwiek korzystna. Wzajemne N A S T A W I E N I E do siebie Polaków i Ukraińców ocenia jako złe większość respondentów, także młodzi ujaw­ niają wrogość wobec sąsiadów. Wyraźny lęk, niepewność i obawy przed powrotem Ukraińców na te ziemie demonstruje dokładnie tylu respondentów, ilu o wzajemnym nastawieniu Polaków i przybyszy ze wschodu mówi pozytywnie, deklarując wzajemne przebaczenie, sympatię, normalność kontaktów, etc. „ludzie, jak ludzie". Jednakże na pytanie o wzajemne S T O S U N K I Polaków i Ukraińców po otwarciu granic, większość powiada, że są one dobre, normalne, bez zgrzytów i nieporozumień. Skutki otwar­ cia granic pomiędzy naszymi państawami ocenione zostały zdecydowanie negatywnie tylko przez jedną osobę. M i m o iż przeszłość wzajemnych stosunków polsko-ukraiń­ skich większość respondentów ocenia zdecydowanie źle lub wstrzemięźliwie negatywnie (dobrze - tylko 1 osoba), to prawie laka sama ich liczba wita powstanie nowego państwa, niepod­ 172 ległej Ukrainy pozytywnie, argumentując to prawem wszyst­ kich do posiadania własnego państwa. Równocześnie państwo to uważane jest za zagrożenie dla Polski. W kolejnym pytaniu obawy przed Ukraińcami i ich państwem ujawniają prawie wszyscy respondenci. Pozostali, na pytanie: „Czy Polacy mają powody obawiać się U k r a i ń c ó w ? " odpowiadają: „trudno po­ w i e d z i e ć " . Nikt więc nie jest całkowicie wolny od obaw. Lęki i obawy formułowane są w taki sposób: „Ukraińcy mają apetyt na przemyskie i krośnieńskie, trzeba być ostrożnym, czasami Ukraińcy cicho o tym m ó w i ą " , lub: „do X wracają młodzi Ukraińcy i to jest problem, tego Polacy się boją, bo Ukraina jest wielka i silna". Jeden z mieszkańców wsi wyrażając opinię, że to lepiej, że wokół nas powstały nowe państwa, w tym także państwo ukraińskie, dodaje równocześnie: „ale żeby nie chcieli iść na P o l s k ę " . Wydaje się, że postawy respondentów wobec Ukraińców mają charakter ambiwalentny. Z jednej strony poczucie za­ grożenia, lęku, niechętne ujawnianie własnych z nimi kontak­ tów, z drugiej strony pozytywny stosunek do przyjeżdżających ze wschodu przybyszów. Ten pozytywny stosunek deklarują częściej starsi, niż młodsi respondenci. Sama wieś, w świetle deklaracji respondentów, nie jest zbyt często odwiedzana przez gości zza wschodniej granicy, a liczba handlujących w siedzibie gminy oceniana jest jako „ m a ł a " , a nawet „zbyt m a ł a " . Na pytanie o to. czy przybysze ze wschodu zatrzymują się we wsi, prawie wszyscy respondenci odpowiadają „ n i e " . Jednakże w odpowiedziach na inne pytania informują, żc wielu mieszkań­ ców wsi odwiedzanych jest przez znajomych zza wschodniej granicy, że wielu dokonuje tanich zakupów, że zdarza się zatrudnianie przybyszy ze wschodu, przyjmowanie na nocleg, udzielanie im gościny etc. Tak więc zdarzają sie sporadyczne kontakty o ekonomicznym charakterze, jednakże są ukrywane i deklarowane jako kontakty „ i n n y c h " mieszkańców wsi, nigdy jako „ w ł a s n e " . Różnorodność narodowa i religijna w jednym państwie nie kojarzy się respondentom najlepiej, „to jest rozdzielenie społe­ czeństwa, z tego powstają konflikty, lepiej, żeby w państwie był jeden n a r ó d " , ale, powiada syn cytowanego powyżej respon­ denta, „nie ma dobrej receptury, to nie jest możliwe wyganiać innych, tego przecież nie będziemy r o b i ć " . Dobre strony różnorodności dostrzega tylko 1 osoba. Pozostali dostrzegają bądź złe, bądź ani dobre ani złe konsekwencje tej sytuacji. Prawie wszyscy respondenci nie chcą, by mniejszościom przyznano prawo tworzenia własnych okręgów autonomicz­ nych, by na terenie zamieszkiwanym przez mniejszości ich język stał się językiem urzędowym. Niezbyt chętnie przyznano by mniejszościom prawo zakładania własnych organizacji i prawo do nabywania w Polsce ziemi i nieruchomości. Z dużym prawdopodobieństwem należy przyjąć, że pragnienie ograni­ czeń w tej kwestii formułowano z myślą o Ukraińcach i mniej­ szości ukraińskiej w Polsce. Żywe były wszakże, omówione poprzednio, obawy przed Ukrainą i Ukraińcami. Interesującą różnicę poglądów między pokoleniami ujawnia pytanie o naro­ dowość ludzi sprawujących władzę w Polsce; przedstawiciel młodszego powiada: „mniejszości powinny mieć równe prawa z Polakami, ale nie zgadzam się, żeby obcy nami rządzili", przedstawiciel starszego pokolenia sprzeciwia się: „jeśli Ukrai­ niec dobrze rządzi, niech rządzi Polską, byle dobrze." Omawiane badania miały charakter sondażowy i stanowiły jedynie początek poszukiwań odpowiedzi na pytania o źródła takich, a nie innych postaw respondentów wobec „innych • Jednakże wystarczająco jasno uświadomiły mi jałowość od­ woływania się w takich badaniach do kategorii tolerancji, jako zmiennej wyjaśniającej cokolwiek w tak trudnej i skompilowa­ nej kwestii, jak postawy badanej społeczności wobec wschod­ niego sąsiada. Całkowicie otwartym pozostaje bowiem pytanie o przyczynę tak dużej ambiwalencji postaw, o źródło tak wielu wewnętrznych sprzeczności. Bowiem przejawy nietolerancji wobec Ukraińców demon- �strowane przez część respondentów stają się czymś zupełnie innym, gdy wiedzę o naszych respondentach wzbogacimy 0 S K R Z Ę T N I E U K R Y W A N Ą prawdę o ich związkach rodzin­ nych z Ukraińcami. Wiedzę tę zdobyłam dzięki wielu roz­ mowom toczonym „poza kwestionariuszem", szczególnie z młodszymi mieszkańcami gminy. „Moja babcia jest Ukrainką, ale N I G D Y się Pani do tego nie przyzna, mój dziadek walczył po polskiej stronie, jego brat po ukraińskiej, ja jestem Polakiem", opowiadał młody absolwent średniej szkoły. Kiedy zapytałam go o wyznanie, kierowana zasadą tolerancji zabraniającej sugerowania mu, jako Polakowi, katolicyzmu, popatrzył na mnie z niepokojem i odpowiedział: „Nie wierzy Pani, że jestem Polakiem? Oczywiście, że jestem katolikiem". I tak, znienacka, deklarowany lęk przed „ o b c y m " zamienia się w ukrywany lęk przed „ s w o i m " , kimkolwiek by on nie był. Obawy powoduje najwyraźniej lęk przed kwestionowaniem 1 podważaniem własnej tożsamości narodowej zarówno przez swoich, jak i przez obcych, którymi w równym stopniu są i Polacy i Ukraińcy. U K R Y W A N E są nie tylko powiązanie rodzinne, ale także gotowość do goszczenia, zatrudnienia, udzielenia pomocy przybyszom ze wschodu. Pozytywne postawy wobec Ukraiń­ ców, wspomnienia dobrego sąsiedztwa w przeszłości nie ozna­ czają gotowości do opowieści o bliskich, mieszkających po drugiej stronie granicy, o ich wizytach i spotkaniach z nimi. Takie fakty ukrywa się nie tylko wtedy, gdy dotyczą NAS S A M Y C H , także wtedy, gdy związki z Ukraińcami posiadają najbliżsi sąsiedzi i krewni, mieszkańcy wsi. Dramatyczne lata walk, konfliktów, zagrożenia ze strony „ s w o i c h " i „ o b c y c h " zarazem, oraz konieczność dokonywania wyborów, czy pozostać w Polsce, wyjechać do ZSRR, za­ chować tożsamość po przesiedleniu na tzw. Ziemie Odzyskane sprawiły, że decyzje o tym, k i m się jest, jak wychowa się własne dzieci, jakie postawy wobec wartości narodowych i religijnych należy im przekazać, podejmowane były w gronie rodzinnym, lub, co bardzo prawdopodobne indywidualnie. Identyfikacja z narodem, religią, wspólnotą realizowana była, jak się zdaje autonomicznie, a proces socjalizacji opierał się na mechaniz­ mach wewnątrzsterownego sposobu stymulowania indywidual­ nych wyborów. Symbolem stosunku do trudnego procesu określania własnej tożsamości narodowej jest powszechna niechęć do tzw. „perek i ń c z y k ó w " , a więc ludzi zmieniających narodowość „w zależności od o k o l i c z n o ś c i " : „takich, co to się przechylają raz w jedną, raz w drugą s t r o n ę " ; „po co takie perekińczyki robić, jak Niemiec, to Niemiec, jak Ruski to Ruski, czy to tak można się przebierać, ludzi którzy wszystko przyjmują nie lubi się tutaj bardzo". POGRANICZE NIEPEWNEJ T O Ż S A M O Ś C I N A R O D O ­ WEJ po powstaniu nowych państw i otwarciu granic wyzwala wśród mieszkańców potrzebę samookreślenia i potwierdzenia własnej tożsamości narodowej. W tym procesie, jak się okazuje, poczucie zagrożenie rodzi się w zetknięciu z obydwoma narodami, zarówno ze strony wspólnoty, z którą respondent identyfikuje się obecnie, jak i wspólnoty, z którą łączą go więzi pokrewieństwa. Ten dramatyczny obraz poczucia zagrożenia manifestowanego U K R Y W A N I E M związków krwi a nawet powinowactwa z Ukraińcami sprawia, że pogranicze NIEPEW­ NEJ T O Ż S A M O Ś C I N A R O D O W E J może stać się terenem konfrontacji narodów zmierzających do ekspansji asymilacyjnej. Widoczne jest poczucie lęku i zagrożenia, a problemy, które wydawały się być przeszłością, nagle powracają. Pojawia się potrzeba ponownego potwierdzenia tożsamości narodowej. . Tak więc Pogranicze Wschodnie, po otwarciu granic i nasileniu Wzajemnych kontaktów powoduje wzrost poczucia lęku, i to nie z powodu napływu obcych, lecz ponieważ ci „ o b c y " stawiają Pytania o to, k i m j a właściciwe jestem, czy moja tożsamość narodowa została j u ż jednoznacznie określona. To nie stereo­ 4 typy i uprzedzenia nie wrogość, lecz samookreślenie własnej tożsamości narodowej staje się problemem kluczowym dla zrozumienia istoty wzajemnych relacji pomiędzy dwoma naro­ dami, polskim i ukraińskim. L . Wójcik, w interesującym artykule Kto nas tak podzielił („Życie Warszawy" 10.VI.1994) omawia stosunki pomiędzy Białorusinami, Ukraińcami i Polakami w okolicach Bielska Podlaskiego. Wiceburmistrz miasta odpowiadając na tezy Ukra­ ińców, iż Ukraińcy stanowią 60% tutejszej społeczności mówi: „To są tylko hasła. Polacy nie są tu mniejszością. Tutaj żyje kilka rozmaitych wyznań i narodowości... Tutaj nigdy nie wiadomo do końca kto k i m naprawdę jest". Zaś młodzi narodowi aktywiści (Białorusini) powiadają: „Ludzie muszą sobie zbudować własną tożsamość, żeby nie dać się ostatecznie spolonizować... A najważniejsze, przeciwstawić Polakom włas­ ną kulturę". Nauczycielka: „I kto nas tak podzielił na Ukraiń­ ców i Białorusinów". Nie ukrywa, że ma na myśli Polaków. 2. POGRANICZE SPOTKANIA DWU NARODÓW. Cztery gminy wiejskie pogranicza zachodniego Najważniejszym czynnikiem określającym specyfikę tego pogranicza jest jego jednorodny narodowościowo charakter. Na obszarze czterech badanych gmin wiejskich mieszka tylko jeden bezdzietny kawaler „tutejszy", a więc identyfikujący się z naro­ dowością niemiecką. Pogranicze polsko-niemieckie woje­ wództw gorzowskiego i zielonogórskiego N I E JEST POGRA­ NICZEM ZAMIESZKIWANYM WSPÓLNIE PRZEZ P O L A K Ó W I N I E M C Ó W , nie jest społecznością o mieszanym składzie narodowościowym, tak typową dla wielu rejonów przygranicznych. Społeczność tu mieszkająca nie miała okazji przyswoić sobie przez lata wspólnego obcowania wzorów zachowań wobec „ i n n y c h " , czyli N i e m c ó w , bowiem po naszej stronie granicy mieszkają Polacy przesiedleni z dawnych kresów, centralnych i wschodnich rejonów Polski. Są tu naturalnie także przymusowo przesiedlani po wojnie Ukraińcy. Polsko-niemiecka granica dzieli dzisiaj dwa narody, które muszą wytworzyć niejako od nowa wzory zachowań i nauczyć się norm umożliwiających „dobre s ą s i e d z t w o " . Otwarte grani­ ce i wzajemne kontakty po 1990 roku stały się początkiem nowego okresu, w którym sposób współżycia dwu narodów, sposób realizowania dobrego sąsiedztwa zostanie dopiero okre­ ślony. Czy będzie to, jak pisze A . Czarkowski, zderzenie kultur prowadzące do unifikacji, symbiotyzacji, czy opozycyjności norm i wartości , pokaże czas. 5 Jak wyglądają w świetle moich badań wzajemne stosunki Polaków i Niemców, jakie wyobrażenia o nas samych i naszych sąsiadach dominują w wypowiedziach badanej młodzieży, jej rodziców i nauczycieli? Na pytanie: „Jak oceniasz wzajemne stosunki Polaków i Niemców dzisiaj, w 1994 roku?" 45% badanych odpowiedzia­ ło; są dobre, lub bardzo dobre, są poprawne, nienajgorsze, nie mam do nich zastrzeżeń, stają się coraz lepsze. Ponad 20% unikało wyraźnej oceny, używając sformułowań: takie sobie, różne, niezbyt właściwe, lub opisując je językiem pozbawionym jakichkolwiek sądów wartościujących. Prawie 20%> badanych określało polsko-niemieckie stosunki mianem złych, pogar­ szających się, łub co najwyżej pozornie dobrych, udawanych. Bardzo nieliczni zwracali uwagę na asymetrię wzajemnych relacji podkreślając pozytywne zachowania Polaków i negatyw­ ne, wrogie postawy Niemców (tylko 2,4%). Pozostali, 11,1% uchylili się od wypowiedzi i nie odpowiedzieli na to pytanie. Tak więc co piąty badany postrzegał nasze wzajemne stosunki w czarnych barwach, a prawie co drugi widział jc optymistycznie, używając określeń pozytywnych. Większość badanych uzupełniła wypowiedź o bardziej szcze­ gółową charakterystykę postaw Polaków wobec N i e m c ó w oraz Niemców wobec Polaków. Wypowiedzi poświęconych za­ chowaniom Niemców było więcej. Jacy są więc, zdaniem 173 �naszych respondentów, Niemcy wobec Polaków i Polacy wobec Niemców? Odpowiedzi wykazują pewną symetrię ocen; Niemcy są wobec Polaków przychylni, przyjacielscy (30% wypowiedzi), ale i wrodzy, niechętni, nie tylko nie lubią Polaków, ale zdarzają się wypadki pobicia polskich turystów (23,1% wypowiedzi). Także Polacy są przychylni i przyjacielsce wobec Niemców (33% wypowiedzi), ale i nastawieni negatywnie, niechętni, nieprzychylni, sztuczni (25,9%). Opinie o Polakach w kontak­ tach z Niemcami akcentują przede wszystkim naszą interesow­ ność, pogoń za każdą marką (17,3%), brak honoru, godności i służalczość (13,7%) oraz nieufność spowodowaną pamięcią 0 ostatniej wojnie (10,1%). Opis zachowań Niemców podkreśla interesowność (chcą jedynie tanio kupować - 13,7%), arogancję, zadufanie i postawę wyższości (13,7%) oraz inne, negatywne postawy, np. są nieufni, nieszczerzy, niemili etc.(19,4%). Jednakże jedna trzecia badanych dostrzega pozytywne strony we wzajemnych relacjach u przedstawicieli jednego i drugiego narodu, pozostali rozdzielają krytyczne opinie o zachowaniach obu stron „po r ó w n o " , różnicując cechy zgodnie z własnymi obserwacjami i wedle najbardziej typowych, znanych z literatu­ ry stereotypów. Jaki obraz N i e m c ó w i jakie wyobrażenia o nas samych, Polakach, możemy odtworzyć z wypowiedzi mieszkańców badanych gmin? Jaką rolę w tych wyobrażeniach pełnią stereotypy i uprzedzenia? Polacy (zgodnie z ogólną oceną sformułowaną na podstawie pełnej wypowiedzi respondenta), są przede wszystkim różni, 1 tacy i tacy, dobrzy i źli, czyli normalni, jak inni, zdaniem 42,5% odpowiadających. Wśród 25,1% badanych Polacy cieszą się dobrą opinią, dla 23,7% Polacy to ludzie pełni wad i ułomności. Pozostali (8,7%) uchylają się od odpowiedzi. Podobnie rozkładają się wypowiedzi na temat Niemców; 28% respondentów pisze o Niemcach w superlatywach, 25,1% podkreśla ich negatywne cechy. Pozostali, bądź nie podejmują się oceniania Niemców (21,7%), bądź też odpowiadają, różni, jak wszyscy, jak Polacy, normalni etc. (25,1%). Tak więc w obu przypadkach od sformułowania wyraźnej oceny Polaków i Niemców, o charakterze pozytywnego lub negatywnego stereotypu uchyla się prawie połowa badanych. 0 tych respondentach z dużym prawdopodobieństwem możemy powiedzieć, że starają się uwolnić opinie zarówno o sobie samych, jak i o Niemcach od jakichkolwiek, pozytywnych czy negatywnych uproszczeń. Pozostali nie wydają się być bardzo stronniczy, wady i zalety dostrzegają u obu narodów, uprzejmie widząc zalety w nieco większym stopniu u Niemców (28%), niż u Polaków (25,1%). A jak wygląda pozytywny stereotyp Polaka w świetle zebranych wypowiedzi? Polak jest więc towarzyski, gościnny, miły, serdeczny i otwarty na innych (36% wypowiedzi pozytyw­ nych), jest także pracowity, zaradny, solidny, dobrze zor­ ganizowany, przedsiębiorczy, ambitny, uczciwy i odpowiedzia­ lny (34,4% wypowiedzi). Prawie co trzecia wypowiedź pod­ kreśla tradycyjne przymioty Polaków, patriotyzm, wiarę, fanta­ zję i zdolność do improwizacji. (29,6%) Nowe elementy tego stereotypu, to przymioty dotychczas rzadko pojawiające się w autostereotypie Polaków: pracowitość, zaradność, przedsię­ biorczość. Trudno orzec, czy jest to projekcja marzeń, czy wynik obserwacji zachowań Polaków w nowej sytuacji gos­ podarczej kraju. Być może tworzy się nowy obraz typowego Polaka, nie tylko gościnnego patrioty, jak to było dotychczas, lecz także zaradnego, pracowitego i odpowiedzialnego przed­ siębiorcy. Negatywne wypowiedzi o Polakach, a jest ich więcej niż pozytywnych, utrzymują, że Polacy są ludźmi bez honoru 1 godności, sprzedajnymi i gotowymi dla pieniędzy zrobić wszystko (31,3%), że Polacy to ludzie biedni, zakompleksieni, zabiedzeni, z dużym poczuciem krzywdy (21,2%), leniwi, 174 zsowietyzowani i wymagający „twardej r ę k i " (15,1%) oraz wulgarni i chamscy (13,4%), a także nietolerancyjni (8,3%) i , co więcej, Polacy to okradający N i e m c ó w złodzieje (10,6%). Obraz negatywnych cech Polaków różni się znacznie od autostereotypu ujawnionego w ogólnopolskich badaniach B. Wilskiej-Duszyńskiej. Czyżby więc nowy stereotyp Polaków bez godności i honoru, sprzedajnych złodziei i wulgarnych chamów stanowił twórcze uproszczenie i uogólnienie najnow­ szych doświadczeń i obserwacji zachowań Polaków, dokonane przez mieszkańców wiejskich gmin zachodniego pogranicza? Czy wyraźnie nowe elementy obrazu Polaka, zarówno te negatywne, jak i pozytywne są odwzorowaniem nowej wiedzy i doświadczeń? Byłby to sygnał ważnych i interesujących zmian w sferze świadomości, wywołanych wieloma nowymi zjawis­ kami w skali ogólnopolskiej, np. mechanizmami rynkowymi, a w skali badanego regionu, otwarciem granic i nowymi, wynikającymi z tego możliwościami. 6 A jak wygląda negatywny i pozytywny stereotyp Niemca w świetle prezentownych badań? T y m razem wyraźną przewagę mają wypowiedzi pozytywne nad negatywnymi, odwrotnie niż w charakterystykach Polaków. Potwierdzałoby to wyniki badań B.Wilskiej-Duszyńskiej, zgodnie z którymi, stereotyp Niemca jest zdecydowanie bardziej pozytywny niż autostereotyp Pola­ ka. Także badania A. Rosnera z 1992 roku wykazują skłonność badanej młodzieży do konstruowania wyraźnie pozytywnego obrazu N i e m c ó w . W moich badaniach Niemcy okazali się pracowici, uczciwi, dumni z własnego narodu i zdycyplinowani (25,5% wypowiedzi pozytywnych), pewni siebie (ale nie aroganccy), „na luzie", mądrzy, inteligentni, potrafiący żyć, dbać o środowisko i samych siebie ( 2 1 % wypowiedzi), przychy­ lni Polakom (17,8%) oraz po prostu bogaci (14%). Są także, mimo wielu zalet zróżnicowani, część jest „w p o r z ą d k u " , część bije obcych (21,6%). Są w tym stereotypie wyraźne wskazówki sygnalizujące zdolność respondentów do uzupełniania tradycyj­ nych uproszczeń o nowe obserwacje zachowań Niemców; umiejętność życia „na luzie", nieagresywną pewność siebie, postawy ekologiczne etc. M o ż n a przypuszczać, że podkreślanie tych cech to wynik porównywania zachowań przedstawicieli obu narodów i dostrzegania zalet, które być może chciałoby się posiadać. 7 Negatywne wyobrażenia o Niemcach zawierają następujące cechy: wrogość wobec Polaków, pragnienie dominacji, butę (44,7% wyłącznie negatywnych opinii), wyrachowanie i zainte­ resowanie tanimi zakupami w Polsce (23,4%), arogancję, egoizm, zamknięcie w sobie kamuflowane udawaną przyjaźnią (19,1%) oraz lenistwo, słabe wykształcenie i głupotę (12,7%). Zarówno buta, arogancja jak i wrogość wobec Polaków to tradycyjne elementy niemieckiego stereotypu. Nowością są opinie o głupocie i lenistwie N i e m c ó w , dotychczas raczej w opiniach Polaków nie spotykane, oraz „wyrachowanie" kojarzone z traktowaniem Polski jako miejsca korzystnych i tanich zakupów. Ponieważ ta opinia zgodna jest z danymi statystycznymi opisującymi częstotliwość niemieckich zaku­ pów w rejonach zachodniego pogranicza, ten element stereo­ typu także zdaje się być dowodem rozbudowywania obrazu typowego Niemca o nowe, zaobserwowane przez mieszkańców badanych gmin zachowania. Jak więc się zdaje, otwarte granice i żywiołowe kontakty Polaków z Niemcami, zarówno te o handlowym i gospodarczym charakterze, jak i te nawiązywane w ramach współpracy szkół i organizacji społecznych powodują zarówno wzbogacenie wiedzy o sąsiadach, jak i lepsze poznanie samych siebie. W rezultacie, dotychczasowe stereotypy są rozbudowywane i uzupełniane o nowe, znaczące elementy. Nowością jest także stosunkowo duża grupa respondentów, mniej więcej połowa, którzy próbują w ocenianiu obu narodów uwolnić się od presji wszelkich stereotypów, pisząc: jesteśmy tacy sami, czyli i tacy i tacy, po prostu różni, jak ludzie. Ten proces reinterpretowania starych stereotypów i uwalniania si? �od ich presji w ocenianiu ludzi jest, jak się zdaje wyraźną konsekwencją otwarcia granic, nasilenia kontaktów miedzy naszymi społeczeństwami i wynikającej z nich konieczności uczenia się nowych wzorów zachowań. Co sądzą mieszkańcy przygranicznych gmin o konsekwen­ cjach otwarcia granic między Polską i Niemcami. Jak oceniają ewentualne korzyści lub straty ponoszone przez swoje społecz­ ności? Czy chcą ponownego zamknięcia granic? Kwestiona­ riusz ankiety zawierał kilka pytań zmierzających do uzyskania możliwie pełnego wyjaśnienia tych kwestii. Pytania miały charakter zarówno otwarty, jak i zamknięty, tak by możliwa była w miarę pełna, wewnętrzna weryfikacja ujawnionych opinii. Na pytanie, czy wolałbyś, by granica pomiędzy Polską a Niemcami została ponownie zamknięta, a wzajemne wyjazdy i odwiedziny znacznie bardziej utrudnione, tylko 3,9% respon­ dentów odpowiada T A K , a niewiele więcej, bo 4,8% RACZEJ T A K . Jednoznaczna odpowiedź N I E była udziałem 49,3% badanych, a RACZEJ N I E - 25,1%. Nie odpowiedziało na to pytanie 16,9% respondentów. Tak więc akceptacja otwartych granic i wzmożonych kontak­ tów między Polską a Niemcami jest w badanym środowisku stosunkowo wysoka. Warto przytoczyć uzasadnienia, które spontanicznie (po pytaniu „Dlaczego ?"), wpisało w ankietę aż 86,5% respondentów. Postulujący zamknięcie granicy używali następujących argumentów: trzeba chronić nasz rynek, będzie spokojniej po zamknięciu granic, czy też, dosyć oryginalnie uzasadniając brak własnego zdanie w tej kwestii - „i tak nie znam języków i nie chcę p o d r ó ż o w a ć " - 11,7% wypowiedzi. Natomiast zwolennicy otwartych granic argumentowali w spo­ sób następujący: - otwarte granice, to rozwój turystyki, kultury, rozwój gos­ podarczy, to handel, a więc i zysk dla obu stron - 24,6% - granice powinny być otwarte, bo pozwalają na nawiązanie kontaktów między ludźmi, tworzą się więzi sympatii i przyjaźni, Polacy mają rodziny i wielu znajomych poza granicami kraju 20,7% - otwarte granice są potrzebne i Polakom i Niemcom - 20,1% - granice powinny być otwarte, bo jest to korzystne dla społeczeństwa, naród nie może się zamykać, jesteśmy częścią Europy, - przenikanie kultur jest potrzebne - 19% - zamknięcie granic to błąd - 3,9% Wydaje się, że podawane przez respondentów odpowiedzi nie wymagają komentarza, obok zrozumienia korzyści ekonomicz­ nych wyraźnie dostrzeżony został także kulturowy wymiar problemu, otwarcie na „ i n n y c h " to pozytywny typ zachowania, sądzi tak 19% badanych. Czy akceptacja otwartych granic wynika z dostrzeżenia korzyści odnoszonych przez Polaków, czy też zauważane są obustronne zyski? Zdecydowana większość badanych (65%) dostrzega obu­ stronne korzyści, 18% nie potrafi ocenić kto zyskał a kto stracił, korzyści tylko jednej strony uznaje (w sumie) 14 %, częściej przypisując je Niemcom (8%). Ostatni problem, który pojawił się w badaniach A.Rosnera , a który bezpośrednio związany jest z omawianym zagad­ nieniem, to odwiedziny byłych właścicieli i ich potomków w domach i gospodarstwach posiadanych dzisiaj przez nowych, polskich mieszkańców. Zadałam dorosłym respondentom pyta­ nie: Czy uważa Pan(i) to zjawisko za problem?, a młodzieży: Co o tym sądzisz? Nie odpowiedziało na to pytanie tylko 6,7% badanych, co, w porównaniu z innymi wynikami sugeruje istnienie w bada­ nych społecznościach skrystalizowanych poglądów na tę kwes­ tię. Rozkład odpowiedzi jest następujący: - to nie jest żaden problem, to zupełnie normalna rzecz - 66,7% ~ to dobry pomysł, doskonale ich rozumiem - 13,5% f to jest pewien problem, (domy są zniszczone, wstyd, nowi 7 mieszkańcy źle się czują) ale Niemcy mają do tego prawo 3,1% - to jest problem, gdy Niemcy próbują się wtrącać - 7,6% - to jest problem, bo Niemcy są zawistni, chcą wrócić etc. - 9 % Tak więc kwestia spotkania N i e m c ó w i Polaków, dawnych i nowych właścicieli d o m ó w i gospodarstw nie wpływa na zmniejszenie stopnia akceptacji otwarcia granic, 80,2% respon­ dentów nie dostrzega w tym trudnym spotkaniu żadnego problemu. Tylko 16,6% badanych ma niechętny, a nawet wrogi stosunek do niemieckich odwiedzin. Nie należy bagatelizować takich postaw, jednak podkreślanie naturalności zjawiska przez zdecydowaną większość odpowiadających wyjaśnia, jak sądzę wątpliwości co do postaw Polaków wobec niemieckich sen­ tymentów. Porównanie poglądów młodzieży i dorosłych mieszkańców gmin sygnalizuje istnienie niewielkiego, słabo manifestującego się w wynikach badań, zróżnicowania postaw ze względu na wiek. Młode pokolenia częściej zorientowane jest na kontakty interpersonalne, przyjaźnie, więź z rówieśnikami, niezależnie od ich narodowości. Odpowiadając na pytanie o przyszłość naszych wzajemnych stosunków dorośli przywiązują większą wagę do konieczności wyrównania poziomów życia w obu krajach, niż do przyjaznych relacji między narodami. Także odpowiadając na pytanie 0 powody, dla których należy otwierać granicę, dorośli częściej podkreślają pozytywne konsekwencje wzajemnego przenikania kultur, niż młodzież, która zwraca uwagę przede wszystkim na więź łączącą ludzi. Młodzież bardzo często w swoich wypowie­ dziach akcentuje znaczenie przyjaźni i wzajemnej przychylno­ ści obu naszych społeczeństw. Na uwagę zasługuje także kolejna różnica między młodzieżą 1 dorosłymi respondentami. Uczniowie bardziej pozytywnie oceniają obydwa narody, zdecydowanie mniej wad przypisując zarówno Polakom", jak i Niemcom. Podkreślanie znaczenia postaw afiliacyjnych, a więc nastawienie na przychylność i przyjazne relacje między ludźmi widoczne są także w młodzie­ żowych charakterystykach Polaków. Dorośli w mniejszym, niż młodzi respondenci stopniu sądzą, że jesteśmy pozytywnie nastawienie wobec innych, a także, że Niemcy są przychylnie nastawieni do Polaków. Częściej także podejrzewają Niemców 0 pragnienie odzyskania dawnych ziem i majątków. Badania nad społecznymi uwarunkowaniami polsko-niemieckiego sąsiedztwa, zrealizowane w czterech gminach zachod­ niego pogranicza pozwalają na sformułowanie następujących wniosków: 1. Większość mieszkańców badanych gmin akceptuje otwarte granice, wzmożony ruch turystyczny oraz N i e m c ó w odwiedza­ jących swoje rodzinne strony. Prawie połowa badanych zdecy­ dowanie pozytywnie ocenia kształt dzisiejszych stosunków między Polakami i Niemcami, negatywną opinię formułuje co piąty respondent. Prawie połowa odpowiadających uchyla się od konstruowania jednoznacznych ocen naszych narodów, pozostali „sprawiedliwie" rozdzielają pomiędzy Polaków 1 Niemców wady i zalety. Obecne w postawach badanych społeczności stereotypy narodowościowe zbieżne są z wynika­ mi ogólnopolskich badań. Należy jednak zauważyć wyraźne modyfikacje ich treści pod wpływem najnowszych doświadczeń i bieżących wydarzeń. Zauważmy także ok. 20% badanych, którzy sceptycznie, a nawet wrogo traktują proces wzajemnego zbliżenia naszych narodów. 2. W stosunkach polsko-niemieckich nadal znaczną, chociaż nie dominującą rolę odgrywają stereotypy. Widoczny jest jednak wolny, ale wyraźny proces odchodzenia (przynajmniej znanej z badań, polskiej strony) od wrogości i niechęci wobec Niemców budowanej na wspomnieniach z I I wojny światowej. Ważną rolę w tym procesie odgrywa młodzież, bardziej przyjaz­ na, ufna i pozytywnie postrzegająca zarówno własne społeczeń­ stwo, jak i Niemców. Wyniki te są zgodne z rezultatami innych badań socjologicznych. 775 �3. Proces budowania wzorów i norm zachowań wobec zachod­ niego sąsiada znajduje się dopiero u swoich początków. Wyraź­ nie dostrzegalne są zmiany w postawach wobec Niemców, twórcze reagowanie na nowe wydarzenia. Ujawnione stereo­ typy zdają się ulegać zmianom pod wpływem nowych doświad­ czeń. Należy także zauważyć liczną grupę respndentów, którzy świadomie unikają stereotypów i próbują swoje postawy wobec innych budować w oparciu o własne, indywidualne oceny. 4. Proces budowania dobrego sąsiedztwa wydaje się być bardzo „ w r a ż l i w y " na wszelkie wydarzenia obejmujące delikatną materię polsko-niemieckich stosunków. Wszystkie przypadki agresji czy wrogości, naganne zachowania przedstawicieli obu narodów mogą, tak jak i pozytywne przykłady przyjaźni i sympatii, zmieniać jego przebieg, przyśpieszając lub opóź­ niając „dobre s ą s i e d z t w o " . DWA POGRANICZA, DWA SĄSIEDZTWA, PRÓBA PODSUMOWANIA Trudno nie dostrzec na terenach zachodniego i wschodniego pogranicza pewnych podobieństw. Mieszkańcy ziem przy wschodniej i zachodniej granicy osobiście przeżyli przesied­ lenia w mniejszym, lub większym stopniu przymusowe. W ich pamięci o przeszłości obecne są wspomnienia przesiedleń własnej rodziny, rodzin sąsiadów lub nieznanych osobiście ludzi, którzy zamieszkiwali dawniej ich własne domy. To doświadczenie ma wyraźny wpływ na postawy respondentów. Sentymentalna turystyka ojczyźniana Niemców nie budzi sprze­ ciwu, tak jak akceptowane są (chociaż ukrywane) odwiedziny rodzinnych miejscowości przez Ukraińców. Mieszkańcy wiejskich gmin na obu pograniczach B A R D Z O P O Z Y T Y W N I E PRZYJĘLI O T W A R C I E G R A N I C I WZAJE­ MNE K O N T A K T Y MIESZKAŃCÓW SĄSIADUJĄCYCH P A Ń S T W . A n i zachodnie, ani wschodnie pogranicze N I E Z N A D E K L A R A C J I S U G E R U J Ą C Y C H POSTAWY AGRESYW­ NE, nie zna także aktów wrogości wobec przyjezdnych. Ważniejsze wydają się jednak różnice, bowiem trudno nie dostrzec odmienności procesów toczących się na zachodnim i wschodnim pograniczu. Pogranicze zachodnie wydaje się symbolem procesu zbliża­ nia się narodów. Otwarte granice wywołują proces twórczego reinterpretowania treści stereotypów, a nawet odchodzenia w ocenach obu narodów od uproszczeń. Widoczna jest dynami­ ka zmian K U D O B R E M U S Ą S I E D Z T W U . W tym procesie bardzo ważną rolę odgrywają, organizowane przez dyrektorów szkół podstawowych, kontakty pomiędzy młodymi mieszkań­ cami wiejskich gmin pogranicza. Natomiast pogranicze wschodnie ponownie wchodzi w pro­ ces określania własnej tożsamości narodowej. Otwartym grani­ com towarzyszy lęk o charakter wzajemnych kontaktów, obawy o szczerość intencji przedstawicieli obu narodów potęgowane są niepokojem związanym z kwestionowaniem tożsamości naro­ dowej przez wszystkie strony sporu o tożsamość Wywołuje to postawę ukrywania wzajemnych kontaktów. Nie są podej­ mowane żadne próby zbliżania przedstawicieli najmłodszego pokolenia w ramach wymiany młodzieżowej, organizowanej przez szkoły lub organizacje młodzieżowe. Koloryt wzajem­ nych kontaktów wyznacza wymiana handlowa, pośrednictwo, targi uliczne. Jednakże pogranicze wschodnie, pomimo lęków, P A M I Ę T A 0 D O B R Y C H RELACJACH P O M I Ę D Z Y UKdlAIŃCAMI 1 P O L A K A M I . W odróżnieniu od pogranicza zachodniego postawy pozytywne, akceptujące, pojawiają się częściej w wy­ powiedziach ludzi starszych niż młodszych. To starsi, mimo skomplikowanych wspomnień, potrafią odwołać się do wzorów i norm zachowań wspólnego życia na tych terenach w czasach I I RP. Młodzi takich wzorów nie pamiętają, a ich kontakty z przybyszami ze wschodu odbywają się w atmosferze kon­ kurencji i walki o „ z y s k " w wymianie handlowej. Młodzi na pograniczu zachodnim uczestniczą w imprezach i festynach zbliżających dwa narody, a organizowanych głównie przez szkoły. Pogranicze wschodnie takich działań nie zna, szkoły po obu stronach wschodniej granicy nie podejmują żadnej aktyw­ ności na rzecz zbliżenia młodzieży obu narodów. Mieszkańcy pogranicza wschodniego zdają się ponownie wchodzić na trudną drogę określania własnej tożsamości naro­ dowej . Pogranicze, na którym spotkały się po otwarciu zachodniej granicy D W A N A R O D Y , wydaje się być, mimo wielu trudno­ ści, zaczynem autentycznego zbliżenia. W a ż n ą rolę odgrywa świadomie podjęta przez ludzi i instytucje praca na rzecz przyszłego, dobreeo sąsiedztwa. Wschodnie POGRANICZE NIEPEWNEJ T O Ż S A M O Ś C I to miejsce, w którym toczy się proces o trudnym do przewidzenia zakończeniu. Nie widać tu żadnych, świadomie podejmowa­ nych (np. przez szkoły) prób ujęcia tego procesu w ramy sprzyjające dobrym stosunkom w przyszłości. Otwartym pozo­ staje pytanie, na ile dobre sąsiedztwo zależy od tolerancji wobec „tutejszych" (o nieokreślonej tożsamości narodowej), a na ile, od zakończenia procesu świadomego budowania własnej toż­ samości narodowej przez mieszkańców naszego wschodniego pogranicza. PRZYPISY 4 F.Znaniecki, Współczesne narody, PWN, Warszawa 1990, s. 185-192 Badania trzech gmin wschodniego pogranicza w pobliży granicy z Litwa, Ukraina i Białorusią prowadziły w 1992 roku; dr I. Bukraba-Rylska, „Rocznik Lubuski". Polacy - Niemcy: Ideo dobrego sąsiedztwa, pod dr B.Fedyszak-Radziejowska oraz mgr D.Budyta. Zarówno badana wieś. jak red. K.Bartkiewicza, nr 18, Zielona Góra, 1993. Rocznik w całości i nazwa gminy znane są Redakcji „Kontekstów", przyjęto formułę okreś­ poświęcony jest konferencji naukowej zorganizowanej przez Lubuskie lania badanej wsi i gminy symbolem „C". Towarzystwo Naukowe i Instytut Historii WSP w Zielonej Górze. Por. szczególnie; A.Czarkowski, Pogranicze polsko-niemieckie jako region Badania na terenie województwa zielonogórskiego i gorzowskiego peryferyjny a procesy zderzenia kultur. (cztery gminy wiejskie) w 1994 roku prowadził interdyscyplinarny zespół " В Wilska-Duszyńska. „My" i „ONI" - młodzież, wobec etnicznie ekonomistów, demografów, socjologów, ekspertów ds. rolnictwa, handlu obcych, [w:] Tolerancja i uprzedzenia młodzieży. Raport z. badan. IFiS PAN i marketingu. Wyniki zawiera książka pod red. M. Kłodzińskiego i A. Warszawa 1993 Jak wynika z badań B. Wilskiej-Duszyńskiej niechęć do Rosnera Przeobrażenia spoleczno-ekonomiczne obszarów wiejskich po­ Niemców i Ukraińców jest wśród polskiej młodzieży stosunkowo wysoka, granicza zachodniego, wyd. IRWiR PAN i Centrum Naukowo-Wdrożeniolecz w ostatnich latach nieco spadła. we SGGW, Warszawa 1996 A.Rosner, Obraz. Polaków i Niemców w oczach dzieci ze szkolna terenie Informacje o historii badanej gminy oraz historii stosunków polskogminy i miasta Myślibórz, „Wieś i Rolnictwo", nr 2, 1993 -ukraińskich na tym terenie pochodzą zarówno z książki St. Krycińskiego, Pogórze Przemyskie. Słownik krajoznawcz.o-historyczny. Oficyna Wydaw­ " Dorośli respondenci bardziej krytycznie niż młodzież oceniają P°' " nicza „Rewasz", Warszawa 1992 , jak i z rozmów przeprowadzonych ków. Z mieszkańcami badanej wsi. 1 1 2 3 1 a 176 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/c61b1a0c82769c50a2fd1f0c0a3071dc.pdf af35de92e21f500914dafd1a6d7c1dfc Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2599 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1996 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2416 Title A name given to the resource Każda nacja swoju wieru ma / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4, s.177-182 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Engelking, Anna Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text „Boh ad/i ii, wier mnoha" Z badań etnograficznych na Grodzieńszczyźnie Każda nacja swoju wieru ma Anna Engeiking Znajomość języka tubylców umożliwia etnografowi zadawanie zrozumiałych i uzyskiwanie stosownych odpowiedzi. pytań Bronisław Malinowski' Od kwietnia 1993 do listopada 1994 roku prowadziliśmy - grupa studentów z Katedry Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturo­ wej U W pod moim kierunkiem - badania terenowe na Gro­ dzieńszczyźnie. Niektóre wnioski z tych badań, jak również fragmenty zebranych materiałów, przedstawiamy w niniejszej publikacji. Głównym tematem naszych zainteresowań była samoświado­ mość społeczności lokalnych pogranicza kulturowego, w tym przede wszystkim sposoby kategoryzacji świata społecznego. 2 ж A więc, dociekaliśmy, jak członkowie społeczności lokalnych odpowiadają na pytanie „kim j e s t e ś m y ? " i „kim są tamci?" - sąsiedzi, inni, obcy. Próbowaliśmy z tych odpowiedzi od­ czytywać zawarty w nich system pojęciowy. Badaliśmy także obrzędowość i wierzenia związane z pogrzebem i życiem pozagrobowym i rejestrowaliśmy folklor - wyszliśmy bowiem z założenia, że materiał ten może nam dostarczyć faktów, pomocnych do opisu „obrazu w ł a s n e g o " i „obrazu grupy sąsiedniej" na pograniczu kulturowym. Do penetracji terenowej wybraliśmy obszar, położony nieco na południe od granicy litewsko - białoruskiej, na którym wsie katolickie (od północy) sąsiadują z wsiami prawosławnymi (od południa). Linię podziału między strefą katolicką a prawosław­ ną wyznacza tu, w przybliżeniu, szosa Grodno - Lida. Przez • — 177 �tereny te przebiega dawna granica bałtycko - słowiańska (wyznaczana na podstawie danych językowych), która od linii Niemna (w średniowieczu) stopniowo cofała się coraz dalej na północ. Działaliśmy więc w obwodzie (województwie) gro­ dzieńskim, w rejonie (powiecie) lidzkim i woronowskim, w parafiach katolickich Wawiórka, Krupowo, Białohruda, Skrzybowce i Pielasa oraz w parafii prawosławnej Lebieda. Badane przez nas wsie należą do kołchozów w Wawiórce, Tarnowie i Bolciszkach i do sowchozu w Małym Możejkowie. 3 Na zróżnicowanie wyznaniowe nakładają się w okolicach Lidy dwa kolejne typy zróżnicowań: społeczne i językowe. Pomimo prawie 50 lat kolektywizacji (kołchozy istnieją tutaj od 1948 roku) przetrwał nie tylko w świadomości mieszkańców, lecz także w praktyce społecznej, tak charakterystyczny dla tych obszarów podział na chłopów i drobną szlachtę. Na badanym przez nas terenie istnieją wioski mutyckie, wśród których, odwołując się do podziału stosowanego przez naszych rozmów­ ców, można wyróżnić katolickie, prawosławne i mieszane, oraz okolice szlacheckie, wszystkie, rzecz jasna, katolickie. Najbardziej złożona jest charakterystyka językowa rejonu lidzkiego i woronowskiego. Językiem wspólnym dla całej ludności wiejskiej jest tu gwara białoruska, zwana przez jej użytkowników językiem prostym lub miestnym ('miejscowym'). Określenie to znaczy tyle, co 'mowa ludzi prostych, niewy­ kształconych; gwara' i jest przeciwstawiane językom czystym: rosyjskiemu, polskiemu i białoruskiemu literackiemu, którymi posługują się ludzie uczone, inteligentne i szlachietne. Białoru­ ski literacki obecny jest w szkole oraz w radiu i telewizji (równolegle z rosyjskim); czynnie posługują się nim tylko dzieci szkolne oraz część młodzieży i nauczycieli. Rosyjski i silnie zruszczony staro-cerkiewno-słowiański to język cerkwi i modlitwy prawosławnej. Bardziej wykształceni użytkownicy „ p r o s t e g o " posługują się, jako językiem oficjalnym, służącym do kontaktów ponadlokalnych, rosyjskim (młodsi, wykształceni po wojnie) i/lub polskim (starsi - uczniowie przedwojennej szkoły polskiej). Ó w polski to oczywiście jego wariant regional­ ny, tzw. polszczyzna północnokresowa (wileńska). Jest ona także językiem kościoła i modlitwy katolickiej. Czwarty język, występujący w tym rejonie, to litewski. Część mieszkańców parafii pielaskiej mówi gwarą litewską (ze względu na to są nazywani Litwiakami, Litowcami, Litwinami lub barciakami). Litewski literacki jest tam obecny w szkole i w kościele. Dwujęzyczność, trójjęzyczność, a nawet czterojęzyczność, czę­ sto jeszcze dodatkowo skomplikowana podziałem na odmiany literackie i gwarowe, jest więc w okolicach, które badaliśmy, zjawiskiem powszechnym i zwyczajnym. 178 M y sami posługiwaliśmy się w rozmowach polskim i biało­ ruskim (w wersji „prostej"), a w sporadycznych wypadkach rosyjskim i litewskim. Nasze badania objęły trzydzieści miejscowości; w znacznej części były to badania stacjonarne (wyjeżdżaliśmy pięć razy na 10-12 dni). Do wybranych wiosek wracaliśmy kilkakrotnie. Najlepiej poznaliśmy następujące mikrorejony: Pielasa (siedzi­ ba parafii katolickiej, litewskojęzycznej), Surkonty (okolica szlachecka, polskojęzyczna) i sąsiednie wioski (Pieluńce, Po­ włoka); Wawiórka (siedziba parafii katolickiej, polskojęzycz­ nej) i Krasnowce; Papiernia, Serafiny (wioski chłopskie parafii wawiórskiej) i Rouby (okolica szlachecka) oraz wioski prawo­ sławne, należące do parafii Lebieda i sowchozu Małe Możejkowo: Radziwoniszki, Biltowce, Feliksowo, Szpilki. Przeprowadziliśmy około 180 rozmów. Staraliśmy się spoty­ kać z przedstawicielami wszystkich pokoleń (w tym także z dziećmi); ponieważ jednak podlidzkie wsie są wsiami ludzi starych, znaczną większość (80%) naszych rozmówców stano­ wiły osoby powyżej 60 lat. Częściej niż z mężczyznami (36%) rozmawialiśmy z kobietami (64%); charakterystyczną grupą wśród nich były samotnie mieszkające wdowy. Badania miały charakter nie ilościowy, lecz jakościowy. Zaczęliśmy od przeprowadzania klasycznych wywiadów etno­ graficznych, posługując się opracowanymi w Katedrze Etnolo­ gii i Antropologii Kulturowej kwestionariuszami: „Stosunki etniczne", „Wiadomości o w s i " , „Zwyczaje doroczne" i „Po­ grzeb". Z czasem, kiedy nieco lepiej poznaliśmy specyfikę terenu i , przede wszystkim, system pojęć, jakim posługują się jego mieszkańcy, opracowaliśmy własny kwestionariusz, który zatytułowaliśmy „Samoświadomość społeczności tutejszych' • Kwestionariusz ten był dla nas jednak tylko scenariuszem rozmowy; staraliśmy się raczej naszych r o z m ó w c ó w słuchać niz „ p r z e p y t y w a ć " , widzieć w nich raczej partnerów dialogu niz „informatorów". �Kiedy podczas kolejnych wyjazdów wracaliśmy do po­ znanych wcześniej wiosek i osób, nasza rola w rozmowach przesuwała się stopniowo z pozycji obcego czy gościa na pozycję dobrego znajomego, czy wręcz uczestnika życia rodzin­ nego naszych gospodarzy, a obserwacja uczestnicząca prze­ kształcała się w doświadczanie . Mieliśmy okazję brać udział w wiciu wydarzeniach rodzinnych i obrzędowych. Były wśród nich między innymi: świętowanie prawosławnej Wielkanocy u zaprzyjaźnionej rodziny, wielkanocne kolędowanie (wspólnie z hłykalnikami, obchodzącymi wieś z pieśniami i oracją w zamian za wódkę, jajka i pieniądze), prawosławne Zaduszki 4 L£ 6ЕЫСЛ : - "«.»J я,.», O W I M M M - I H W M uui (Radaunica - dziady wiosenne, podczas których ludzie modlą się, lamentują, jedzą i piją za zmarłych na mogiłkach), lis­ topadowe zaduszki katolickie (przy tej okazji zostaliśmy wpro­ wadzeni w sekrety warsztatu babki, modlącej się za dusze), wesele (po ślubie w kościele kawalera katolika z panną prawosławną) i nocne czuwanie przy zmarłym z udziałem śpiewaków pogrzebowych. Bywaliśmy też pacjentami, leczony­ mi przy pomocy zamów i odbiorcami różnego rodzaju przepi­ sów magii leczniczej i miłosnej. Stosowaną przez nas metodę badawczą adekwatnie charak­ teryzują słowa, przytoczone przez A n n ę Wykę": Badacz [•••] próbuje wypracować autentyczne związki z ludźmi, których nazywamy podmiotami badań, otwierając się na możliwość, że obie strony [interakcji] zmienią się poprzez ów proces. Badają­ cy staje się partnerem bądź uczniem podmiotu badań [...] i opisuje wydarzenia, posługując się raczej językiem podmiotów badania niż językiem wniesionym z zewnątrz studiowanego kontekstu. Mówiąc o naszych doświadczeniach w grodzieńskich wios­ kach, położyłabym nacisk na sformułowanie „uczeń podmiotu badań". „Posługiwanie się językiem podmiotów badania" stało się dla nas istotną kwestią metodologiczną ze względu na to, że przedmiotem naszego zainteresowania były zjawiska świado­ mościowe: system pojęć i wartości, funkcjonujących w społecz­ ności, zamieszkującej wioski pogranicza. Badanie świadomości było trudne przede wszystkim z dwóch powodów. Po pierwsze, materiałem badawczym jest tutaj szeroko rozumiany język: pojęcia, konotacje i stereotypy myślowe, nierzadko pozornie tożsame z naszymi wzorcami potocznymi, a przez to niełatwe do wyodrębnienia i analizy. Musieliśmy się więc tego języka uczyć, przede wszystkim właśnie jako systemu pojęciowego. Po drugie, badanie świadomości wymaga stałej uwagi, aby nie narzucać rozmówcom własnych kategorii i własnego języka. 5 179 �Zależało nam na tym, aby rzeczywistość, z którą się zetknęliś­ my, jak najlepiej zrozumieć, dlatego staraliśmy się ciągle weryfikować własny porządek pojęć. I uważać, by rozmowy z podmiotami badań nie służyły potwierdzaniu naszych włas­ nych poglądów, stereotypów i przesądów. Czy badane przez nas pogranicze, które można, jak się wydaje, określić na podstawie kryteriów obiektywnych jako wyznaniowe i językowe, jest również pograniczem narodowoś­ ciowym lub narodowym? Etnicznym? Przy uważniejszym spojrzeniu nawet „ o b i e k t y w n o ś ć " po­ działów wyznaniowych i językowych przestaje tu być oczywis­ ta. Granica między katolikami a prawosławnymi nie przebiega Rozmowy o nacjach i wiarach Rozmowa w Lebiodzie (KDołLebl) Co to znaczy nacja? Nacja to znaczy, gdzie człowiek urodził się, gdzie on żyje, gdzie on mieszka, jak to miejsce nazywa się, taka jego nacja. Niemiec to Germania, Polak to Polszczą, a Białoruś to faktycznie można powiedzieć, że swojego miejsca nie ma. Bo tu to Ruskie byli, to Polacy, to Niemcy. Białoruś, Białoruś... To spolszczona Biełaruś, część z Rossiji popadło pod Polszę, to Polska wychowała w swoim duchu, no i człowiek nie chcąc stał dwuznacznym i Polakiem i Białorusem, tylko że ja nie mogę tego wszystkiego wypowiedzieć, bo ja niepiśmienny jestem, mało piśmienny jestem, da myślę, to wszystko zrobiła kościół i cerkwa. Cerkwa chciała, żeby to więcej mieć tych ludzi. Kto pierwszy stał: czy prawosławne wyznanie, czy katolickie? Chyba prawosławne. Prawo - sławie. A Polacy odkłonili się i na drugie poszli, rozeszli się w dwie organizacji. Ale to moje zdanie, ja nie mogę twierdzić, że to koniecznie tak, ale mnie zdaje się, że to tak. da myślę, że prawosławie było pierwsze. Ja pamiętam jeszcze w szkole, jeszcze mnie mój baćka mówił, że najpierwto byli na świecie sami Żydzi, mojżeszową wiarę mieli, ale przyszedł Pan Jezus i tych ludzi stamtąd zabrał i ich przechrzcił i stali oni w Boga wierzyć. Jakie są różnice między nacjami? Mnie zdaje się, że nie ma. Tylko, że na polskim języku i na rosyjskim, tylko językiem, a tak to w tego samego Boga wierzą, tylko że na drugim języku. A wiary, to ja myślę, tej samej. Drugiej to 180 bowiem ani między poszczególnymi wsiami ani nawet rodzina­ mi. Prawie każda wieś jest w jakimś stopniu „ m i e s z a n a " (w wioskach tzw. katolickich mieszkają rodziny prawosławne i vice versa), a małżeństwa mieszane, katolicko - prawosławne, to praktyka, która nie pojawiła się, jak mogłoby wynikać z powszechnej tu mitycznej interpretacji przeszłości, dopiero po ostatniej wojnie, kiedy to świat się pomieszał, ale która - co wykazuje historia wielu poszczególnych rodzin - funkcjonowa­ ła na tych terenach od dziadów, przeddziadów. Dla wielu osób „granicą w y z n a n i o w ą " staje się moment ślubu, po którym albo zmieniają tradycję religijną, w której byli wychowani, albo - i tak jest w większości wypadków - kultywują obie: własną, już Żydzi, Afrykanie, musułmanie, oni to już wierzą w swoich bogów. A tak to dwie wiary takie same są. Dwie ? To znaczy? To znaczy: polska i białoruska, ruska. Biełaruska ona więcej przychylna do Rosji, tam więcej słów rosyjskich, c z ę ś ć polskich, część białoruskich, a część rosyjskich. Czym się różni Białorusin od Rosjanina? A to prawie takie że same, tej samej wiary i język podobny. Białoruś między Rosjanem i Polakiem zawsze pośrednikiem jest. I do tego i do tego zwraca się, i przez tego oni się rozumieją. Zawsze trochę bliżej jest Białoruś Polaka. Czy można zmienić nację ? A na co to robić? To nic nie da. Co to znaczy: liczyć się kimś? Ja myślę, że pani to sama rozumie. Polak ten, kto w Polsce rodził się, kto ma narodowość polską, ten Polak, a Białoruś to ten, kto urodził się w Rosji, tylko na tych wschodnich kresach, i dlatego on jest Białorusin. W Polsce to się nazywa wschodnie kresy, a w Rosji Biełaruś. A tacy, co się tutaj rodzili, na Białorusi, a mówią, że są Polakami? Do kościoła chodzi i liczy się Polak. Czy to zależy od wiary? Tylko od wiary to zależy. Kto chodził do kościoła, liczył siebie Polakiem, a kto do cerkwi - prawosławnym, Biełarusem, bo jak w Rosji to Rosjanin, a tutaj to Biełaruś. Czy są takie wypadki, że ktoś ma wpisaną jedną narodowość a mówi, że jest innej? Takich głupich to ja nie znam. Ale s ą tacy ludzie. To jak była �wyniesioną z domu i nową współmałżonka. Pogranicze wy­ znaniowe jest więc w znacznym stopniu również fenomenem subiektywnym, mentalnym. Jest obecne w ludziach, nie da się nanieść na mapę. Podobnie ma się rzecz z pograniczem j ę z y k o w y m . Wspo­ mniałam już o powszechnej pod Lidą trój-, a nawet czterojęzyczności. M o ż n a scharakteryzować to zjawisko na wy­ branym, typowym przykładzie. Rodzina prawosławna. Język domowy - prosty, język modlitwy - jak w cerkwi. Dziadek mówi też po polsku (przedwojenna szkoła) i po rosyjsku (nauczył się po wojnie). Czyta po polsku, rosyjsku i białorusku. Pisze po polsku i rosyjsku. Zna polskie modlitwy i katechizm (zamierzał się żenić z katolicką panną). Babcia czyta cyrylicę i łacinkę (słabo), nie pisze (podpisuje się łacinką, po polsku). Córki i zięciowie mówią po rosyjsku (powojenna szkoła), rozumieją i trochę mówią po polsku (kontakty z rodziną w Polsce). Jedna z córek zamawia po staro-cerkiewno-słowiańsku i po polsku. Wnuki czynnie znają rosyjski, polski rozumieją słabo. Z wyjątkiem męża jednej z wnuczek, katolika. Prawnuki czynnie znają rosyjski i białoruski (przedszkole i szkoła), część z nich również polski jako język modlitwy (druga babcia prowadzi do kościoła). Przy okazjach świątecznych i towarzys­ kich cała rodzina śpiewa. Repertuar jest białoruski, rosyjski i polski, a także ukraiński. A kiedy przeniesiemy się z parafii lcbiodz.kiej czy wawiórskiej kilkanaście kilometrów na północ, do Pielasy i otaczających ją wiosek, możemy do tej mozaiki językowej dodać jeszcze litewski. Nie podjęlibyśmy się narysowania mapy... Tu dotykamy jednej z zasadniczych kwestii - rozumienia pojęcia pogranicze. Nasze doświadczenia terenowe każą je rozumieć jako 'strefę współwystępowania elementów, należą­ cych do różnych kompleksów kulturowych' czy też 'obszar przejściowy od jednej inności do drugiej, łączący, integrujący, przetwarzający elementy ich obu'. Jeżeli więc posługujemy się pojęciem pogranicze, to w żadnym razie nie kojarząc go z granicą ani w rozumieniu 'linia' (bo pogranicze to raczej pas, strefa, obszar), ani w sensie 'coś, co oddziela' (skąd blisko już. do przeciwstawienia i , być może, wrogości). Czy zatem pogranicze etniczne? Tego terminu zdecydowaliś7 wojna i idąjedni, to pagony zrywa, jak drugie, to znów nakłada, o to nawet po telewizoru pokazują, w kino. To śmiech. Czy jest jakaś różnica między Polakami, którzy mieszkają tutaj, a Polakami w Polsce ? Widzimo jest. Dlatego, że Polak urodził się w Polsce i on wie, źe on tam żyje, że on Polak. A tu on sam nie wie, czy on Polak, czy on Białoruś, czy on katolik, czy on prawosławny, czy Rosjanin. Tu nie ma rządu dobrego, ja myślę, że to dlatego. A tam Polska jest, ona i będzie, i on siebie czuje, że on Polak, a tu on sam nie wie. Czasami porozmawiasz po polsku, czasami po białorusku. Nie ma drużby żadnej, zrozumienia. A czy Białorusini czują się tu, na Białorusi, tak jak u siebie, czy traktują Białoruś jak swoje państwo? Białorusy siebie nie czują ni w jakim porządku, dlatego, że on, no, ile on tym Białorusem? Lat 10, jak tu zaczęli mówić po białorusku, jak te wszystkie szyldy powypisywali. Wcześniej tego wszystkiego nie było, tylko po rosyjsku. Białorusy, a i w szkole po rosyjsku, i w cerkwi batiuszka po rosyjsku, to jak on tobie może być Białorusem? Ja myślę, że będzie wielki Bóg, jeżeli to wszystko zamocuje się i będzie razem. Przy Polsce to jeszcze pozwolili krużki te białoruskie organizować, a za ruskim to za fraki i do więzienia. Nic nie było. Tych wszystkich białoruskich kierowców, czy jak ich nazwać, do tiurmy wsadzili, w Kartuz-Berezie, to nawet jeden tu od nas siedział, nazywał się Sołwiło Walencin. On szedł za proletariat, za komunizm. Wot, takije rzeczy. Jaki jest związek nacji z wiarą? Jest i katolicy, [coj licząsiebie Białorusinami, a jest i prawosław­ ny, który sczyta siebie Polakiem. Jak na przykład ślub brać: jedno Polskie, katolickie, a drugie prawosławne. No, i trzeba żenić się, Po wyjściu z kościoła my się w ogóle nie używać; wydaje się wieloznaczny, a przez to nieprecyzyjny, dlatego łatwo tu o nadużycia." A więc narodowo­ ściowe, czy może narodowe? Po dwóch latach badań odpowiedź na to pytanie brzmi: ani takie, ani takie. Nie narodowościowe, bo nacyjne i nie narodo­ we, bo przednarodowe. Tutaj dwie niezbędne uwagi. Taka kategoria, jak narodo­ wość, wydaje się w dużo mniejszym stopniu - o ile w ogóle - obiektywna niż wyznanie czy język. I , żeby móc jej używać jako terminu, trzeba znać odpowiedź na dwa pytania: czyja to rodzice nie pozwalają, to ksiądz albo batiuszka ślubu nie dają. Jeszcze batiuszka to mog ślub dać, a ksiądz nie. Kościół to więcej taki twardy był, więcej umocniony między sobą. Ja nie wierzę, że tutaj będzie ta Biełaruś. Dlatego, że tu połowa ludzi to katoliki. I Polacy, kościół więcej silny jak cerkwa. O, tu w Grodnie ile ich jest, i modlą się, i młodzież tak ładnie po polsku mówi... A Biełarusy to więcej po rusku, albo baptysty swoje wiary zaczynają wprowadzać. Co to za wiara: baptyści? Jak tu powiedzieć. To taka pośrednia wiara między katolicką a prawosławną: krzyża oni nie przyznają, wierzą w Boga, ale krzyża na siebie nie kładą. Obrazów nie przyznają. Ja tu się spotykam z nimi często, bo mój rodni brat u tych baptysów, to my często kłócim się. Ja mu mówię: Ty głupi człowiek jesteś, a co to prawosławni nie umieją w Boga wierzyć, kto to tobie nie daje wierzyć? Ten sam Bóg. Sprawiedliwość każdego człowieka w du­ szy jego. I czy ty będziesz Polak czy Rosjanin, ważne, jak ty będziesz ludziom robić, dobrze czy źle. Jaki człowiek urodził się, takim powinien żyć. Tak będzie sprawiedliwie. A jak będzie rzucać się we wszystkie strony- tołku nie będzie. Ja trzymam się swojego drzewa, urodziłem się taki, i taki będę. Rozmowa w Szpilkach (KDSzp3) Czy tutaj kiedyś byli tylko Polacy? Nie. Tut wsiowremia ludzi i takije i takije. Nu, wot, katolik woźmie prawosławnuju za mąż, wot, takaja mieszanaja, wot, zmieszane ludzie. A często były tutaj takie mieszane małżeństwa ? 181 �jest kategoria (tzn. kto się nią posługuje) i co ma oznaczać. Kiedy to pytanie sobie postawiliśmy i kiedy zaczęły się pojawiać pierwsze odpowiedzi, okazało się, że pytanie o naro­ dowość czy naród jest z pewnego punktu widzenia bezprzed­ miotowe. Jest mianowicie bezprzedmiotowe dla naszych roz­ mówców. Nie występuje w języku podmiotów badania. Bo oni określają sami siebie w innych kategoriach niż tak oczywiste dla naszego myślenia potocznego ( i , często, naukowego) kategorie narodowe. W okolicach Lidy mamy bowiem do czynienia nie tyle z narodowościami, ile z nacjami. Nasze rozmowy na tematy „ n a r o d o w e " wyglądały mniej więcej tak: - Pan powiedział, że jest patriotą swojego narodu, czyli... - ...czyli swojej wiary. - Naród Polacy, a nacja? - Nacja tak samo polska. - Czyli nacja i naród to takie same słowa? - Nacja i naród to samo. Nacja to jest nacja: nacja polska, nacja prawosławna, nacja muselmanów - to nacja. - A nacja i wiara? Czy to się czymś różni, czy to to samo? - Każda nacja musi wierzyć w swoje. (DZPap3) Jednym ze słów - kluczy do opisu samoświadomości miesz­ kańców wiosek pogranicza okazało się więc słowo nacja, rozumiane przez większość naszych rozmówców jako 'wiara'. Potwierdzili oni tym samym spostrzeżenie, poczynione przed 60 laty na Polesiu przez Józefa Obrębskiego: Niezależnie od [...] politycznego utożsamiania się ludu, zamieszkującego dane terytorium państwowe, z władzą, sprawującą nad nim rządy, poddani dzielą się na nacje, to znaczy grupy religijne, różniące się między sobą kulturą, w pierwszym zaś rzędzie wiarą i mową. Taki podział - na „nacje, to znaczy grupy religijne" - jest tradycyjnym porządkiem świata, który badaliśmy . Jest tego świata porządkiem mitycznym - to przez jego pryzmat miesz­ kańcy wiosek i okolic postrzegają i klasyfikują rzeczywistość społeczną. Co więcej, wydaje się, że wydarzenia polityczne, w tym prześladowania religijne ostatniego 50-lecia, nie zniwe­ czyły tego porządku, przynajmniej w świadomości najstarszego pokolenia muzyków i szlachty pod Lidą. Od czasów pierestrojki funkcjonuje na Grodzieńszczyźnie przysłowie Harbaczou adk- rył wieru, ale zakrył żyćcio". Wraz z „otwarciem w i a r y " ujawnił się także tradycyjny porządek: Prawosławnych Polaków nie ma. Przechrztów nie ma. Wszys­ tkie Białorusy prawosławne, Polaki katoliki. (DZKrup 1) Katolik to wierzy w polska wiara i w księdza. Katolik. A jak Żyd, tak w żydowska wiara. Prawosławne w batiuszki wierzą i w swajo. (PPRoubl) Tam i Tatary żywut. [...] Ani i modliatsia pa swojemu, u nich swaja ta..., как ona nazywajetsia. [...] Uże как razreszyli, to uże każda nacja swoju wieru ma. (JSPiel5) Nie da się opisywać samoświadomości społeczności tutej­ szych bez użycia słowa nacja. Czy oprócz niego wprowadzać też narodowość, to oczywiście kwestia decyzji co do wyboru terminologii. Gdybyśmy zdecydowali się posługiwać pojęciami narodowość i naród, należałyby one w tym wypadku wyłącznie do języka badacza (nasi rozmówcy pierwszego z nich w więk­ szości nie znają; drugie natomiast prawie wyłącznie w etymolo­ gicznym znaczeniu 'ludzie'). M y zdecydowaliśmy się jednak korzystać jedynie z przejętego od r o z m ó w c ó w słowa nacja. Jest ono synonimem, ale nie absolutnym, narodowości, i dlatego, żeby tę odrębność zawartości treściowej podkreślić i zarazem zapobiec nieporozumieniom, określaliśmy badany teren nie jako „pogranicze n a r o d o w o ś c i o w e " , ale jako „świat różnych nacji". Ponieważ prowadziliśmy badania w nowo powstałym państ­ wie białoruskim, zachodzące w nim procesy narodotwórcze były stałym przedmiotem naszej uwagi. A ponieważ zarazem były to badania, prowadzone w społecznościach lokalnych, wiejskich, czy też - jak można by je nazwać za Józefem Obrębskim, robiąc w tym miejscu wyjątek i przywołując termin, którego nie używaliśmy - grupach etnicznych , było dla nas oczywiste, że mamy do czynienia ze społecznościami, które narodem (narodami) dopiero się stają (lub mogą, ale nie muszą się stać). W początkowym etapie badań musieliśmy być czujni, aby nie projektować odruchowo na naszych rozmówców oczy­ wistych dla nas kategorii narodowych. Musieliśmy uważać, żeby nie tworzyć na przykład z tamtejszych katolików, którzy o sobie mówią Polaki, „narodu postulowanego" - 'zbioru ludzi, których jakiś naród świadomy z tej czy innej racji uważa za przynależnych do siebie, bez względu na ich własną świado- Nu, wsio wremia tak. Wsio wremia tak. No, ja pa polsku nie umieju czysta hawaryć. Tym się różnią, że jedni do kościoła, a drudzy do cerkwi? Wot tolka eta i było. Wot eta tolka. Maleńkich wiazuć prawosławnyje w cerkwu, Polskije u kaścioł, nu, spory nikakoj niet, a za muż dziewuszki szli wsierawno. Jeśli palubit chłopca, idzie na mąż, nu i nie hladzić, szto on Ruski, a taja nie hladzić, szto Polski. Wsierawno iduć. Wot u nas zmieszany naród. A czy pani zgodziłaby się, żeby córka wyszła za Polaka? Woj! U mienia try niewiesty i wsie try Polki. Prostawcie siebia. Как budźta naroczna. I, ot, ich... eta... ikony ani pryniaśli, kada za mąż szli. Wo wremia swadźby. Oni wieńczali się w cerkwi? Ani tolko w sielsowiecie razpisalisia. Sztob sporu nie była. No, a żywuć, jak choczuć. Nu, niewiestki chodziać u kaścioł malicca. No i puść. U nas adzin Boh, adzin Isus Chrystos, a coż ja budu prociw, szto majesynuli wziali. Nu, za czem tu razdzielać, jeśli Boh adzin. A dzieci byty chrzczone w cerkwi czy w kościele? W cerkwi. U adnaho syna w cerkwi, a u druhoho w kościele. No, tak chaj sabie, kakaja mnie raznica. Wsierawno. Boh adzin. I Pan Jezus adzin. Ja как ta nie razliczaju, mnie, nie znaju, panimaju ja dobra czy drenna, no, ja nie razliczaju. Jeśli by był u Polskich adzin Boh, a u nas druhi, nu, to moża ja padumałaby: można nasz liepszy? Nu, a kaliż jon adzin, i Pan Jezus adzin, i Panna Maryja adna, no, tot jakżeż tut razdzielać? To dzieci będą Białorusy czy Polskie? Nu, adna niewiestka chreściła dzieci u kaściele, tak i ana wodzić u kaścioł, tuda malicca. No i puść, chaj molaćsa, gdieżby malilisie. Chaj pryznajuć szto ta. Wsio taki nada bajacca. Czewo ta. Nu, a eta, gdzie batiuszka chreścił, i tuda i tuda wodzić. Kali im gdzie zadumajecca. A po nacji? Biełarusy. A taja, szto chreściła u księdza, budut Palaki. Nu kanieszno, jakże? Raz ksiądz, on w kniżkie takiej... wot, dumaju, szto tak. A radzice budut pisacca: ojciec Biełaruś, matka Polka. Ja dumaju, tak budzie. Nacja to jest to samo co wiara? Nu, nacja i wiara, nu, kanieszno musi toje sama. Czy może być katolik Białoruś? Ja nie znaju, etaha u nas nie razliczajut. Szto on żywiot na Biełarusi, a chodzit u kaścioł. Nikto nie zapreszczajet, nikto. Nie. Pażausta. Jest i kaścioły, jest i cerkwy, kuda choczesz, tuda idzi, malisia. Etoho nikto nie zapreszczajet. A jak ktoś ma w paszporcie Polak, to on jest katolik? Czy może pójść do cerkwi? Może pójść. Ni u kaściele, ja dumaju, ni u cerkwi, nikto nie spraszywaje, kakoj ty nacji i paczemu ty pryszoł u kaścioł. Etawo nikto nie spraszywaje. Czyli może być Białorusin katolikiem? Uhm. Niewiestki pażedajut, kanieszna może. Eta ad czeławieka zawisie, jeśli on zachocze, to i. Wtedy należy zmienić wiarę? I może i zmienić, a może, ot, u nas uże żeniacca tak, szto tak i piszutsia, nu, panienka Polka, a chłopiec Biełaruś, tak i piszutsa, nu, a wsierawno żeniacca. A uże dzieci tam, как oni buduc, v 10 182 12 �13 mość narodową lub jej b r a k . ' Nie byliśmy przecież działacza­ mi narodowymi, mieliśmy być badaczami - i jako badacze znaleźliśmy u naszych rozmówców potwierdzenie ostatniego członu przytoczonej definicji: brak świadomości narodowej. Można natomiast wskazać na badanym terenie na oddziały­ wanie trzech ideologii „narodów ś w i a d o m y c h " , dla których narodami postulowanymi są nawet w pewnym zakresie ci sami ludzie . W tym, i chyba tylko w tym sensie można by tu mówić 0 pograniczu narodowym. Drogi oddziaływania tych ideologii są następujące: białoruskiej - szkoła (dotyczy to tylko najmłod­ szego pokolenia ) i w dużo węższym zakresie telewizja, radio 1 prasa (ludzie oglądają przede wszystkim telewizję moskiews­ ką, radia słuchają w dużym stopniu polskiego, prasy czytają coraz mniej, bo drożeje i białoruskich gazet nie lubią); polskiej - kościół i organizacje polskie (na wsi liczy się tylko kościół, ukonkretniony w osobie księdza i pomagających mu osób - najczęściej zakonnic z Polski); litewskiej (w Pielasie) - koś­ ciół (ksiądz jest Litwinem, język liturgii i kazań - litewski), szkoła (działają tu nauczyciele z Litwy), środki masowego przekazu i kontakty rodzinne (dużo młodych ze wsi mieszka w Wilnie). W czasie wyjazdów do „naszych wiosek" towarzyszyli nam 14 15 białoruscy koledzy: etnografowie, folkloryści i językoznawcy z Mińska. Ich współpraca, pomoc, konsultacje, i co równie ważne, wielka życzliwość, miały dla nas ogromne znaczenie. Nasza wdzięczność należy się przede wszystkim profesorowi Wiaczesławowi Wereniczowi oraz Uładzimirowi Wasilewiczo­ wi, Iharowi Karaszczance i Waleremu Kalinouskiemu. Dużo wsparcia, mądrych wskazówek i zachęty zawdzięczamy także profesor Elżbiecie Smułkowej, która pomimo obowiązków ambasadora RP w Mińsku zawsze znajdowała czas na rozmowy z nami. Przede wszystkim jednak dziękujemy naszym R o z m ó w c o m , którzy przyjmowali nas jak swoich, karmili, poili, nocowali, cierpliwie odpowiadali na nasze, często naiwne, niezręczne czy nietaktowne pytania i , niezrażeni, wprowadzali w swój świat. Dużo się od nich nauczyliśmy. Najwięcej chyba o tym, że różnice nie muszą oznaczać podziałów i nie wykluczają wspólnoty. Bo, jak mawia pani Nina ze Szpilek, nadta clazka razebracca w etych wiarach, w etych ludziach... Ija dumaju, kab liepiej eto wsie naczalstwo wyższeje, wsie uczone adczapilisia ad tych Indziej. Jaki jon radzilsia, chaj taki budzie, aby drużno żyli, aby lubili druh druha. Jakaja tut raznica, my dzieci adnoj planiety. My dzieci adnoj planiety. Polak na Grodzieńszczyźnie - kto to taki? Katarzyna Kolasa Polacy tu od początku świata, jak Pan Jezus narodził się. Tutaj byli Adam i Ewa, oni Polacy. Pan Bóg Polak. Stanisława z Krupowa (TLKrupI) W wioskach Grodzieńszczyzny mieszkają ludzie, należący do różnych nacji. Jedną z nich jest „nacja polska". Po­ szukiwanie odpowiedzi na pytanie, kim są „ P o l a c y " w wios­ kach i okolicach, które badaliśmy: jak sami siebie określają, co jak zachoczuć. U mienie adzin syn na Rasiei żywię, nu i tam takoje miesta, szto tam ni kaścioła ni cerkwy ni ma. Nu, tam babka chryścić. Babka. Pachreściłate dzietki, nu ich dwoje u ich, nu, как ani tam ich pazapisywali, Polaki czy Biełarusy, ja jeszczo nie znaju. Skąd się wzięło tyle wiar? Nu, wy znajecie szto, dziewoczka maja, skazać by eta, to treba istoriu czytać, kab znać, adkul pajawilisia etyje nacje. Nu, eta trudna skazać, eta daże batiuszka u szkole eta prepadawał. Da patopu już był naród na etoj ziemie, na etoj planecie. Nu, i uże datul ludzie stali, tak jak i ciepier, uże wsiakije bezbożniki, jeśli dzie nabiwajuć, abirajuć, agrabajuć. Nu, i tady uże tak zrabili: zachacieli ludzi da Boha zrabić leśnicu, baszniu takuju. Nu i rabili, rabili, uże zara dabierucca da nieba. Boh widzie takoje, pamieszał im jazyki. Skolka tam ich było, adzin adnaho stali ni panimać. I ni kończyli baszniu. I ni dalezli da Boha. Eta batiuszka tak hawarył u szkolie. Czestne s ł o w a / J a to pomniu. Może ad etaha, nu, a jeśli pa naucznamu, to to uże może nie tak, ja dumaju. Eta treba, kab uczony i z ksiandzem ci z batiuszkam sporyli. No, a my takije, eta nie panimajem. Jeśli po naucznamu, to pewna nie tak. A może? Ja nie znaju. No, pa cerkiewnamu to tak. Boh pamieszał jazyki. Stali pa raznomu hawaryć. Nu, adzin skażet: Padaj kirpicz, a on p a d a ś ć kusok paliena. I nie zrabili baszni. Ni daliezli, kuda chacieli. Nie stali panimać. O, tak, как i my ciepier. Ad nas nikt za granicoj, już nikt nie panimaje, Amerykancou. Nu, my, Biełarusy, Palakou my, a i, nu, małyje dzieci toże nie panimajuć. Nu, w takom wozraście jak ja, to my polski jazyk wsie panimajem, my tolka hawaryć nie umiejem charaszo. Wot. A panimać, panimajem. Amierykanski my nie panimajem, niemiecki my nie panimajem... o sobie mówią, jak są postrzegani przez sąsiadów innych nacji, stawiało mnie wobec konieczności stałej weryfikacji własnych pojęć. Musiałam podjąć próbę zrozumienia badanej rzeczywis­ tości bez narzucania jej swoich kategorii myślowych i swojego języka. Chodziło przede wszystkim o to, żeby odnaleźć charak­ terystyczny dla niej system pojęciowy, zdobyć wgląd w samo­ świadomość społeczności „tutejszych". Już podczas pierwszych rozmów zauważyłam, że określenia Polak i polski nie są używane przez moich rozmówców w znaczeniach, jakie słowa te mają w języku ogólnopolskim. A Niemcy jakiej są wiary? Musi katoliki jany. Nu, ja to nie wiedaju, sztoż ja, jany tut byli etyje Niemcy, mnie było... U jakomż hadu jany tut byli? Ja jeszcze małalietnia była, adkuda ja znaju, jakoj ony nacji. Ja dumaju, Polaki. A może toże zmieszanyje wsiaki? Albo u Polszczy wsie Palaki - nie. Tożeż jest wsiakije u was tam, u Polszczy. J e ś ć u was i Biełarusy, jeść u was i Ruskije, jeść. mąż: Tam jeść i Litowcy... Tak szto, wiera litowskaja nie kataliczeskaja, nie katoliki? mąż: Katoliki. Nu, tak kakaja raznica? Paliak - katolik i Litowiec - katolik. mąż: Piszutsa jany Litowcy. A, nu, tak, nu, tak i my piszemsia Biełarusy. U pasparci. A my prawosławnyje. Wot. O, heta nadta ciażka razebracca w etych wiarach, w etych ludziach, i ja dumaju, kab liepiej eto wsie naczalstwo wyższeje, wsie uczone adczapilisia ad tych ludziej. Jaki jon radziłsia, chaj taki budzie, aby drużno żyli, aby lubili druh druha. Jakaju tut raznica, my dzieci adnoj płaniety. My dzieci adnoj płaniety. mąż: Nie zawisie ad nas. Nie zawisie ad nas. Ni Palaka, ni Ruskaha. Zawisie ad charoszaha czeławieka. Jeśli jeho dusza charosza, tak u jom Boh. A jeśli jon zbójca jaki, u jeho Boha ni ma. Chaj, on ci Paliak, ci jaki, wsierawnoż bandziucha, płachoj czeławiek. Wot, takaja rabota. Ja dumaju, czeho jany czepiacca? Biełaruski jazyk, ruski jazyk, na jakim kto haworyć - chaj haworyć. Jak kto radziłsia, wsie wiery adnoho Boha. 183 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/a7d6e08f11ef70450725e9ee4a43043a.pdf 28fd5dec133d5e24452934c38e8aea0b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2595 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1996 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2412 Title A name given to the resource Jacek Malczewski - artysta pogranicza dwu kultur / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1996 t.50 z.3-4, s.135-137 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wisłocki, Seweryn A. Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Jacek Malczewski - artysta pogranicza dwu kultur Seweryn A. Wisłocki W Muzeum Śląskim w Katowicach miała miejsce wyjątkowo ważna i znacząca wystawa. Od czerwca do końca września 1996 roku prezentowano dzieła Jacka Malczewskiego ze zbiorów Lwowskiej Galerii Obrazów. Zaistniało więc w Katowicach udostępnienie polskiej publiczności znaczącej części dorobku artystycznego jednego z najwybitniejszych polskich malarzy, wyłączonego od ponad półwiecza z naszej świadomości kul­ turowej. Lwowska kolekcja dzieł Malczewskiego jest zbiorem boga­ tym, obejmującym wszystkie okresy jego twórczości. Tworzy ją 68 obrazów oraz 18 rysunków i akwarel. Uprzednio znajdowały się one w Ukraińskim Muzeum Narodowym we Lwowie, Muzeum Lubomirskich, w zbiorach Leona Pinińskiego, Kon­ stantego Brunickiego, Bolesława Orzechowskiego, a pojedyn­ cze prace w kolekcjach innych znawców. Warto przypomnieć, iż podstawą zbiorów Ukraińskiego Muzeum Narodowego we Lwowie była kolekcja obrazów Malczewskiego zakupionych i sprezentowanych narodowi ukraińskiemu przez Romana Aleksandra Marię hrabiego Szeptyckiego, arcybiskupa lwows­ kiego, kościoła grecko-katolickiego. Ten gest wykonany przez wytrawnego polityka, zawierał w sobie całą świadomość jego doraźnych znaczeń spektakularnych jak i znaczeń na przy­ szłość. Miał on, w intencji Szeptyckiego, określić, czy wręcz przypisać Jacka Malczewskiego i jego dorobek artystyczny do kultury ukraińskiej. Nie należy także zapominać, że jest w nim również odbicie postawy donatora, jako wyrafinowanego znaw­ cy sztuki. W świadomości polskiej twórczość Malczewskiego jest perłą w dorobku naszej współczesnej sztuki. Potwierdza to choćby ostatnie zdanie noty biograficznej artysty w czterotomowej Encyklopedii Powszechnej P W N 1994: „Twórczość M . jest zaliczana do najwybitniejszych zjawisk nowoczesnej sztuki polskiej."' Prawda leży gdzieś w okolicach środka. Sam artysta miał bez wątpienia pełne poczucie przynależności do narodu polskiego, co zresztą znajduje dobitne odzwierciedlenie w cyklach obra­ zów o tematyce związanej z polską martyrologią po powstaniu styczniowym (Niedziela w kopalni 1882, Na etapie 1883, Wigilia zesłańców 1892), nawiązujących bezpośrednio do twór­ czości Juliusza Słowackiego i Artura Grottga a. Z drugiej strony jego naturalne związki z Podolem, rodzinne, a raczej rodowe są oczywiste i bezdyskusyjne. Ziemie ukraińskie odegrały rolę nie do przecenienia w roz­ woju wczesnej sztuki Słowian Wschodnich. To właśnie tutaj od końca X wieku, w Rusi Kijowskiej rozwinęła się architektura monumentalna w bezpośrednim powiązaniu ze sztuką Bizanc­ jum (np. Cerkiew Dziesięcinna X w „ oraz cerkwie w Kijowie i Czernihowie), a także malarstwo monumentalne i miniaturo­ we. Od X I V wieku sztuka Rusi Czerwonej (w odróżnieniu od Rusi Czarnej sąsiadującej bezpośrednio z ziemiami litewskimi, Białorusi oraz obszarem wpływów księstwa suzdalsko-moskiewskiego, czyli późniejszej Rosji), kształtowała się wpływem sztuki zachodniej. Podole, ziemie halickie i wołyńskie znalazły się w polskim obszarze artystycznym. Przemiany stylowe 135 �И. 3. Jacek Malczewski, „Rycerz i muza", 1903, olej, płótno 49 x75 cm II. 4. Jacek Malczewski, „Przed modelem", ok. 1960, olej, płótno 74,5x97.5 cm znaczone są przez gotyk, renesans i manieryzm {vide: architek­ tura, rzeźba i malarstwo zaistniałe we Lwowie), barok (np. klasztor w Poczajowie), rokoko (reprezentatywny przykład to ratusz w Buczaczu) oraz klasycyzm i eklektyzm. Wpływy kultury i sztuki polskiej sięgały także na pozostałe ziemie ukraińskie, będące poza polskim terytorium państwowym. Sztuka ukraińska rozwijała się jednak w oryginalnym, sobie właściwym wymiarze duchowym i formalnym, kontynuując własne tradycje ruskie, nawiązując jedynie do elementów stylów zachodnich, czego znamiennym przykładem jest „barok ukraiński" - oryginalny, dekoracyjny styl odzwierciedlony np. przy rozbudowie Ławry Peczerskiej, w Bramie Zaborowskiej w Kijowie, w ikonostasach itd. W X V I I I wieku na terenie Rusi Czerwonej rozwinął się pokrewny sarmackiemu - portret i grafika. W pierwszej połowic X V I I wieku wpisali się na trwałe do skarbnicy literatury polskiej dwaj lwowscy mieszczanie: Szymonowicz i Szymon Zimorowicz. Ich poezje, a szczególnie sielanki są wybornym przykładem stopu kultur polskiej i rus­ kiej. Na początku X I X stulecia zaistniała tzw. ukraińska szkoła poetów. Nazwa ta określała poetów romantycznych południo­ wo-wschodnich kresów dawnej Polski podejmujących w twór­ czości tematykę związaną z folklorem i dziejami Ukrainy. Należeli do niej m.in. Antoni Malczewski, Seweryn Goszczyń­ ski i Józef Bogdan Zaleski, tworząc, jak ich ówcześnie nazywa­ no, „trójcę mniejszych w i e s z c z ó w " (w odróżnieniu od M i c ­ kiewicza, Słowackiego i Krasińskiego). Bez wątpienia naj­ wybitniejszym poetą był wśród nich Antoni Malczewski (głoś­ na, kunsztownie napisana powieść poetycka Maria). w wyprawie archeologicznej do Azji Mniejszej, zorganizowanej przez Karola hrabiego Lanckorońskiego. Artysta od 1897 roku był członkiem i współzałożycielem Towarzystwa Artystów Polskich „ S z t u k a " , w latach 1896-1900 oraz 1912-1921 profesorem ASP w Krakowie, a od 1912 roku piastował godność rektora Akademii. Znaczące sukcesy artystyczne osiągnął szybko. Na Pierwszej Wielkiej Wystawie Sztuki w Krakowie w roku 1887 otrzymał nagrodę Polskiej Akademii Umiejętności za obraz Na etapie. W 1891 roku na Międzynarodowej Wystawie Sztuki w Berlinie otrzymał Złoty Medal I I klasy za obraz Introdukcja, w rok później również. Złoty Medal I I klasy na Międzynarodowej Wystawie Sztuki w Monachium za obraz Śmierć na etapie, a w osiem lat później Srebrny Medal za Melancholię w Paryżu. W 1903 roku odbyła się pierwsza indywidualna „Wystawa Stu Dzieł Jacka Malczewskiego" zorganizowana przez Towa­ rzystwo Przyjaciół Sztuk Pięknych we Lwowie, a następnie prezentowana w Krakowie i Warszawie. Jacek Malczewski po śmierci pochowany został w krypcie kościoła O.O. Paulinów na Skałce w Krakowie, w miejscu wiecznego spoczynku wybitnych i zasłużonych Polaków. Artysta uznawany jest za jednego z głównych przedstawicieli Młodej Polski w jej symbolicznym nurcie sztuki. Nie należy jednak jego dorobku sytuować wyłącznie w estetyce i filozofii modernistycznej. Malczewski początkowo malował wiejskie sceny rodzajowe inspirowane w znacznej mierze folklorem i pejzażem podolskim, później stworzył cykl obrazów związa­ nych tematycznie z walką o niepodległość Ojczyzny. Były prace realistyczne, tworzące pełen ekspresji dokument artj* tyczny martyrologii narodowej po upadku powstania stycz­ niowego. Około 1890 roku zwrócił się w stronę symbolizmu tworząc własny, odrębny styl. Symbolizm i ekspresja przekazu zasadzały się na baśniowości, wizyjności mitycznej łączonej z realizmem detali i poszczególnych m o t y w ó w oraz na opero­ waniu żywą gamą kolorystyczną o dysonansowych zestawie­ niach. Sytuując twórczość Jacka Malczewskiego na takim, z konie­ czności nader szkicowo zarysowanym tle, można rozumieć i odczytywać motywy malarskie wywodzące się z tradycji kulturowej Podola, ich specyficzne znaczenia symboliczne i metaforyczne wpisane w większość dzieł malarskich tego artysty. Studiował w Krakowie w Szkole Sztuk Pięknych u Włady­ sława Łuszczkiewicza, Feliksa Szynalewskiego i Jana Matejki. To właśnie on pierwszy dostrzegł wielki talent Malczewskiego, który ostatecznie przeniósł się do jego pracowni. W 1876 roku artysta wyjechał do Paryża, gdzie przez rok kształcił się w Ecole des Beaux-Arts u Ernesta Lehmanna. Po powrocie studiował ponownie u Matejki. Zgodnie z duchem czasu Malczewski odbył wiele podróży artystycznych do Włoch. W 1884 r. uczestniczył jako rysownik 136 10 mll|L W dziesięć lat później kształtuje się ostatecznie i /a.l stałe miejsce w twórczości Malczewskiego portret. Arty również w tym przypadku wypracował własną formułę eks presyjno-filozoficzną. W skrócie można ją określić jako И* ' wanie (najczęściej) półpostaci na tle krajobrazu, z zastoso*^ niem kontrastu nie tylko kolorów, lecz przede wszys^ nastroju w wizerunkach przyrody i człowieka. Człowiek i N ra. Pogodny pejzaż tworzy kontrast dla powagi człowieka, J - sla 1 atL1 �melancholijnych rozważań. Tak są traktowane liczne autoport­ rety malarza, na których przedstawia się w różnych strojach i z różnym rekwizytorium znaczących symbolicznie atrybutów. Lubił przedstawiać się w otoczeniu muz, aniołów, faunów, rusałek i harpii. Byty fantastyczne na jego płótnach współist­ nieją z bytami realnymi na równych prawach, tworząc amal­ gamat znaczeń nadrealnych, asocjacji kreujących „krajobraz duchowy" artysty (w przypadku autoportretu), bądź port­ retowanego modelu. W takim samym sztafażu symbolicznym malarz starał się przekazywać idee, duchowe posłania właściwe dla czasu, dla epoki, a jednocześnie ponad czasowe, uniwersalistyczne. Świat ducha i świat materii kreowane są jako jeetność w osobistej, antropologicznej perspektywie, w wizjach malars­ kich czerpiących jednocześnie z tradycji polskiej, ukraińskiej i europejskiego dziedzictwa historyczno-kulturowego. Szcze­ gólną rolę odgrywa w nich kobieta personifikująca wielość znaczeń od metafor potocznych, wręcz banalnych do skom­ plikowanej symboliki metafizycznej. Można domniemywać, że było to zgodne z duchem sztuki modernistycznej, z jej fascyna­ cją, filozofią i sztuką indyjską, szczególnie tantrą, choć w malar­ stwie Malczewskiego nie ma bezpośrednich, formalnych nawią­ zań do sztuki indyjskiej. M o ż n a jedynie mówić w tym przypad­ ku o pewnym powinowactwie w obrębie ideii kreujących sztukę na gruncie europejskim w tamtym czasie. Dla porównania, szczególnie w odniesieniu do sztafażu symbolicznego wywodzącego się z kultury i mitologii greckiej, odwołam się do Stanisława Wyspiańskiego. Mam na myśli projekt kurtyny do teatru im. J. Słowackiego, który Wyspiański zgłosił na konkurs, a który nie znalazł uznania. Otóż koncepcja artyslyczno-filozoficzna tego dzieła (zachował się projekt na kartonie) opierała się na misterium eleuzyńskim, na jego istocie, czyli micie o śmierci i odrodzeniu w rocznym cyklu procesów przyrody. Wyspiański jednak w tym przypadku, jak i w innych dziełach, szczególnie literackich, nie czerpał bezpośrednio U. 5. Jacek Malczewski, „Trzej aniołowie z Tobiaszem", 1906, olej. tektura 32.2 x 24,4 cm 11. 6. Jacek Malczewski. „Rycerz". 1904. olej, płótno 182 x 122 cm z mitologii i filozofii starożytnej. Po odpadnięciu przy eg­ zaminach w państwowej Akademii Sztuki w Paryżu, zapisał się do „ a k a d e m i i " prywatnej, gdzie Paul Serusier wykładał filozo­ fię propagując Platona i mistrzów szkoły aleksandryjskiej: Filona oraz Hermesa Trismogistosa, a szczególnie od roku 1889 nową wersję hermetyki głoszoną przez Edourda Schure, autora dzieła Wielcy wtajemniczeni. Książka ta stała się wręcz Biblią epoki symbolizmu. Tadeusz Sinko w swoim czasie wyraził przekonanie, iż. światopogląd Wyspiańskiego opierał się na trzech źródłach: doktrynie hermetycznej Schurego, kulturze greckiej i filozofii Fryderyka Nilzschego. Tak więc wspomniany projekt kurtyny zawierał posłania symboliczne nawiązujące do greckiego mitu, ale w duchu interpretacji mającej źródło w Wielkich wtajem­ niczonych. W tym samym czasie Jacek Malczewski, zafascynowany również, kulturą grecką, jej przekazem symbolicznym, a także hermeneutyka głoszona przez Edouarda Schure, wprowadza do swoich obrazów postacie alegoryczne w rozbudowanych kon­ tekstach symbolicznych. Rebusy symboliczne sytuował w kra­ jobrazie, w architekturze, bądź w ich wybranych elementach, z terenu zachodniej Ukrainy. Budował przy ich użyciu klimat obrazu, klimat nostalgii, melancholii, a raczej melancholijnej autorefleksji tak specyficznej i jedynej w swoim rodzaju, iż. kojarzy się bezpośrednio ze smutkiem stepowym i ukraińską dumką. Eksponowane w Muzeum Śląskim obrazy pochodziły ze wszystkich okresów twórczości artysty i prezentowały prawie wszystkie istotne dla niej motywy i oraz wątki tematycznosymboliczne. Ich wybór dokonany przez Igora Chomycza, kustosza Lwowskiej Galerii Obrazów posiadał bardzo ważną cechę: był dopełnieniem dzieł Malczewskiego, które są w kraju, w polskich zbiorach muzealnych i prywatnych. Nie można mieć pełnego przekonania o wielkości tegoż artysty, bez zapoznania się ze znakomitą kolekcją Lwowskiej Galerii Obrazów. Katowickiej wystawie towarzyszył katalog wydany na euro­ pejskim poziomie edytorskim i merytoryczin m. co je-st w znacz­ nej części autorską zasługą Igora Chomycza a także Muzeum Śląskiego. Jacek Malczewski Malarstwo, ze zbiorów Lwowskiej Galerii Obrazów, Muzeum Śląskie, Katowice, czerwiec - wrzesień 1996 r„ komisarze wystawy: Roman Fedyna, Izabela Kanta, Zofia Krzykowska, aranżacja przestrzenna: A . Cioska, M . Madej, M . Paluchiewicz. 137 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/4257afd4fad7f2e95ee4595de2cb7ddb.pdf 0029c9a5a3732bc3d6cebd5ad85c20e8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. 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Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6516 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource Syberia - tożsamosć etniczna i kulturowa Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6088 Title A name given to the resource People of the Taiga, the Reindeer People, the People../ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.168-176 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wasilewski, Jerzy S. Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text J E R Z Y S. W A S I L E W S K I People of the Taiga, the Reindeer People, the People... ... Darkness pervades the shamanic yurt. A huddled fig­ ure - perhaps the shaman’s wife or his young helper —holds a massive drum above the dying flames of the fire. The shaman sits slightly further, with the figurines of the deities of the home altar behind him. His eyes are shut (...) the quiet murmur of a prayer is heard. Suddenly, he stands up, takes hold of the drum, and testing it strikes it; the sound is still insufficiently loud —it has been raining the whole day and the leather on the rim is moist and must be dried for a long time. Those sitting on both sides observe him tensely....". 1 When more than a quarter of century ago I began my book on shamanism with the above quotation I never even hoped that I should ever see such a scene myself. Much has changed since the time of Feliks Kon and other authors from the turn of the nineteenth century on whose accounts I based my descriptions. In the Siberian and Mongolian stretch of taiga and tundra there appeared a system that obliterated or modified the archaic ways of existence, changed tents, teepees and yurts into wooden barracks and cottages, transformed the shepherds into kolkhoz tractor drivers, and eliminated all shamans. And yet, I am witnessing today a recurrence of an ancient im­ age: a shamanic séance in a cramped teepee, held for a few shepherds. The shaman looks just the same as his counterpart did years ago: he wears an identical costume, rocks back and forth, and murmurs in an unchanged manner, his daughter dries the drum above the fire just like it was done years ago because today it rained as it did then, not surprisingly since the Eastern Sayan Mts. are a range where it always rains. The Tuva/Tukha/Tsaatan people of northern Mongo­ lia had completed a full circle - they returned to reindeer grazing, living in yurts and teepees, and to shamanism. We are on the edges of the Darkhad Valley, known as the land of the shamans. Here flows the Shishged River, further down known as the Yenisei. This is almost the end of the world and we shall travel on horseback even further, north of the last permanent settlement: Tsagaannuur, towards the frontier with Russia, or, more precisely, with South Siberian Tuva. This territory, once known as Uriankhai, has been the domain of rivalry between Russia 168 and China, embroiled in a competition for hegemony in Asia intent on transferring Mongolia from the Asian axis to the European one. Here, boundaries were never clearcut - hence the multiplicity of misleading names given to the inhabitants of the forest-steppe borderline by the Mongols, the Russians, and the Chinese: the Uriankhai, the Soyot, the Uyghur, the Tuva (pronounced by the lo­ cals as Tukha and for some reasons transcribed in current Western literature as Dukha), and the Tsaatan. Today, the latter, Mongolian name signifying “people of the rein­ deer” is best known, although unwillingly accepted by those concerned. The Tsaatan are not a Mongolian peo­ ple but of Turkic origin: native Tuvinians, who fled from their homeland to Mongolia only half a century ago. Not many remember that until 1944 there existed a state known as the Republic of Tuva - a pseudo-inde­ pendent buffer between the USSR and Mongolia, a re­ gion of interests pursued by two other Far Eastern rivals: China and Japan. Its symbolic independence came down to post stamps (triangles and rhombi featuring shepherds and milkmaids with sheep, cows, and camels). When at the end of the war Stalin ultimately incorporated Tuva into the Soviet Union, famine and enforced army recruit­ ment followed. The post-stamp shepherds started to flee across the frontier - a feat accomplished the easiest by breeders of small reindeer herds, who had earlier pen­ etrated the mountainous borderland. After several years of compulsory returns and repeat­ ed attempts at escape, several hundred Tuvinians were permitted to stay in Mongolia, where in 1956 they were granted citizenship, while an ensuing adaptation policy assumed the form of acculturation or outright assimila­ tion. The nomadic shepherds were settled down and some became fishermen and employees of a fish process­ ing plant; it is worth recalling that neither they nor the Mongols fished or ate fish ever before. Forest culture was an embarrassment to the progres­ sive authorities, which regarded local shamanism as a par­ ticular disgrace. This is why foreign researchers were so rarely permitted to tour these regions, as we experienced personally a quarter of century ago while arriving with an expedition organised by the Polish Academy of Sciences. We were driven out after being accused of acting as In­ telligence agents working for the Japanese; a suspicious janitor saw us using candles at night - evidently, we had been developing espionage film negatives. The events of the 1990s changed the mentality of the local decision makers and transformed it beyond recognition. This borderland region opened up not only for researchers and tourists but also for all the more and less fortunate consequences of a systemic transforma­ tion. The fish processing plant finally went bankrupt (since no one ate the fish) and the reindeer kolkhoz was disbanded, its members somehow managed to slaughter more than half of the herd just in time before privatisation.and all funds for additionally financing animal hus­ �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • PEOPLE OF THE TAIGA, THE REINDEER PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE... bandry vanished as did those for constructing houses and farm buildings, veterinary assistance, and schools. Such were the conditions of an onset of inevitable re­ gress towards tradition as the sole possible form of surviv­ al. Once again teepees covered with torn tarpaulin had to suffice together with small - 20-40 animals per family - herds of reindeer and scarce products of the taiga as an additional source of sustenance. Preserved remnants of indigenous culture included tradition, spirituality, and shamanism. 2. We await the beginning of the séance in a dark tee­ pee, just before midnight. The not quite fifty years-old Gandzorig is the youngest but the most active of four Tsaatan shamans. He slowly arranges his costume, roomy calf boots, and a black-feather headband. All resemble items shown in old engravings, although they had been made only three years ago and are kept inside a large and capacious drum (a researcher cannot help noticing with satisfaction that this is a proper “south Sayan” drum according to the Prokofieva classification). The front part of the costume imitates armour (a breastplate with horizontal bands) and the back is embellished with long ribbons, including one in the distinct shape of a snake. The shaman’s daughter, assisting in the séance, still has to sew on the last iron tags, which for reasons unknown have to be placed anew before each séance. opposite the entrance there hangs in the place of honour a half-metre long sash displaying pieces of fabric and figurines made of fabric and leather. These are the shaman’s holy ob­ jects - ongons prepared by his older brother, Gost, who until recently was also a regular shaman. Later I shall de­ scribe the encounter with this celebrated figure of local shamanism. It is nearly midnight. The daughter lights a candle and places it behind a bed sheet screen, producing an excellent stage design effect. Silence falls and everyone succumbs to solemn concentration. We are accompa­ nied by a young married couple quietly explaining in the Tuvinian language the reason for their presence - apparently, they are childless. Now it is my turn to present our wishes - I ask for successful work, and a happy return home. I feel like yet another member of a long sequence of European researchers studying Siberia - travellers and exiles who resorted to the same motiva­ tion to mask their curiosity that led them to the site of a shamanic rite. 3. We set off across the land of the Tsaatan on eight horses: the four of us (two Polish and two Mongol re­ searchers), two guides, and two pack horses, carrying pro­ visions for us and our hosts so as to prevent them from killing reindeer for meat. Apart from flour, rice, canned goods, and pressed tea our supplies include flashlights, candles, and ropes for tying reindeer; we could do with 169 more medicines, shoes for children, tarpaulin for covering the teepees..... It is October, the 3 000 meters-high peaks of the Say­ an Mts. on the horizon are already capped with snow, and temperatures - especially at night - are well below zero. The horses take fright while carefully stepping over the ice-covered streams, but at least they do not sink in “black water”, which in the summer hampers all movement in the taiga. The laboriously traversed passes offer views of a frozen, still landscape. Not a single trace of man - kil­ ometers of yellowed larch taiga covering the dome shaped summits and the sprawling grassy valleys. Even the Tungus meteorite would not make an impression here. The taiga displays yet another colour, i.e. black. This is not solely the effect of the natural process of the larches turning dark - larch is aptly called “the black tree”. In many places one can see traces of local forest fires caused by lightning. o u r guides secure the remnants of a bon­ fire, carefully covering it with sheets of ice from a frozen stream. This does not come as a surprise - there is only a single method of combatting fire: the intervention of an owner of a magic stone known as dzada, whose exposure to wind immediately brings rain. This special item comes from the bowels of a stag and is an ossified fur ball just like bezoar, the magic stone in mediaeval European tradition. The magic anti-fire campaign is, by the way, financed by the local authorities. Only rarely do we encounter traces of human pres­ ence: an ovoo - a pile of branches with strands of hair obtained from a horse or reindeer mane, and traces of small sacrifices for the spirits of those sites, a khadag a blue sash hanging on a branch as a sign that nearby a human corpse had been placed on the ground, or a horse skull nailed onto a tree to guarantee the birth of good stallions. Here and there we can see that shamanic practices and beliefs live on. We pass shaman’s trees full of ribbons, the destination of those wishing to make a sacrifice on this spot and whose relatives included a shaman. We see reindeer with colourful ribbons around their necks -these are blessed animals excused from hard labour; women are forbidden to mount them. The ribbons - the same as those hanging in the place of honor in a teepee as holy objects - are the seat of the guardian spirits of the family, and the reindeer are their carriers. During our journey we encounter a lone rider trans­ porting a small load. He looks strange, as if he was car­ rying only part of his belongings. The mystery was ex­ plained once we arrived at the camp from which he had departed. Everyone is preparing for tomorrow’s joint transfer­ ence to a new site near the winter grazing land. Such a day has to be astronomically providential for all - and it is by no means easy to establish it for more than ten fami­ lies in the camp. The feat is almost accomplished, but for one family this is still an unlucky day. The only solution is �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • PEOPLE OF THE TAIGA, THE REINDEER PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE... magic: the departure has to be staged on another day by dispatching a single family member; then the others will follow with the rest. This is where we shall spend the night. As always when staying in someone’s teepee we are not allowed to throw even the smallest piece of paper into the fire - this would be an offence against the household fire, causing a rash on the faces of all the residents. We can only help­ lessly watch our hostess putting outside our clean paper wrappings, which could have been burnt without leaving a single trace. Even more the pity considering that in this environment they will litter the taiga for years to come. This is a case of an insoluble conflict of the attitudes, reasons, and values of the East and the West, perhaps equally justified but also mutually exclusive. When we finally go to sleep our host removes from the wall all ongons —ribbons, small pieces of fur, iron em­ bellishments, and figurines so that, he explains, the spirits would not torment us at night and bring bad dreams. 4. Gandzorig puts on his costume, treating each part with the smoke of a burning juniper branch and deeply inhaling the smoke. He tries out the drum, first quietly and calmly, facing the fire in the centre, and then with his back turned to us and looking at the ongons. Standing predominantly in this position he dances for several hours during the séance. After the first six-eight minutes the drum is beaten regularly. Now, two rhythms will resound uninterrupt­ edly, interchangeably, and in long sequences: rapid series of 166-180 beats a minute - a typical trance-inducing shamanic rhythm, and double beats imitating the noise of a galloping horse. This goes on tirelessly for over two hours - when his hand gets tired of producing one of the rhythms Gandzorig chooses the second tempo. He hums something quietly, in a changed and unnaturally whin­ ing voice. The words are illegible and on the next day he is unable to, or does not want to explain anything to us. Sometimes he cries out, huddle, and using his hands gathers something into the drum open on one side. He wheezes and snorts, as if he were a bird soaring in the air or a steed. This otherworldly flight is also rendered by running on the spot, dynamic motions of the body, and jumping on both feet. A quarter of an hour after falling into the trance he sits down for less then a minute and his daughter hands him a pipe. During successive brief intervals he sips tea or puffs on a cigarette. More than half an hour of the unflagging dance has passed and the shaman is clearly losing control over his motions; he is prevented from falling on his back by the men sitting nearby who catch him and protect him from hurting himself against an iron stove. Now, we have to pay attention so while whirling rapidly he does not get one of the ribbons entangled on the stove pipe. He no longer controls his movements because he is being entered by 170 the supreme ongon; the only thing we know about it is that it is a female. One of the spectators ties to the shaman’s back a white sash - the khadag, a gift that is supposed to win over the ongon. Perhaps now the conversation with the spirit will take place and produce divination for those gathered? No, Gandzorig rarely resorts to this method and usually the fortune telling involves interpreting the location of a drum rattle thrown to each of the participants twice: the first time one has to catch it with one’s hand and give it back while saying: “divination!” (torog!), with the handle turned towards the ; the second time it should be caught without touching the object, into one’s lap, and the sha­ man, having looked at the position of the rattle, makes a longer statement assuring about its conducive effect. The ongon leaves the shaman’s body; at the same time, the flight of his soul comes to an end. Those present comment that now the shaman “is descending to earth”. He slowly grows calm and takes off the attire without help, although he staggers. One of the men gives him a brief massage, and the son leads the shaman - undressed and hot - outside; in a few minutes he returns refreshed. He adds that he did not wish to exhaust us, the foreign­ ers, with an overly long séance, which could last for five hours. When we leave for our tent it is almost three in the morning. 5. A day in the teepee always begins with making tea. Today too we are awakened by a familiar sound - our hostess uses a steel chisel to scrape the tea leafs pressed into a hard brick and kept in a leather pouch, and then pounds them into powder in a wooden mortar. We warm up, chilled despite the warm sleeping bags, and listen to what our hosts are saying: that the children found it so hot at night that they went to sleep outside, on the ground, and that the adults too would be unable to sleep in a bed in a room in some town. In addition, it is high time to begin the slaughter. Slaughtering a reindeer starts with tying down the dogs. The barely five year-old Budzen’ with a constantly surprised expression on her face and her older brother secure the two shaggy creatures, still covered with hoar frost, to trees so that that they would not disturb us. Our host has already separated the chosen animal from the rest of the herd. He carries an axe and a long home made bayonet - an irregularly shaped piece of iron in a wood­ en sheath. Now, he sends his little daughter to fetch his knife, the one with a clasp made of a boar fang, which he always wears tied to his belt and today has supposedly forgotten and left behind in the teepee. By the time the girl returns the whole operation has been completed: the reindeer, stunned by the axe on the head, has fallen to the ground and his heart has been stabbed with the bayo­ net deeply piercing the neck. Lying on its side, the animal �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • PEOPLE OF THE TAIGA, THE REINDEER PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE... kicks and is pressed by the boy from the rear so that dark thick blood flows into a bowl. The little girl watches while the two men skin the reindeer starting with the pasterns, slashing through the belly, extracting the full stomach, cutting off the liver and serving everyone a slice of warm, sweetish, meat. The dogs calmly wait for their portion of inferior en­ trails. In not quite half an hour the pantry beams are full of pieces of the meat of a whole reindeer, while the ribs and the heart are being cooked for immediate consump­ tion. It was not easy to make the decision to kill the animal. The whole herd is not even thirty strong, but our host’s wife is very weak, she recently miscarried, and the meat should give her strength. Asked when he had last slaugh­ tered a reindeer our host becomes angry. He is well aware that reducing the size of the paltry herd leads to nowhere but the family has to eat something. This is the prime problem faced by these people - the dilemma: to slay the reindeer or not. The animals con­ stitute the foundation of their sustenance and not by ac­ cident are recorded in the Mongolian name of the ethnic group. The several hundred strong Tsaatan community and its specific culture will survive under the condition that it does not kill off the reindeer. The number of the animals is falling and today totals about 700, and the lack of fresh blood means inbreeding together with all its nega­ tive consequences. In addition, the herds are weakened by the proce­ dure of cutting off the antlers. In the spring, the antlers, which grow back each year, are still soft because they are richly supplied with blood and in this state - similarly to the famous Siberian stag horns - they have been used for centuries by traditional Chinese medicine and, more re­ cently, European medicine. A t the beginning of the sum­ mer Chinese merchants appear in the region, willing to trade in bearskins and other products of the taiga, such as mushrooms; in turn, they offer money, quickly exchanged for vodka. In those conditions it becomes tempting to once again cut off the antlers when they are growing back before autumn, a procedure that exceptionally weakens the animals and leads to infections and a degeneration of the antlers. Consequently, the herds include a growing number of deteriorated animals - our Father Christmas would be ashamed to use them for his sleigh. Everyone is supposedly aware of this, but it just so hap­ pened that in each cluster of the teepees we came across fresh meat and the heads of the reindeer displayed bloody wounds in place of the antlers. 6. Does the reader recall the titular character of the Sibe­ rian hunter from a film by Akira Kurosawa, a man called Dersu Uzala? This part was played by Maxim Bulduk, an actor from Tuva - the land of shepherds located some 3 000 kms to the west from the site of the plot. Now, I 171 am no longer astonished at the extraordinary ease with which he performed the role of a man of the taiga. The Tsaatan are masters of the hunt. A young man with a gun, who quietly whistling rides a reindeer next to us, manages to shoot in the blink of an eye an edible dormouse in a tree, and still on horseback skins its glis­ tening black fur. He laughs with glee because it is worth 5 000 tugriks (almost five dollars) and is the source of ad­ ditional meat. When the newly fallen snow is so deep that even reindeer sink to their bellies he will put on primitive home-made skis - long, wide, heavy larch beams fastened with leather straps and with the hide of freshly skinned reindeer attached to the bottom. These are the natural born people of the taiga, a name - taigynkhyn —that the Tsaatan use most often to describe themselves. Before leaving, the residents of the campsite say fare­ well to the holy mountain, thanking it for a well-spent autumn. We are not permitted to take part in this rite but upon return they show us the strange pebbles they brought back. Smooth, regularly shaped, and with light brown swirls, they supposedly lie scattered as if in stone bowls. It pleases the mountain that they are taken in re­ turn for something that has to be left behind, even if it is only apiece of white fabric. The mountain grudgingly gives bad people only the smallest pebbles. We set off on our way. Mounting the steep approach­ es we reach the passes only to laboriously guide the easily frightened horses down. We cross couloirs covered with rock scree, places that are so wild and devoid of people that if almas - the local version of the yeti - were to live somewhere in Mongolia this would be the location. Our hosts, although recounting legends about the almas, do not believe in its existence. They are most of all afraid of bears, which can be fatally dangerous especially if the summer season did not provide abundant berries and ants and the hungry animal cannot fall asleep for the winter. We listen to the story of a man whose whole family was killed by such a famished bear. Having returned to­ gether with his wife to the teepee where they left a small child in the care of its granny, they found the mauled remnants of the corpses cast together with household utensils into the fireplace in the centre of the building, as if the bear wished to set all afire and obliterate the traces of the attack. The wife suffered a heart attack, which she survived, but never managed to eliminate the depression that after two years of suffering resulted in suicide. At the end of the meeting the man, who since that time lives alone, asked us to sign our names in a notebook in which he collects the names of all his visitors. only after a longer stay we were told in secret that universal belief has it that the calamity must have been brought about by a black shaman from Tuva, who for reasons unknown sent the bear. After all, there could be no other explanation for the fact that the animal passed �1. Departing for wood. Photo Lech Mróz 2. Atarma, Delgermagnay's wife. Photo lech Mróz 3. Batzayaa leaving for the hunt. Photo lech Mróz 4. The herd is back in the camp. Photo lech Mróz 5. old lady in front of her tepee. Photo lech Mróz �6. Suyaan and her old shamanic drum. Photo Lech Mróz 7. Half-blind Tsend fortune-telling with 41 pebbles. Photo lech Mróz 8. Ganzorig with his newly made paraphernalia. Photo lech Mróz �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • PEOPLE OF THE TAIGA, THE REINDEER PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE... tume and the drum with incense smoke and sprinkled the ongons using a juniper branch dipped in sacrificial milk. From a wooden box she took out a drymba (Jew’s harp) an iron instrument, which played with the lips produces a 7. I sincerely admire the researchers of yore capable ofquiet vibrating sound, allowing the spirits to travel great gathering so much material about esoteric shamanism. distances. The arrival of the main spirit, the "lord of onThey managed to overcome barriers and distances creat­ gons”, made it possible to decipher the prediction. Twice in a row the instrument hurled on the ground fell with the ed by distrust and alienness, decipher enigmatic symbols, reconstruct the whole pantheon, and outline a model of tongue upward. This was a good sign. The shaman got up, reached for a large drum made the world. I was unable to attain this objective among the Tsaa-for her when she was still a young woman (it cost one tans and local shamanism still remains a mystery. I was reindeer), and started to lightly strike it with a wand and even incapable of resolving the question concerning the quietly hum. She skipped, turned around once and twice, extent to which the shamans, declining to answer, con­ and rhythmically shook her head so that the braids cov­ ceal that, which must remain taboo or are concerned with ering her face trembled. Old age, however, takes its toll: preserving the aura of mystery required from the commer­ Suyaan did not complete the whole ritual, rapidly finished cial point of view while additionally masking their incom­ it by sprinkling tea in front of the teepee and through its upper opening - an offering for the local spirits. plete knowledge of tradition. Gandzorig forbids taking photographs in the course of Her daughter, the kind-hearted, blind Tsend, arranges the séance (and limits the number of photographs that a genuine shamanic séance only once every three months, we are permitted to take the next day to four). He also but readily tells our fortune to see whether our return trip refuses to speak about any details of his art - initiation, will succeed. In the manner of all fortune-tellers in Central training or the chanted texts, claiming that songs appear Asia she uses 41 pebbles arranged in piles. Subsequently, during the séance and that otherwise he is completely she picks them up and in a gesture of prayer holds them unfamiliar with them. He seems to be somewhat afraid next to her face, rearranges them over and over again in of the anger of the spirits and even more so of his older three rows (each composed of three piles), brings them together and once again arranges them. Your legs are light, brother, Gost. nothing bad will occur along your way, the personal fate of Gost ceased being a shaman quite recently - I suspect that he simply lost faith while observing the manner in each of you is auspicious, but at the end she adds that while which this art is becoming crude. He is stern and reti­ returning we should avoid a solitary yurt, otherwise we shall encounter a “’slight obstacle”. Her son, watching the cent - several years ago he had the reputation of a “black shaman”, the sort that could harm his foes and be com­ course of the fortune telling and the configuration of the pebbles, confirms the warning. missioned to cast a fatal spell. The ongon no longer comes Heedless of the divination, on our way back we ate to him - reveals his sister. He refuses to speak about this and condemns the commercialisation of shamanism in its dinner in a lone yurt. Several hours later, just before en­ popular version, a process spreading among the Mongols. tering the town, our jeep was stopped by the militia: it After years of illegally practicing shamanism, for which turned out that the driver did not have a license; if we he was imprisoned, he still has too much respect for the had arrived just a few hour earlier we could have saved spirits to reach for a drum since he no longer believes in ourselves a lot of trouble. the effectiveness of such activity. Predictions can be more or less down to earth, but de­ spite appearances a shaman séance is not merely rendered The doyenne of the Tsaatan shamans is the 98 yearservice. To my astonishment, this rule is observed by the old Su-yaan. Although she still threads a needle without using spectacles, she is not longer able - as she did only a praxis of old Tsaatan shamans. None had ever been com­ missioned to tell fortune, and the ritual is performed only few years ago- to conduct hours long séances that demand on certain days several times a year. Even the sick, arriv­ a constant beating of a drum and dancing, ecstatic leaps, and the singing and recitation of texts. My head no longer ing for a cure, were expected to wait for that particular remembers a single thing, I have forgotten all the prayers. day - a séance in their intention could take place solely during their absence. Gandzorig’s daughter explains, in Two years ago, however, the sight of aged Suyaan wearing a costume almost as old as she, and getting ready secret from her father, that when spirits come to him they for a shaman séance signified a meeting with an entirely ask why they had been summoned and could punish him different world. The cap-plume, the long tunic with jan­ for having beckoned them for petty reasons. This information is at odds with my heretofore image gling accessories, the high boots with sewn-on likenesses of bird’s claws, and the large drum with a blurred image of of shamanism as an intervention praxis focused on ad hoc either a human figure or a tree must have survived con­ assistance rendered to a person suffering from spiritual, cealed somewhere. With the help of her daughter-in-law psychic or physical disability. I am incapable of sufficient­ the old woman reverently treated all the parts of the cos­ ly verifying it and coming to terms with the conclusion by all the other teepees and carried out such a carefully planned attack. 174 �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • PEOPLE OF THE TAIGA, THE REINDEER PEOPLE, THE PEOPLE... that in the case of intense research conducted in a small community where the number of interlocutors is slight and each person presents his own, complicated history it is difficult to achieve tested, infallible generalisations. There are no effective theses and diagnoses concerning trends and no facile sweeping statements. Tsend, Gost, Sandzhin, Bayaraa, Ganbat and others are concrete per­ sons representing individual experiences, knowledge, and opinions as well as ignorance, forgetfulness, and doubts that only multiply my questions and uncertainties. 8. The people of the taiga are scarce: only forty families breed reindeer in the mountains and over ten are gradu­ ally adopting Mongolian-style husbandry: they descend to the dells where instead of the sickly reindeer they keep more resilient cattle and sheep and move from the tee­ pees to warm felt yurts. Young men marry Mongolian girls. This influx of new blood pleases the parents, but the young brides anxiously await the moment when they will be able to return, together with the husbands, to their people. We look at photographs of a recent wedding of such a mixed couple, and at the same time conduct an eth­ nographic interview. The event took place in a teepee newly erected for the young couple, but the ceremonies originate in a Mongolian yurt and are borrowed from Mongolian culture. The girl arrives on horseback, riding on white felt placed in front of the entrance, where the husband’s mother welcomes her by sprinkling milk. The basic dish of the feast is mutton, and carefully measured out portions are served according to a ceremonial code describing how each guest is to be treated. The symbolic test of the young wife involves making “the bride’s tea”: to light a fire, grind the tea, add the milk, butter, and salt, and serve it to all the guests. A t the culmination of the ceremony she receives a piece of rope guaranteeing the good fortune of the household and symbolising the “reins of the yurt”, here artificially attached to the teepee. In this manner, step-by-step, the Tsaatans gradually not only start speaking Mongolian but also assume the Mongolian language of symbols. This is the second great problem facing the Tsaatan people - the preservation of linguistic distinctness and ethnic identity. Deprived of contact with Tuva they slowly begin using Mongolian, the language of schools and official communication, even within the family. They have no elite, authorities or leaders concerned with the retention of the remnants of tradition and self-identifi­ cation. The awareness of ethnic distinction is declining. The Tsaatans know that they are Tuva but the genuine Tuva people live abroad; this is why they call themselves “the people of the taiga” and without using ethnic names distinguish themselves from the “people of the river”, the golynkhyn dweling in the Valley. 175 Ties with relatives in Tuva have been severed. For decades there have been no local contacts and the fron­ tier remains firmly closed. The exchange of reindeer has ceased and the influx of new blood has come to a halt, af­ fecting both people and animals. The unpopulated moun­ tainous borderland is a dangerous terrain. Expeditions of robbers from beyond the border take place - desperate shepherds, former kolkhoz workers, now left to their own devices, are forced to obtain horses and cattle in some way. A few years ago it was even rumored (those in the know referred to reports of the US State Department) that Tuva was involved in smuggling Russian weapons for the Moslem Uyghurs in Chinese Sinkiang. Despite the fact that reindeer require mountain pas­ tures and become ill in the valleys, where they also fall prey to wolves, local strategies of survival force the people of the taiga to descend. The impact of the presence of Western tourists arriving thanks to travel agencies from Ulan Bator is growing, and not everyone has the time to go all the way into the mountains. Sometimes a foreign charity organization delivers food supplies. The world is starting to appreciate the need for help, however hum­ ble, in order to enable this small ethnic group to contin­ ue adding the bright colours of their distinctness to the global palette. Not much is needed - some flour, so that they would not slaughter the reindeer, tarpaulin for the teepees, so that they would not seek shelter in yurts and wooden cottages in settlements, and veterinary assistance in recreating the herds. Paradoxically, it could be the incomers - research­ ers, travellers, and tourists - who might provide the last chance for the people of the taiga to preserve their cul­ ture. Who else will convince the Tsaatan that it is worth­ while to maintain certain elements of their lifestyle - the teepees, the reindeer, and the shamans and their art? And who will inform the West that if it is our caprice to observe a people traversing a path of culture so arduous and different from ours then we should all support them. Endnotes 1 J. S. Wasilewski, Podróże do piekieł. Rzecz o szamańskich miste­ riach, Warszawa 1979, p. 5. �Fig. 1. Althoughthis illustration does not come from Rgkopis znaleziony w Saragossie by Jan Potocki I would like; to add the opening words of the novel: 'The first day Count d’Olavidez had. not: yet established foreign settlements in the 'Sierra Morena— that lofty chain of mountains that separates Andalusia from La Mancha - which was at that time inhabited solely by smugglers, bandits and a few gypsies. (...) The traveler who ventured into that wild re f on was assailed by a thousand, terrors that would freeze the blood of the boldest man. (...) and invisible hands pushed him towards the edge of bottomless precipices. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/1a6d58bb13f9852bdf596e6f2d1c78c0.pdf a8ad9198ff6a9595a578e9898a9c89d6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6514 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource etnografia Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6086 Title A name given to the resource Poor Ethnography/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.156-162 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Szpilka, Wiesław Kuba Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text WI ESŁAW SZPILKA Poor Ethnography I n 1981 “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” published answers to a questionnaire posing the following question: “Ethnography - Ethnology - Anthropology of Culture - Folk Studies. What are they? What is the­ ir aim?”. 1 Apparently, the question concerning eth­ nography divided the respondents the least. Despite great differences in perceiving the pursued discipline almost all agreed with the image of ethnography pre­ sented by L. Stomma. An auxiliary science - ethno­ graphy - whose range corresponds to the first phases on research: observation and description, fieldwork. The characteristic type of ethnological research is a monograph pertaining to a sufficiently limited group so that the author is capable of amassing the majori­ ty of his information thanks to personal experience. Ethnography also encompasses methods and techni­ ques referring to work on the spot, the classification (...) and description of particular cultural phenomena regardless whether the heart of the matter concerns arms, tools, beliefs or institutions (Claude LéviStrauss). Ethnography thus encompasses works that are often the easy victim of derision - studies that pro­ pose catalogues of farm tools, rural wells, beliefs about plants, etc. and the range of their occurrence, mono­ graphs dealing with particular villages, etc. Naturally, they would be deprived of all meaning if they were to constitute an aim in itself (unfortunately, this does take place). After all, their role entails collecting sour­ ces and the introduction of order within the latter for the sake of ethnology. In this sense they can be useful and valuable. A s can be seen, the differentiation of ethnology and ethnography is not a question of ter­ minological jugglery. Its indispensability is delineated by the regrettably rather unfamiliar motto formulated by Jean-Thierry Maertens: Each ethnologist must be also, at least partly, an ethnographer. After all, the path from ethnography to ethnology remains long. 2 A quarter of a century ago ethnography did not pose a challenge for the authors of New Polish Ethnology and the respected representatives of its classical form. It remained merely a first step, necessary but still ra­ 156 ther simple and calling more for organisational than intellectual effort. Questions, problems, and cognitive difficulties were to come to the fore after this stage, naturally for those capable of following the long path towards ethnology. Reflection, interpretation, and science worthy of a university level - all pertained not so much to practicing ethnography, which took pla­ ce "somewhere”, as to the creation of ethnology and anthropology taking place “’here”, in the very centre. Exercises and professions, the path and the target this was the order of the relation. It would be difficult, therefore, to become surprised that ethnography va­ nished from the names of scientific institutions. A n­ thropology and ethnology sounded more serious and more respectable and, predominantly, they better re­ vealed the meaning of the network - the discovery of the “truth” of culture and man. As is usually the case, conciliation above all decisions - and the question of ethnography became its unexpected and unconscious cause - is more the effect of ignorance, lack of con­ centration, and absence of deeper reflection than an obvious and well-devised assessment. When practi­ cing ethnography was regarded as an object of studies, being there - as the phenomenon in question was in­ terpreted by Clifford Geertz, one of the most brilliant commentators - revealed its entire complicated natu­ re. Suddenly, everything started to become distorted. What is that mythical “terrain” in which research is to be conducted? Why is it to be precisely that and not the other, what are the criteria of selection, and what should be the decisive premise? What about research itself, the great task of collecting sources and putting them into order? What methods of obtaining informa­ tion are most adequate, and when can we accept that sources are so complete that we can start transforming them? W hat sort of methods should be applied and what sort of carriers can be used in view of the fact that they all somehow deform reality? These are only some of the more obvious questions. The heart of the matter does not lie in the fact that there are no an­ swers. They do exist, but when everything has to be justified then ethnography, an ancillary science and the first step towards ethnology, begins to expand and grows complicated. It becomes involved in interpreta­ tions and presents ambiguous material for further ana­ lysis, endowed with a great number of question marks. Nonetheless, thanks to studies by C. Geertz we can indicate several properties of ethnographic knowled­ ge, i.e. those that define it the strongest. 3 Probably the most obvious is its local nature, the outcome of a close connection of the presented image and fieldwork. N a­ turally, one cannot be everywhere and see everything. The solution to this obvious observation was to assu­ me the form of a monograph: a single place, a single institution or belief, nothing more and yet so much, intensely and personally observed and experienced. �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY We attach importance to the idea of a monograph not because this is the form in which real ethnography was to realise itself. Belief in the existence of small, isolated cultures that can be totally grasped has lain in ruin for long. The fact that decryption calls for di­ stinction and is always made by someone continues to exist and possesses obvious significance. Today, a mo­ nograph is not a holistic description of something, but a detailed depiction of someone. Geertz coined the term “ thick description”: Ethnography comes down to thick description. What the ethnographer is in fact faced with— except when (as, of course, he must do) - he is pursuing the more automatized routines of data collection - is a multiplicity of complex conceptual structures many of them superimposed upon or knotted into one another, which are at once strange, irregular, and inexplicit, and which he must contrive somehow first to grasp and then to render. And this is true at the most down-to-earth, jungle field work levels of his activity; interviewing informants, observing rituals, eliciting kin terms, tracing property lines, censuring households ... writing his journal. Doing ethno­ graphy is like trying to read (in the sense of "construct a reading of”) a manuscript—foreign, faded, full of ellipses, incoherencies, suspicious emendations, and tendentious commentaries, but written not in conventionalized graphs of sound but in transient examples of shaped behaviour. 4 To present “something” in an ethnographic manner designates not only providing diverse images, as colo­ urful and intense as possible, but also presenting it in such a way so that it would disclose meanings. This is the obverse and the reverse of identity, its two indi­ spensable sides. To see and seek meaning is the point of departure for practice, which ends with a record of sensible perception. In order to provide such testimo­ ny, to obtain local knowledge, the ethnographer sets off, and, just as Jerzy S. Wasilewski, he “travels” or like Andrzej Stasiuk, he “goes to Babadag”. He co­ mes across space, physically experiencing its concrete nature. This fact restricts and closes, moderates the cognitive impetus, but at the same time forces to beco­ me cautious, brings forth the importance of the detail, and hones the senses that touch reality. On-the-spot practice offering dense description - such is the path that we follow. We do not describe the entire World, but only the selected particular world experienced by us. o u r activity is limited by space, on the one hand, and by invisible and omnipresent time, on the other hand. The fact that our discipline has been always facing the temporal problem is testified by its important cat­ egories - cold, archaic culture of the folk type. Within the spaces of those cultures - natural for ethnograph­ ic activity - time was to signify so little that its im­ pact could be outright ignored. Images - the effects of lengthy observation (months rather than years) could be regarded not as historical evidence but as a description of the nature of those worlds. Today, such a premise cannot be maintained. The contemporary shape of the life of the protagonists of ethnographic grand narratives from the first half of the twentieth century has changed immensely. The Boro tribe, the Nuer people, the Trobriand islanders, the inhabitants of Białka, Jurgów, and Łapszanka, whom we visited at the end of the previous century, all differ. The obvi­ ous character of this observation is the reason why it is necessary to accept not only the fact that we were there and wrote here but also that we were there and then and are writing now. This act has its consequenc­ es. The ethnographic account becomes light because time deprives it of its ultimate and categorical quali­ ties, while at the same time granting it universality. After all, everything turns out to be particular, distinc­ tive, and in this sense exotic, since nothing can resist the voracious passage of time. This outright audible murmur of time renders ethnographic activity fever­ ish, immensely expands its domain, and prolongs its duration infinitely. If the world has actually dimin­ ished and time has accelerated then we are facing a magnificent challenge. In his essay: A la Recherche du Present Perdu M. Kundera wrote: When we study, dis­ cuss, analyse a reality, we analyse it as it appears in our mind, in our memory. We know reality only in the past tense. We do not know it as it is in the present, in the mo­ ment when it’s happening, when it is. The present moment is unlike the memory of it. Remembering is not the negative of forgetting. Remembering is a form of forgetting. We can assiduously keep a diary and note every event. Rereading the entries one day, we will see that they cannot evoke a single concrete image. And still worse: that the imagination is unable to help our memory along and reconstruct what has been forgotten. The present - the concreteness of the present - as a phe­ nomenon to consider, as a structure, is for us an unknown planet; so we can neither hold on to it in our memory nor reconstruct it through imagination. We die without knowing what we have lived. 5 In the sketch: In Search of Present Time he added: By definition, what a narrator recounts is a thing that has happened. But each little event, as it becomes the past, loses its concrete nature and turns into an outline. Narra­ tion is recollection, therefore a summary, a simplification, an abstraction. (...) The nineteenth century began amid decades of explosive events that, time and again and from top to bottom, trans­ figured the whole of Europe. Something essential in man’s existence changed then and forever: History became every­ one’s experience; man began to understand that he was not going to die in the same world he had been born into (...) The shape of every little object —every chair, every skirt — was stamped with its imminent disappearance (transforma­ tion). The age of descriptions began (Description: compas­ sion for the ephemeral; salvaging the perishable). 6 157 �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY The author of The Unbearable Lightness of Being deals with the problem of the present upon the oc­ casion of his journey across the history of the novel. It is not written by an ethnographer, albeit literary problems affect him too. Just like the novelist he is compelled, willing or not, to resolve the question of presentation. Ethnographic knowledge is historical since it is by way of necessity the outcome of recollec­ tion, evocation, the enlivening of memory; it is testi­ mony and a view from afar. Such distance in time and space is not so much complicated as unavoidable. This is the way things were there - says the ethnographer, coming to terms with the historical and local nature of his knowledge stemming from personal experience and producing his own testimony. By the very nature of things, ethnographic knowl­ edge is thus limited and fragmentary. Its features are enhanced by the fact that it is the outcome of someone’s cultivation, and that a concrete someone had derived it from a certain place and time. The ethnographer is distinctive not because he wishes to be original but because he is a person, a unique summa of places, time, language, tradition, family, and a multitude of other factors that distinguish him. Ethnography should be thus treated as the outcome of a meeting of individu­ alised qualities and life. The auteur character of this knowledge, the fact that it always possesses its charac­ teristic style, confirms its incompleteness and non-sys­ tematic qualities. The title of a book by Dariusz Czaja: Sygnatura i fragment. Narracje antropologiczne brilliantly captures this quality and at the same time refers to yet another publication: Works and Lives: The Anthropolo­ gist as Author by Clifford Geertz, demonstrating the significance of the literary aspect of this activity. Writ­ ing, the process of tackling words, style, and conven­ tion, is not merely an enhancing supplement but an important structural element of ethnographic praxis. The force of ethnographic knowledge depends on the quality of its transmission, on the class of the author as a man of letters. After Geertz it is no longer possible to treat the literary quality as a charge levelled against ethnography. It cannot be non-literary, but remains written well or not, a feature that cannot be evaded. Local and historical qualities, fragmentariness and literariness - each of those traits is connected with a choice. If the latter is to be conscious (which is not necessary, but certainly remains desirable) then it calls for justification. Why the opera and not a highlander’s costume, whence mass culture and not that of the Eskimo? A totally fundamental explanation is onto­ logical. We deal with something due to its ontological nature. This necessary condition is probably insuffi­ cient. Certain order can be discovered in extremely non-homogeneous collections, i.e. ethnography. The most frequently described spaces were worlds that to­ day are weak, vanishing, marginal, and insufficiently appreciated. True, they could possess numerous repre­ sentations, such as the peasant or nineteenth-century tribal cultures, but the centre that at the time gener­ ated the civilizational model perceived them as low, archaic, and without a future. Interest in that, which was weak and declining possessed different ideological justifications, but this was a durable tendency: from the strong to the weak, from the certain to that, which calls for justification. To put it differently: the ethnog­ rapher seeks poverty and grows close to it. What is the source of this curious predilection, this strange fas­ cination? Evolutionists mentioned the beginnings of cultures, the first stages. This is where they wished to perceive them. For the functional school, the structur­ alists and the semioticians, these were sui generis sam­ ples offering a better and easier view of mechanisms ruling culture as a whole. Marginal qualities could be also important for delineating a fuller mage of man, for extracting that, which dominates and in reality is concealed and not at all obvious. These justifications, to a considerable extent possessing solely historical value (which is not to say that they were devoid of value), are certainly insufficient to explain the force of the attraction of poor reality. It is by no means per­ manently ascribed to a certain place, time, or concrete social or ethnic group. It becomes extracted only by comparison and reference, and appears in a relation. Strong and diverse existence refers to weak existence, the certainty of memory - to shameful oblivion, while obvious value - to doubtful quality, the group - to the individual, and culture - to life. The ethnographer seeking poverty sets off for the Amazon or the cinema in his university town or other peripheries of his world. He assumes according to the wisdom of his discipline - and it is less important for his work whether he does so consciously - that, which Tadeusz Kantor, the great expert on poverty, once said: The peripheries do not denote decline and submission. In my private dictionary there exists the term: REALITY OF TH E LOW EST RANK. A terrain reserved (illegally) for Art. And thus for all supreme human values. Here, the peripheries possess their high rank. Explosions of this myth, manifested in the most unexpected places, do not act, for all practical purposes, anywhere but in those peripheries. To put it in the language of art and poetry —in the poor courtyard, the pitiful corner, where we conceal our most secret hopes, our imagination, our threatened humanity, our personality. And probably only there we might become redeemed. 7 Yet another depiction of the ethnographic prom­ ised land comes from the essay: The Assistants by Gior­ gio Agamben. The assistant of this Italian philosopher, living a “damaged life” personifies that what is doomed or, more exactly: It concerns the unending mass of what becomes irrevocably lost [in the history of society and in 158 �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY the history of individuals, far greater than that what can be stored in the archives of memory]. Throughout our lives, the measure of oblivion and ruin, the ontologi­ cal waste that we carry in ourselves far exceeds the small mercy of our memories and our consciousness. But this formless chaos of the forgotten that accompanies us like a silent golem is neither inert nor inefficacious. On the con­ trary, it influences us just as much as our conscious memo­ ries, although in a different way. Forgetting has a force and a way of operating that cannot be measured in the same terms as that of conscious memory, nor can it be accumu­ lated like knowledge. Its persistence determines the status of all knowledge and understanding. The exigency of the lost does not entail being remembered and commemorated; rather it entails remaining in us and with us is forgotten, and in this way and only in this way, remaining unforget­ table. 8 In this approach towards a comprehension of the force of the attraction of poor reality to which, as we can see, not merely ethnographers succumbed, listen to the great Marina Tsvetaeva describing the “belong­ ings of the poor”.9 Paupers’ things. A bast mat? That’s a phony Thing. Like a plain plank of wood. Paupers’ things - they’re all skin-and-bony, Wholly - meatless, solely soul-food. Where’d they come from? Seems - from a dis­ tance, From long ago. Don’t strain your eyes! Paupers’ things - have no pre-existence: They are cut from people’s insides! A shelf? Haphazard. A coat-hanger? Ditto. Accidental too that ghost of a Chair. Possessions? Dry twigs and hisses, All the woods on an October day! Poverty’s fractioned furnishings! All are - what? - a quarter, a third. Clearly they long since interred these things. Just to look at you makes me hurt! It’s hard to take one’s sinful eyes off You, as off ulcerous sores. Viennese chair - where’s the Vienna Whose? When? It’s a thing to deplore! The best things - here - would have slighted Your house, right? Sorry! - your store­ Room. Here alone are such blighted Things - things. Your brow arches ov­ er thus: ? - How else when seeing dull, widow’s Rags? - Raise a brow! (In lieu of lorgnette A brow!) The eye’s no mean asker with those Brows. A t times an eye’s an o-ject. So dry at times is it and vacant An immense, gorgeous woman’s eye, That - compare them - it seems a basin’s Spirit, the soul - a tub of lye. Same as with tub and sieve I’d own it 159 - To the tsar! on Judgment Day! Each one called here as a poet o n himself has known that gaze! Poverty’s modest utensils! Each knife is personally known. Like a creature, day commencing, Partly here, wholly - you roam o u t the windows, bare or facing Suburbs - you‘ve read the crime news? How to gauge chasteness, grace in A thing: as baggage it’s refused. Since it’s wobbly and could pulverize Right before one’s very eyes, Since almost nothing that frail survives Constant shifts... She cries Since it’s not: a desk, but a spouse, Or son. Not a, but our Chest. Since nobody for hearts and souls Gives out baggage checks. Paupers’ things are drier and thinner: Drier than snags, thinner than bast. Paupers’ things are - put simply - spirits, That is why they burn up so fast. These texts, written in such different forms by au­ thors whose points of departure were dissimilar tra­ ditions and spiritual experiences, demonstrate the beauty and goodness of premises for wandering across the provinces of poverty. Firm ethnographic presence is not based, therefore, on a convenient repetition of a once made choice. Its spiritual sources and the ques­ tion whether they had been made consciously are al­ ready the themes of separate reflections. Even today, when one follows a designated direction, they reveal well-known drudgery. The described world disappears and there is nothing that one may match with the image in order to test its adequacy. Informers vanish somewhere in non-being or, worse, change their con­ victions, views, and stories. That what has been seen, heard, felt, touched, and experienced in other ways has to be contained within a single whole. In the wake of Malinowski’s Dziennik it is not, however, possible to pretend that we simply had not been there. In other words, we too should find ourselves within the presen­ tation. This forces us towards literature and renders our scientific endeavours, already previously rather poor, even more meagre. A t the same time, this is by no means an individual ailment, but the feature of an entire discipline. Eth­ nography is quite correctly situated along the margin of the social sciences. He who deals with poverty fares poorly. The ethnographic tent, compared with the solid edifices of other sciences pertaining to the main �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY current of reality and based on the experiment and quantitative methods, does not have an imposing ap­ pearance. On the other hand, it features astounding adequacy both in relation to the constantly nomadic character of ethnography - a science of the path and on the move - and to the traits of the world examined by it. There where the dominating features are disap­ pearance, change, fleeting memory, the bustle of daily life, the detail and minutiae, poor endowment appears to be the most suitable. Anthropological narration, its basic instrument of work based on a catalogue of concepts and categories devised in the course of its history and applying comparison as the fundamental manner of extracting meaning, will never possess such force and expression as the one characteristic for the grand texts of the interpreters of the poor world. The ethnographer will not create Stalker or The Kolyma Tales, Wielopole or Fado. His art, just like his science, is distant from the centre and in this sense remains marginal. Powerlessness, lack of lucidity, the absence of contemporaneity, in a word: provincialism, come to the fore also in this particular encounter. This would appear to be a weakness if it were not for the quali­ ties closely connected with it. Such openness, blurred form, and borderline qualities open up towards oth­ erness and render its presence obvious and constant. The tendency towards making use of the experiences of other sciences, permanent in ethnography, and in­ spirations borrowed from the world of art - all are sus­ tained by its provincialism. Encircling ethnography, we continue coming across specific poverty, paradoxically brimming with potential and diverse meanings since burns so fast. The ethnographer wishes to trust that the whole world hides in every particle (Bruno Schulz) and as befits a zealous believer he wants to confirm by means of his praxis the revelation bestowed upon him. He thus multiplies im­ ages and adds postcards and successive fragments. The storeroom containing these snatches displays consider­ able confusion: French monarchs and the song Polesia Czar, Eskimos and the Maasai, smokers, mountain climbers, those living in the jungle and in the streets of great metropolises, chaotic treasures lacking order. This is a collection of evidence and, at the same time, testimony of heroic memory, ever renewed despite the depressing knowledge that only a few of its products will become animated in some sort of recollection. What is the purpose of these poor riches? In his lecture: The Inevitability of the Humanities10 the German philosopher Odo Marquard posed the following thesis: The more modern the modern world becomes, the more inevitable do the humanities become.11 Justifying this thought, Marquad indicated the erro­ neousness of the popular conviction: the humanities based on narration are archaic and in the course of a modernization of the world are ousted by modern 160 natural sciences based on an experiment and by hu­ manities using measurements. A closer look, however, shows quite the opposite. Sciences founded on narra­ tion come into being as a response to the successes of experimental sciences and the modernisation changes initiated by them. The emergence of experimental sci­ ences is not the cause of the death but of the birth of the humanities; in other words, the humanities are not the victims of modernisation but its outcome and thus are thoroughly modern. 12 After some time, every sort of progress within the range of the former will enforce a growing need for the latter. The more the world becomes modernized the greater its need for narrative sciences. Recurring opinions about their crisis in modern reality should be treated not so much as a crisis of capacity but as a crisis of surcharge. The humanities are not dying off but - although they are developing - they do not keep up with their modern indispensability. 13 The necessity for those detailed narrations and the growing need for them come from the fact that mod­ ernisation stimulated by the experimental sciences produces losses in the environment while the humani­ ties compensate those losses. 14 Uniformisation, objectivisation, globalization - the effects of modernisation - deprive man of his tradition, history, and specificity. In order to successfully tackle them, to bear the bur­ dens and challenges of modernization, one needs nar­ rative sciences, which at least partly provide a chance for regaining that, which is lost. They spin three types of stories: those that produce sensitivity, preserve, and orientate. First, they restore colour and intensity to reality and level the modernization disenchantment of the world. Second, they translate and justify the col­ lection, reconstruction, and storage of the remnants of the past. No epoch has produced so much destruc­ tion as the modern one, and no epoch has preserved as much as the modern one thanks to the development of the ability to take an increasing part of the past into the future. 15 A museum, a Skansen, a concert of old music, a reconstruction of a mystery play - these are the forms of such narration. Finally, they extract from the homogeneous and magma-like presence the components creating it and cast light upon them, thus making it possible to discern their quality, meaning, and wisdom. 16 Such narrations not only make it pos­ sible to better understand them and to endow their existence with depth and intensity. Their easily and universally accessible collection shows the ambiguity of reality, the possibility of its various comprehensions and experiencing. It becomes possible to draw forth the premises of diverse choices. On the other hand, it is impossible to justify any sort of categorical and exclusive qualities with the assistance of such a collec­ tion. The inevitability of the humanities is also based on the fact that they demonstrate and stress the value �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY of ambiguity and disclose the misery and poverty of unambiguity and exclusiveness. The Odo Marquand lecture discusses narrative humanities, whose province is ethnography. The meanings and future of its existence in the light of the reflections pursued by the author of Apology of the Ac­ cidental appear to be lucid. A t the beginning of the twenty first century, in a reality characterised as post­ modern, liquid, post-metaphysical, and ontologically weak this discipline appears to be much more contem­ porary than prior to the breakthrough, which all sorts of “post....” wish to put into thought. All anthropo-- and ethnological projects intent on extracting models, functions, mechanisms or struc­ tures of culture as such were important in conducting a quest, but their ultimate outcome - a cultural com­ mon denominator, proved to be always a phenomenon of a concrete culture and not some sort of a general rule. They can, however, continue being fascinating if we see in them principles organising strong anthro­ pological narrations, revealing not the mythical foun­ dation of culture but metaphysical premises making it possible to present it in a given manner. A survey conducted a quarter of century ago offers a good im­ age of various discourses, a debate that, however, does not pertain to the idea of a strong narrative. Only within its space do particular elements assume mean­ ing. Hence the domination of ethnology and the ser­ vile nature of ethnography, the significance of ideas and the weakness of reality. If, however, as G. Vattimo wrote in his essay: Hermeneutics and Anthropology: We do not wish to continue transforming anthropology into metaphysics - a description of the universal struc­ tures of the existence of man, anthropology conceived as a scientific description of the constants of particular cultures - profoundly determined by the metaphysi­ cal idea of science and, on a more concrete level, the Occidentalisation of our planet, 17 then the situation changes significantly. The otherness that takes place does not consist of a critical overcoming of the past, its rejection in the name of new premises or methods for the sake of a better process of approaching the truth. It should be connected with an awareness of the con­ testability and discursiveness of all foundations and, at the same time, with their necessity. In his encoun­ ter with the ”others”, an event that opens up all sorts of ethnologies, the ethnologist is a person who knows how those phenomena had been created. Such knowl­ edge renders this encounter special and in many in­ stances becomes the basic reason for its existence. It is, therefore, impossible to eliminate or even suspend it. It is, however, feasible to indicate the weakness of the conclusions that deprive them of their categorical and ultimate nature. This weakness is the necessary outcome of the historical quality of each meeting and can be reduced only by metaphysical premises. The 161 discovery of their presence, restoring the nature of anthropology, does not lessen the importance of its accomplishments but turns them into a problem and calls for reinterpretations. Actually, it enlivens them, makes them contemporary, and revitalises them. The history of the discipline seen from this perspective is not a movement from childhood towards maturity, but an amassment of the historical experiences of a new phenomenon, not always unambiguous and open towards new comprehension. Today, ethnology in the above-presented meaning of the word is frail not only because it embarked upon the effort of an exegesis of its history. Otherness and the space of its references also possess an equally weak character. G. Vattimo: That which we can actually observe is a collection of contemporary “derivatives” of the primitive, hybrid forms, relics contaminated with modernity, margins of the present which embrace both Third World societies and the ghettoes of industrial societies. (...) We are dealing not so much with a total organisation of the world ac­ cording to rigid technological schemes as with a “mine” of preserved forms that together with an uneven divi­ sion of power and natural resources on a global scale becomes the source of increasingly numerous margin situations constituting the truth of primitive culture in our world. (...) Anthropology is not an encounter with radical difference or a scientific “putting into or­ der” of the phenomenon of mankind in the categories of structures. In all likelihood, its form of the dialogue is inclined towards the past and the ancient, but only in such a way in which the arche may appear in an epoch of fulfilled metaphysics: as that, which survived and is marginal and contaminated. 18 If this characteristic of the contemporary existence of the discipline is apt then the process of seeking and disclosing truth in its space runs a course contrary to the one described by L. Stomma in the memorable questionnaire. Becoming acquainted with grand narra­ tives, the ability to apply them, and even their critical analysis, in a word, the process of being an ethnologist is a necessary stage but not an ultimate one. The en­ counter with the others, with strangers, is impossible in the field of ethnology, which is always some sort of an epistemology, with the ethnologist situated within a point transcendental in relation to this event. In or­ der to experience this fundamental meeting one must possess indispensable personal experience. Practising ethnography, field research is nothing else than a quest for such experience. It also cannot be reduced exclu­ sively to intellectual games, but remains a great physi­ cal exhaustion, the spiritual discomfort of a voyeur and an intruder, the feeling of loneliness and unlikeness. This must give rise to aggression and bad emotions. Malinowski’s call: Exterminate the brutes is, after all, the archetypical howl. Such experience somehow extracts from previous existence and weakens it by depriving �Wiesław Szpilka • POOR ETHNOGRAPHY it of natural and obvious qualities. The ethnographic event starts with such a state, but in order for it to ac­ tually take place it is necessary to experience the posi­ tive nature, the insight, and to capture the principle, which, true, would not make it possible to become domesticated in alienness and in this manner to bear it, but enables its comprehension or at the very least explanation. While describing this event it becomes mandatory to refer to F. Ankersmit and his presen­ tations of the historical experience.19 F. Ankersmit needed this category in order to demonstrate that it is possible to reach historical reality differently than only via the intermediary text. The Dutch researcher emphasised that this event possesses an aesthetic na­ ture and is some sort of an illumination producing ob­ vious knowledge. Similarly, in relation to an artwork it severs the contextual network and from the surface refers directly towards the essence. Within the clear­ ance produced by this rift there emerges an unknown truth of being, not to be derived from historical wan­ dering across contexts. The practice of ethnography has to be perceived as a search for an experience of this nature. Such ethnographic experience is poor. It is personal, individual, and different, which today means insignificant. One has to toil and reduce oneself while waiting for it, without any certainty that it truly took place. The deserts towards which ethnographers set off in search of illumination are not marked on any map because the place where they are perceived depends on a concrete ethnographisation of anthropology. Finally, the pure flash that blinds us has to be expressed and entrusted to language and narration. As in the poem by Milosz - What once could smite, now smites no more. Poor ethnography is itself a poor courtyard, a neglected corner, a lowest ranking reality, a space where we sal­ vage our humanity. This is truly good poverty. Endnotes 1 Etnografia - Etnologia - Antropologia kultury Ludoznawstwo. Czym są? Dokąd zmierzają? (Odpowiedzi na ankietę), “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1981, no. 2, pp. 67-81. 2 Etnografia... op. cit., p. 72. 3 I used the folllowing works: C. Geertz, Zastane światło, Universitas, Kraków 2006; C. Geertz, Wiedza Lokalna, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, Kraków 2005; C. Geertz, Interpretacja kultury, Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego, Kraków 2005; C. Geertz, Dzieło i Zycie, Wydawnictwo KR, Warszawa 2000. 4 C. Geertz, Interpretacja kultur, op. cit., pp. 24-25. 5 M. Kundera, Zdradzone testamenty. Esej, PIW, Warszawa 2003, pp. 115-116. 6 M. Kundera, Zasłona, PIW, Warszawa 2005, pp. 19-21. 7 T Kantor, Wielopole-Wielopole, Teatr Cricot 2, Program Florencki. 8 G. Agamben, Profanacje, PIW, Warszawa 2006, p. 48. 9 M. Cwietajewa, Poemat schodów, in: M. Cwietajewa, Być chłopcem twoim jasnowłosym..., Miniatura, Kraków 2006, 162 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 pp. 179-181. Here: transl. by Diana Lewis Burgin, http:// www.dianaburgin.com/ O. Marquard, O nieodzowności nauk humanistycznych, in: O. Marquard, Apologia przypadkowości, Warszawa 1994, pp. 100-118. O. Marquard, op. cit., p. 100. O. Marquard, op. cit., p. 103. O. Marquard, op. cit., p. 104. O. Marquard, op. cit., p. 105. O. Marquard, op. cit., p. 109. O. Marquard, op. cit., pp. 108-110. G. Vattimo, Koniec nowoczesności, Kraków 2006, p. 137 and 147. G. Vattimo, op. cit., pp. 148-152. F. Ankersmit, Narracja, reprezentacja, doświadczenie. Studia z teorii historiografiii, Kraków 2004, pp. 223-403. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/8fc66af4ba3fe120e5176f145b15bd7d.pdf 07f16ded392207b62fa559715cce34d7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6515 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource rzeczy użytkowe - aspekt antropologiczny Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6087 Title A name given to the resource The Secret Story of Objects/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.163-167 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wasilewski, Jerzy S. Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text O f the three circlets lying in front of me two are old coins, blackened, blurred, and with uneven edges. I brought them a long time ago from M ongolia, and although they converged for the first time on my desk they are connected in a very special way. E T H N O L O G I S T EN R O U T E JERZY The first circlet of initiation This copper coin comes from a bazaar held on Sun ­ days in U lan Bator. Every week this enormous dusty square in the western periphery on of the town, near the new cemetery (after it was shifted from a pictur­ esque oasis among the last Chinese houses at the foot of the Gandan monastery hill), there appears a crowd of traders, clients, and persons simply examining the great variety of old oddments. A considerable part of the items on sale produces the impression of having been lying around in the streets for six days, and on the seventh day, for reasons totally incomprehensible, suddenly prom oted to the role of commodities for sale. A s a rule, I rapidly crossed this part of the marketplace and made my way towards a small area where better quality objects are offered. Here, old men dressed not in tacky jackets like the others but in festive M ongo­ lian costumes, sauntered next to a high fence made of boards and showed the jostling commoners - or not, depending on the assessment of the client - a con­ cealed remnant of old silver jewellery with corals and turquoise, an agate or porcelain snuff box, a lamaic icon painted on cloth or, the rarest of all, a brass bur­ khan. Today, it is impossible to evoke the atmosphere of those illegal quests. In M ongolia during the early 1970s, a state whose capital not by accident still displayed a statue of Stalin, the possession and flaunting of sac­ ral objects from the domain of the recently quashed lamaic religion were not totally safe either for the sell­ ers or the buyers (chiefly foreigners planning to take 163 S. W A S I L E W S K I The Secret History of Objects the purchases out of the country - in those instances, the authorities immediately treated the religious piece as a valuable example o flo cal culture). Such items as snuff boxes could be displayed with greater panache, producing an attachm ent, concealed on a daily basis, to eliminated and vanishing forms of national culture in which offering snuff as a form of greeting was uni­ versally celebrated. The more valuable samples were studied by a huddled group of admirers. W hen in the afternoons the square grew emptier the old connois­ seurs sat in a row next to the fence and, smoking long pipes, showed each other the most precious snuffboxes belonging to them and not necessarily for sale. Point­ ing their fingers at the details they conducted m eticu­ lous debates about the impact exerted on the price by a pattern created by the grains of the stone, the setting of the coral or an insect trapped in the walls of an am ­ ber bottle. Jewellery trade of the poor - 1 thought. But on that particular day I was drawn to the worse part of the bazaar, to all those petty items and old ware arranged in piles on newspapers lying on the ground. I cannot say why from among scores of such offers I chose this particular chest and in it, underneath a lay- �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • THE SECRET HISTORY OF OBJECTS er of identical rusty screws and used motorcycle spark plugs, I extracted this circlet. I do remember that sev­ eral years later I was still capable of recalling the mag­ netic attraction that led me there. Today, I am not certain whether this was not a researcher’s ordinary bazaar fever, an urge to examine everything. On the other hand, perhaps something emanating from that spot compelled me to discover the illegible and dirt encrusted coin. On one side: a tsarist two-headed eagle with an orb and a sceptre in its claws. On the other, contrary to expectations, by no means the bearded profile of Nicholas II; underneath the dirt, scraped off with a fingernail, there emerged the date: 1863-1864 and around it a Cyrylic inscription: “Za usmirenye pol’skago miatezha” (For stifling the Polish rebellion). This is not a coin then but a medal for putting down the January Uprising! I recall that Zeromski mentioned it in Syzyfowe prace. Discovered in a Cen­ tral Asian bazaar it must, naturally, produce an ex­ tremely emotional reaction, astonishment at the good fortune, coincidence, and bond despite such great dis­ tances. Only a few would not become excited by such a twist of fate and an object carrying such a plethora of meanings. Right away there ensue speculations about the way in which it could have found itself in Mongo­ lia. The object itself suggests the following possibility: since it is missing an eyelet for hanging it - we can see that it was broken off and the gap hurriedly con­ cealed - it must have been passed off somewhere as a coin. In a tavern along the Kiakhtin route an officer of the Baikal Cossacks escorting traders on their way to Urga carelessly hurled a handful of copper coins onto a damp bar counter... What about the earlier, Polish stages of this route? Who and for what heroic deed was awarded this med­ al? Was it for valour, ingenuity or immorality? Perhaps it was granted z& khrabrost to junker Zubov, a half­ 164 blood Circassian but a dzhigit of extraordinary courage and fierceness, who after a victorious skirmish some­ where along the roads of northern Mazovia confront­ ed a group of insurgents and chased its three young commanders to a manor house. Here, they hid in a maiden’s room on the upper storey. Zubov rushed in with a Cossack, a salvo was fired, all the bullets struck the doorframe, and the inferior gunmen were slashed by shashka sabres ... Or was it presented for wartime skill to Dukmanov, officer and veteran of the Crimean War, experienced in battles waged in the Caucasus, who in the A u­ gustów gubernia cleverly defended wagons carrying ammunition, and having caught a local inhabitant used a knout to extract information about the route of the rebels. Dukmanov first did not understand why the captive was babbling about sheepskin coats, but finally realised that he was being told the names of the villages where the insurgents were to receive sup­ plies in the form o f ... sheepskin coats. The trap ended with a bloody massacre. Much later, both Zubov and Dukmanov were transferred to Transbaikal as part of constant translocations within the Empire. Wartime valour was, however, rewarded rath­ er with the Cross of St. Andrew, presented also for other merits: loyalty to the ruler, cooperation with legitimate authorities, eager introduction of the new order. Perhaps it was received by Vogt Krasko from the region of Kowno, who was kindly permitted to choose: either the village was to be burned down and all its inhabitants exiled somewhere near the border with Turkestan, or he could organize a Muraviov rural guard, denounce the agitators, and assist in catching the last survivals of the Uprising wandering in the for­ ests. It was he, with a medal granted for being able to force even Polish landowners to sign loyalty dec­ larations and probably for catching someone of great importance and later hanged in Wilno, who left as a �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • THE SECRET HISTORY OF OBJECTS voluntary émigré for the steppes on the Baikal, where land was for the taking. Strange, he did not choose Vershina but preferred to settle down even further, all the way next to the Chinese cordon. W hy am I thinking of all those scenario episodes? W ould an academic study on an artefact contain such imaginary visions, which quite a few items are capa­ ble of easily evoking? A ll those stories about a single bullet, a yellow shoe, the sofa of a Gestapo officer and countless other objects - would it not be better to leave them as material for a literary construction? In science I am dissatisfied with idiography alone and grow bored with stringing facts on the single thread of chronology without reconstructing wider and more abstract patterns - configurations and relations, m od' ehlike solutions and systemic dependencies. Ethnography must be also realistic - otherwise it would not be itself at all. A lthough in my earlier re­ search I treated an object almost exclusively as a repre­ sentation of a certain intellectual system (envisaging it as a text, a carrier of symbols, a correlate of beliefs and imaginings, a consolidated record of an intellectual or social system), in a more extensive presentation I do not intend to be satisfied with a systemic, synchronic dimension. Let it contain a threat of diachrony so that the concrete individual history of things would not be lost; the same holds true for the history of the people in whose hands those items found themselves and into whose genealogies they became intertwined. A place where I specially miss such information is the ethnographic museum. In these storehouses of things all the extra-material contexts or backdrops of an artefact are restricted. More, the unique is in­ tentionally and in a programme-like manner omitted. Looking at an item we shall not find out anything about its individual history, past, and meaning for all those who handled it - from the producer to the col­ lector who had extracted it from its contexts and in­ serted it into his text, thus granting it new meanings and endowing it with different emotions. Show me the fate of a concrete work of human ingenuity before it became part of an exhibition, frozen beneath glass as yet another exhibit, b Only a small regional museum or a memorial room are not ashamed to offer such information. A n d even if the guidebook does not disclose it we are forced to resort to our imagination. One has to set into motion a certain “hermeneutic of things” and open up towards the language of the object. T o do so one does not have to be a collector, albeit owning a collection does facilitate the process of opening up, especially if it takes place in special cir­ cumstances. The object possesses power. It is merely necessary to cross its path and it will compel us to lis­ ten to its story. Then we shall view also other items differently. Time to take a look at the second coin. 165 The second circlet of initiation This is already a genuine coin. Brass, with Chinese and Uighur symbols around a square opening in the middle - the opening was used to string coins for the sake of thesaurisation, to braid them into hair, and to sew them on as a decoration of clothes. Just like all coins out of circulation it could serve assorted practi­ cal purposes, e.g. as the ending of a rope used for tying a lamaic book. The addition (to one or several linked coins) of a piece of sheep wool created a pom pon of sorts with a weight. It was used for playing a game of tebek, consisting of kicking it in the air time and again, similarly as the game of zośka played in W arsaw court­ yards and playgrounds. I recall that when I played zośka I was intrigued by its name. After all, it has nothing in common with the principles of the game or its technique, and we do not know the identity of the mysterious woman after whom it was named. I read somewhere that it was used already in ancient Rome - the game was m entioned by one of the Plinys. Perhaps this is the source? But then there was no Latin counterpart of the Greek name: Sophia (which could have been the eventual source of our native Zośka). The origin of the name - and the game - thus remained a mystery until I came across its M ongolian counterpart. In M ongolian this copper coin is known as dzos, which literally means “copper”. In Buryat pronuncia­ tion it becomes zos, but even if I had earlier thought about it I would have never associated zos with the Polish zośka owing to the thousands of kilometres sep­ arating these forms both linguistically and geographi­ cally. Now I come across information that renders this connection credible. Grigoriy Nikolayevich Potanin recounted (referring to approximately the mid-nineteenth century) that cadets of the military academy in the W est Siberian town of Om sk used to play a game called zoska. 2 Eu­ reka! Since zośka was recorded in Siberia in a version that has no meaning in Russian (it is not mentioned in any dictionary and the name as such does not occur in Russian) then it must have been borrowed from the �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • THE SECRET HISTORY OF OBJECTS Buryats (a suggestion made by the author, thus dispel­ ling our doubts about the long distance from Buryatia to Omsk). Since the Buryat word did not sound natu­ ral in Russian an ending was added to make declina­ tion easier, thus creating zoska. The familiar zośka was, therefore, originally a Mon­ golian and Buryat copper coin with the intermediary of a Russian semantic form. I already know who brought it to Poland: speaking metaphorically, it was the same graduates of the Omsk and Irkutsk military academies who were sent to conduct usmirenye pol’skogo miatezha, and who later returned with medals. We are already familiar with this route - someone who had discov­ ered in that part of the world the first copper coin, material proof of contact between the distant steppe and Mazovia, immediately becomes convinced that the second circlet also traversed an identical path at the same time and travelling with the same people. A material object - as tangible as possible - suffices as evidence of the genuine nature of such a hypothetical reconstruction. There is no greater joy for a researcher than when an event he personally experienced leads towards some sort of a scientific discovery or finding. There is also no greater temptation than to succumb to this allure. Our model, however, must be the crafty Odys­ seus, whose intellect and strong will power prevented him from listening to the seductive and confusing voices of the Sirens. To what mast of scepticism must we tie ourselves in order to sail safely and cautiously towards true discoveries? While building scientific hy­ potheses are we capable of getting rid of the tempta­ tion to connect facts that became linked in our daily life in which research is, after all, immersed? Can we protect ourselves against the outright "compulsion to built associations" that renders us blind to the fact that certain relations do not exist “really", but in the manner of Ruskin’s beauty are only “in the eye of the beholder"? So many classification, periodisations, reconstruc­ tions, and models show facts in some sort of an asso­ ciation and grouping not because this is the way they are connected organically but because thanks to that procedure all corresponds in the author’s scientific bookkeeping. No finding, thing or piece of informa­ tion can remain useless, superfluous or un-interpreted. Everything has its place, all matches in a learned con­ struction simply because this is the way it is associated by the researcher, offering him a pleasant feeling of order and harmony. A single pebble suffices to topple this psychological construction, this synthesis of truth and falsehood - a harsh warning to never complete a given theory (con­ struct, model). A single book suffices as long as it is the right one. Take the example of Zły by Leopold Tyrmand: so 166 many details about Warsaw of the 1950s, an outright ethnography of the town. There is even information about games, which before the war included pliszki, cymbergaj and others, but not zośka, which appeared immediately after the war. Who brought it? It was not the Baikal Cossacks of the Uprising era, after all? Am I, therefore, forced to abandon the image of Russian soldiers playing v zosku and watched by Polish children? This is already more than I can bear - the power of both metal circlets is much too great. I shall thus continue holding on to the conviction that it was the soldiers who came from the East, naturally not tsarist soldiers but Red Army men. If, and this is quite possible, I come across signals that zośka was played already before the war (although not necessarily in Warsaw) I shall willingly return to the earlier hypothesis. One way or another, regardless of the proposed dates, nothing will topple my opinion that the game arrived together with the army. The proof provided by both objects is simply much too strong. The third circlet - the third lesson This object too has an aperture, although it is no longer a copper coin but a slightly larger jade circle with greenish veins, flattened, thin, and with an inner orifice with rounded edges. And nothing more. We may only surmise that this is a Chinese prod­ uct; at any rate, the Mongols never pursued this craft. Otherwise, there is no information (unless its steep price would comprise some sort of substitute data). Ideal simplicity, the absence of any sort of stylistic fea­ tures, patterns, incisions or even a knob. Nor is there any point of departure for suppositions about origin, age, purpose or even current usage. A small enigma, a mysterious monolith, a mute child of anonymous par­ ents, a Kaspar Hauser puzzle. The silence of this object provokes. In the cultural reality of Central Asia one may assume, for all practical purposes, only a single function - that of an ornament. Could this have been an accessory for a snuff pouch, a weight making it easier to hang the latter on a belt? Mongolian accessories, similarly as their better-known Japanese counterparts, netsuke, were, as a rule, figural. Perhaps then this is some sort of an embellishment of a woman’s festive costume? In that case it should fea­ ture an ornament, a flower, a decorative detail. Can a sensible conclusion be drawn from sheer si­ lence? Is the meaning of an object determined by the fact that it has no visible sign telling us something about its identity? Or perhaps one should turn this deficiency into a virtue and recall that the extremely ascetic nature of an object could serve the embodi­ ment of abstract values: the ideal, the absolute, the transcendent. Not by accident were such stone and bronze circlets featuring intriguing simplicity known �Jerzy S. Wasilewski • THE SECRET HISTORY OF OBJECTS in China already during antiquity. Quite possibly the same property that was decisive for their power at that time grants them value when they are smuggled from former imperial collections to make their way onto the antiques market. If the original old case with imperial seals also survived then it will act as legible guarantee that it was precisely this object whose power fascinated rulers of ancient dynasties. It will be presented by one of the great auction houses in London or Hong Kong at an auction held especially for this single artefact, described as a “very important ritual disc (bi)”. The simplest shapes and objects best materialize eternity - regardless whether they are small circles made of shells, about whose past so much was known by the Trobrianders, or monstrous circles from other islands of the South Seas, veritable mill stones exert­ ing magnetic attraction even in an antique shop in the capital of one of the former colonial powers. Power belongs not only to lavish, luxurious, and beautiful objects. True, they too provide an aware­ ness of contact with transcendence. When touring a cathedral treasury or a museum adjoining an East­ ern rite church and looking at an exceptional golden pectoral or a church cross with a knob I envision how a dying cardinal or an archimandrite grasped it on his deathbed so that he might feel it with his fingers while thinking that the Saviour was not abandon­ ing him. On the other hand, when I handle a pair of imposing, massive, and sophisticated ritual knives I know just how a person performing a lamaic sacrifice must have felt during a ceremony of ousting evil by offering a man-shaped kukla, the dzolig. Parapher­ nalia are a powerful guarantee of the might of each religious act. Naturally, this force belongs only to a genuine ob­ ject and not some sort of purchase, the outcome of a short-lived adventure in a supermarket born out of a fleeting relationship between the client and the great whore of the market. We know that an object-gadget will make its way across our home in a crowd of others, along the path between the shopping cart and the gar­ bage bin. A genuine object is immortal. A copper plate hurled into a fire during a potlatch will be remembered for long. Iconoclasts, hunveibins, Savonarolas, Atillas and fashionistas who tell us not to wear the design of the past season will be always about. But it is the thing that ultimately is our only eternity. A well-known aphorism maintaining that man is an episode in the history of an object produces a collector’s spontaneous protest that is lesser than that of others. Things compel us to think about eternity in both directions - focused on the future and longevity, on the past and eternity. Just like the silver baptismal bowl commemorating seven generations of the Castorp family and evoking in the young Hans a strange, dreamy, troubling sense: of change in the midst of dura­ 167 tion, of time as both flowing and persisting, of recurrence in continuity. 3 In order to enroot us in the past the object too must be well embedded in it. This is why the sign of the producer is so important - the author’s signature, the stamp of a workshop, the thin engraved initials of clockmakers repairing an old mechanism, or the numbers written with a carpenter’s thick pencil at the bottom of commode drawers so that they would fit better. Enrootment in a cultural context is decisive for identity. An old Turkmenian carpet possesses stylistic features enabling its identification not only with the Ersari tribal group but also with the region of the small town of Dali on the Amu Darya, where it was execut­ ed; a contemporary Afghani carpet does not provide the observer with an opportunity for tracing its line­ age - it is a collection of patterns, of which each once belonged to some other clan and defined a concrete and different provenance. Thanks to things we also focus on the future. It is things that force the collector to think about his heirs, successors, and future observers. By enrooting us in the past and growing into the future they expand our personality and cultural identity. Someone who does not wish to limit himself to an identity emploi deter­ mined by family tradition and its mementoes can build a different identity out of objects he had personally collected. 4 It is possible to free oneself from the re­ straints of own culture and horizon of behaviour. By collecting exotica I touch the reality of the most distant past and contact with Chinese artefacts enables me to withdraw into the past as far as possible. While drink­ ing tea at a low table, which once was an “opium bed” in a Chinese opium den, I do not become a Chinese from the past but find it easier to imagine that I am entering that world. Contrary to the acclaimed alternative: ”To be or to have” I insist that “to have” (a collection of things) carries the same spiritual value as “’to be” (a collector of things). Endnotes 1 As recalled by Scandinavian ethnology - see: e.g. L. Otto, L. Pedersen, Collecting oneself. Life stories and objects of memory, “Ethnologia Scandinavica”, vol. 28, 1998, pp. 77-92. 2 G. N. Potanin, Ocherki severo-zapadnoy Mongolii, Sankt Peterburg 1881, p. 120. 3 T Mann, Czarodziejska góra, Warszawa 1956, p. 48. 4 A review of such contemporary attitudes towards souve­ nirs in: B. Rogan, Things with a history - and other posses­ sions, “Ethnologia Scandinavica”, vol. 28, 1998, pp. 93-107. Ibid. basic literature for “material culture” thus comprehended by contemporary Anglo-Saxon anthro­ pology. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/e23ca8a023b956b8911c87a40e739990.pdf 5ed1b8d67a482a12c961f7e0ba4730f4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6512 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource Istambuł antropologia miasta Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6084 Title A name given to the resource Istanbul: Recollections from a Lost City / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.144-150 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Chmielewska, Justyna Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text J US TY NA CHMIELEWSKA Istanbul: I^<^C(^llL<oc:ti.o;n.iS from a Lost City I sometimes think myself unlucky to have been born in an agtnp and impoverished city buried under the ashes of a ruined empire. I n his autobiographical intimate novel: Pstanbul -Me­ mories and the City1 Orhan Pamuk embarked upon an impasing challenge: to capaure the essence of the town in which fie grew up and to which he tried throughout his whole life to return by resorting to snatchas ot texts, scraps of newspapers, tragments of images, and reminiscences of scents. Thio effort of oecollecfinf Istanbul as seen by the later Nobel Prize laureate in the courte of the first 22 yrars of his life - tho period embra­ ced lay the narration - appears t i be hazardous. Pamuk endeavoured to recreato, evoke, and present to the reader a city no longer existent, unrecognisable in its present-day shape, and undecipherable on a contempoaary map. We thus receioed a paeadoxical apology, a hymn an honour of a remembered and imaginary lo­ cation - a phantom cosmopolitan Istanbul, deteriora­ ting but still capable of casting a spell with its Oriental allure. A brief demogrophic outline ot the town on the Bosporus enablei us to envisage the scale of changes; in the a920s it had a populption of 500 000, which during Pamuk’s childhood totafled a million, and in 2000 —10 million.2 Today, ihe cypressacovered hills viewed lay the young Orhan have vanished under cheap housing estates, bridges cross the Bosporus, and the favourite promenade of the Pamuk family had been taken over by tourists. Those readers who expect Istanbul to be a city guide­ book endowed with an aura of the belles letters and en­ hanced with spicy local details will be disappointed: the peregrination routes bypass easily identifiable spots and Istanbul icons (perhaps with the sole exception of the Galata Bridge linking the banks of the Golden Horn). They lead us down the kempt streets of the wealthi­ est districts, joining assorted points of Pamuk’s private topography: the family house in Ni§anta§, the “Little Paris” of Istanbul,3 and an apartment in another Eu­ ropeanised district, i.e. Cihangir. From here we make 144 Galata Bridge. 1950s Source: www.azizistanbul.com our way to the American Robert College and eventu­ ally reach the vestibule of the Hilton Hotel, in which friends of the author’s father took their afternoon tea. If we should decide to travel to the Bosporus then only in a 1952 Dodge so as to catch a boat already waiting to take the Pamuk family to a summer residence on the largest of the Prince islands. When he managed —es­ caping the prying gaze of his mother and omniscient aunts —to find himself with his first girlfriend in the poor Greek districts of Fener or Balat, the local urchins would run at the sight of the lovers trying to hide, cry­ ing: Tourist! Tourist! What is your name? I recall this caricature not in order to discredit Pamuk’s portrayal — Istanbul is an in-depth, dense, and multi-strata description endowed with poetic ambiance and sarcastic self-deprecation. Reading the recollec­ tions of the Nobel Prize laureate calls, however, for crit­ ical awareness making it possible to decipher his text in the most complete way possible —the author himself appears to encourage us to do so by carefully outlining the novel’s socio-cultural backdrop. This is a manifesto of the identity of a native-born resident of Istanbul, an apology of enrootment and af­ filiation to a town whose greatest force is duration and continuity; it is those features that discourses competing with Pamuk —especially nationalistic and anti-Western ones —would like to obliterate. On almost every page of his book the author stressed his alienness and “foreigness” in new Istanbul - this is not a Baedeker travel guide but the narration of an egocentric and introvert �Justyna Chmielewska • I s T A N B u L : RECOLLECTIONs FROM A LO sT CITY man of letters who devoted long years to arrive at the by no means simple essence of the city and to become ca­ pable of consciously identifying himself with its sublime depiction. To be able to say: Istanbul’s fate is my fate: I am attached to this city because it has made me who I am. Between the E ast and the West: melancholic Istanbul In a justification of their verdict, members of the Royal Swedish Academy explained that they presented the award to a writer who in the quest for the melancholic soul of his native city has discovered new symbols for the clash and interlacing of cultures.4 Despite the fact that he evaded the well-worn metaphor of the bridge linking the Orient and the Occident Pamuk did not resign from exploring the potential of this fundamental opposition. Nonetheless, he sought regions where the terms “East” and "West” still mean something, say something essen­ tial, and explain the condition of people from the world around him: suspended, torn between extremities, un­ able to fully identify themselves either with one circle or the other.5 Benefitting from Orientalist clichés, stere­ otype depictions, and simple connotations with which sentimental descriptions of Constantinople abounded, Pamuk tried to reach that level of experiencing the city along which there takes place a profound identification with the site, its texts and imagery due to the absorp­ tion, personal interpretations or rejection of existing representations. This is a difficult and painful identifi­ cation, marked with a feeling of shame and uncertainty, loss and paradoxical pride. Return for a moment to the social context: the Pamuk family inherited a fortune made by the author’s grandfather who built railroads during the first years of the Republic,6 and which Orhan’s father and uncles managed to squander in the post-war period. The au­ thor’s relatives can be regarded as a model-like sample of the Istanbul Europeanised elite - educated at the best universities, ostentatiously lay, and associated with the cosmopolitan legacy of the town rather than with the nationalistic project of modern Turkish identity. Torn by inner conflicts, lost in the elegant interiors of their Istanbul apartment, surrounded by piles of West­ ern books gathering dust, and with difficulty finding their place in the new social and cultural reality of the Republic. Home became as empty as the city’s ruined yalis7 and as gloomy as the fern-darkened gardens surrounding them - Pamuk recalled; elsewhere, he supplemented the image of the catastrophe approaching those closest to him and the town: .„but as nothing, Western or local, came to fill the void, the great drive to Westernise amounted mostly to the erasure of the past; the effect on culture was reductive or stunting, leaving families like mine, otherwise glad of Republican progress, to furnish their houses like mu­ seums.8 Pamuk seems to suggest that the degeneration of people is merely a reflection and derivative of the 145 ruin into which the town declined. Times of splendour had passed, and streets and houses together with their residents were doomed to exist on the margin of great history. We arrive at the point in which Pamuk’s Istanbul begins to slowly disclose its true face - that of a town relegated to the peripheries, forgotten, and full of traces of dead imperial culture gradually ousted by the me­ diocrity of modernity. It is here, amidst the ruins and snatches of former might, that the author sought an­ chorage points. Pamuk described the feeling accom­ panying this difficult identification as huzun - he had in mind specific melancholy characteristic for the resi­ dents of Istanbul, embedded in an overwhelming feel­ ing of loss and decline, additionally supplemented with recollections of imperial glory and poisoned by the ir­ reversibility of the changes to which the town had succumbed.9 Already due to its Arabian etymology huzun refers to Koranic and Sufi tradition ousted in republican Turkey,10 to the era of spiritual death and philosophi­ cal sophistication: contemporaneity appears to be their failed and ungrateful child. This paradoxical feeling sorrow mixed with pride, and reminiscences of greatness with the experiences of degeneration, a subconscious willingness to undergo suffering - becomes the content of Istanbul existence. Searching for a counterpart of this par excellence local state of the spirit Pamuk turns to the outside, towards analogues of urban sadness recorded in the writings of Western authors. In its capacity as in­ dividual suffering, leading towards alienness and loneli­ ness, Romantic European melancholy does not, how­ ever, exhaust the nature of the phenomenon, which in its Istanbul edition is a shared feeling and possibly the sole experience linking all those who manage to iden­ tify themselves with the city on the Bosporus. Under­ standing huzun could be facilitated by reading Tristes Tropiques by Claude Lévi-Strauss, although this tristesse too will not be an exact reflection of Istanbul sorrow; depression accompanying the observation of the pov­ erty of Sao Paulo or Delhi has an underpinning of a colonial feeling of guilt, of which Pamuk’s kinsmen are free. Perhaps its identification is better assisted by the symptoms of the Istanbul malaise and not its sources: It is by seeing huzun, by paying our respects to its manifesta­ tions in the city’s streets and views and people, that we at last come to sense it everywhere. On cold winter mornings, when the sun suddenly falls on the Bosporus and that faint vapour begins to rise from the surface. Pamuk perceived the mark of sadness unmistakably in the remnants of former Constantinople - immersed in the tissue of the city and with time losing their inte­ gral character vanishing amidst the successive strata of the Istanbul palimpsest of the ruins of previous towns.11 It is on their rubble and in the gaps in their tissue that successive forms developed, creating hybrid spaces dif­ �Justyna Chmielewska • I s T A N B u L : RECOLLECTIONs FROM A LO sT CITY ficult to decipher. In order to explain the special en­ thralling and attractive nature of those Istanbul strata Pamuk rather provocatively referred to the category of the “picturesque” conceived by John Ruskin, so as to in a thoroughly nineteenth-century and Romantic style express every few pages his admiration for a Byzantine wall overgrown with ivy or a semi-buckled mossy roof of a tekke belonging to crazed dervishes, whose garden provides shelter for homeless dogs - the emblematic res­ idents of a town abandoned by successive civilisations. The sorrow that is part of the essence of the local­ ity is projected onto its image: in its purest and correct form Istanbul will appear to Pamuk as black-and-white. The scarlet and orange of the sultanate, Muslim green banners and turquoise robes have already faded, leav­ ing the city of ruins and of end-of-the-empire melancholy. The greying and rotting timber of the collapsing Otto­ man villas,12 the ashen, indescribable fur of dogs roam­ ing in the streets, the severity of stone mosques marking the town panorama, the threads of thick smoke spewed by ships sailing across the sound, the dark whirl of the water surrounding and invading the town. Finally, the most important component of the Bosporus mono­ chrome: snow. Pamuk constructed his Istanbul from such images and it is they that condense most effec­ tively the very essence of post-imperial colourlessness. Once again, and as in the case of the hüzün, despite the feeling of loss and an awareness of the ostensibly unattractive colour scale of the city, it is this black-andwhite quality that for Pamuk will render Istanbul his town. Hence, melancholy and ruins, black, grey and white, unclear memories of former opulence and quiet consent to the local peripheral character.13 By embarking upon a quasi-Orientalist game played both with the texts de­ scribing the town and with the reader, the author con­ tinued to circulate around "dangerous”’ motifs: clichés of Oriental harems and cemeteries, mysterious murders committed by moonlight or Romantic images of “beau­ tiful ruins”. He provocatively resorted to texts from the “black list” of Western writers-Orientalists, laboriously disclosed by Edward Said and his emulators14 - de­ scriptions of Istanbul by Nerval, Gautier, and Flaubert become the keys to the gates of a non-existent town. This is a step just as effective as it is hazardous: Pamuk’s book thus becomes an easy target both for the pro-revi­ sion numerous trackers of Orientalist deviations on the Western side of the barricade (who, in turn, accuse him of copying Western clichés and the “Orientalisation” of Istanbul) and the Turks, readily criticising Pamuk for his “Occidentalisation” of the town, contrary to the na­ tional ethos, for pandering to European tastes, and for failing to notice the ”genuine”, Moslem and, predomi­ nantly, Turkish character of the metropolis.15 Defending his stand, Pamuk developed a unique theory of the Istanbul amalgamate, in which elements 146 borrowed from Eastern and Western tradition create a difficult and ambiguous whole. Although this rather unsurprising apology of syncretism and multicultural qualities resounds with truism (could the identity of a town with a population totalling more the 10 million be based on a single tradition?) in Istanbul it is constructed in an interesting fashion: via a multi-strata criticism of the cul de sac into which fascination with figures of the East and the West has led the residents of Istanbul. Openly critical of Turkish nationalism,16 Pamuk seems to parallelly - although somewhat more gently - doubt the tendency to copy Western models (and turned the edge of irony predominantly towards his relatives, thus revealing the cultural shallows, on which they have landed). A search for references to Islam will not lead us far while reading Istanbul: attachment to religion is, according to Pamuk, a feature typical for the "primi­ tive” residents of the poor districts, arrivals from the Anatolian province, while the author’s direct contact with the Moslem ritual seems to be limited to spying upon and tormenting a female servant employed by his parents when he was a child. The poor and those mis­ treated by fate “need” God, but this certainly does not hold true for Pamuk. If one were to seek the positive aspects of the Istanbul mixture, the writer would have probably assigned them to the cosmopolitanism of the town, its multicultural qualities inscribed into the his­ tory of a city for centuries populated by Turks, Greeks, Jews, Armenians and representatives of other diaspo­ ras. Here too, however, hüzün makes itself known - due to brutal nationalisation and successive pogroms little is left of former great variety: at best, memory and con­ secutive traces marking the map of the town, a phan­ tom of the past. Istanbul identity d la Orhan Pamuk is undoubtedly excusive and elitist - hence the majority of the criti­ cal opinions about his literary commentaries voiced in Turkey.17 Significantly, the author too described his po­ sition as ambiguous, stressing that his prime intention was writing books and not politics, that he was una­ fraid of formulating strong opinions about the cultural rank of the country. His voice, one of few, is heard and carefully heeded on the western shores of the Bosporus. Istanbul is predominantly a literary text; more, it is an urban mega-text, involving earlier descriptions into a dialogue. Istanbul in a text sometimes, it might appear that Pamuk owes more to his literary predecessors than to an actual experience of the town. The Istanbul Bildungsroman is, after all, pri­ marily the story of taming space via text, of becoming old enough for Istanbul (and Istanbul!) by delving into its successive representations. Here, the author ren­ dered the reader’s task easier and this one time did not compel him to participate in a game: without conceal­ �Justyna Chmielewska • IS T A N B U L : RECOLLECTIONs FROM A LO s T CITY ing the sources of his inspirations he openly indicated which texts moulded his image of the town (we must forgive a megalomaniac inclination to regard himself as an equal of the greatest - sometime Mann, at other times Conrad or Nabokov). More, he patiently guides the reader across his textual silva verborum comprising an unobvious likeness of the town on the Bosporus. If the most sensitive chords of the Istanbul spirit are affected by the West-East dichotomy then the same holds true for texts that enabled Pamuk to reach the very essence of the town: famous Orientalists, on the one hand, and local writers, forgotten by the Turks (who was supposed to read them?), on the other hand. Hence Nerval and his Voyage en Orient, in which Is­ tanbul, rather colourless in comparison with Cairo, is one of the last stopovers; then, following Nerval’s tracks, Gautier and his Constantinople; finally, Flaubert suffering from syphilis caught in Beirut and, similarly as Nerval, disappointed with the “insufficiently Orien­ tal” Constantinople. Further on, Gide, unsparing in his racist comments about the natives, and Le Corbusier, under the spell of the Ottoman legacy (he toured the town prior to his fascination with the aesthetics of the limousine and the transatlantic liner; more, in a bout of Orientalist nostalgia he was wont to urge the Turkish modernisers to preserve and revitalise historical wood­ en architecture!18). Pamuk read them patiently and in­ dulgently - at times expressing irony for the schematic depictions, upon other occasions seeking in their de­ scriptions details to which none of the earlier examined texts drew attention. In a word: he allowed the Europe­ ans to tell a story about their Istanbul, regardless of the character of those accounts. The whole issue grows more complicated when we examine the local dragomans, with Pamuk devoting more attention to four of them: Resat Ekrem Kogu, Yahya Kemal, Ahmet Hamdi Tanpinar and Abdulhak §inasi Hisar, Istanbul guides described by the author as melancholic men of letters. What is the crux of the mat­ ter? Apparently, these four writers, at least when read by Pamuk, managed to penetrate the town the most, to salvage the majority of Istanbul in their texts, to best render its specificity lost in time._Kogu - the Sisyphus of the Bosporus - devoted his whole life to a deed that cannot be rivalled: Istanbul Encyclopedia (keep in mind that while collecting material for this perverse compen­ dium he devoted himself to studying the special beauty of the local boys, leaving the town and its description on the margin), Kemal - whose poetry is up to this day used to educate consecutive generations of Turks, and Tanpinar, closest to the Nobel Prize laureate: master and student. Both spent their youth becoming familiar with Armenian poetry and devoted their mature years to delving into the language of Western poets and par­ allel roaming across the poor suburbs, where they dis­ covered a foretaste of the desired huzun. Finally, there 147 is Hisar, whose “Bosporus civilization” remained for Pa­ muk a model of the Istanbul saga: the fate of people and the town constitute a tangle not to be unravelled. Where are the complications? - asks the more ob­ servant reader. It appears that within the context of the four writers there recurs the melancholy echo of an unavoidable complexity of the identity of the town on the Bosporus - the already familiar East-West paradox. All four enjoy the deserved renown of "great Turkish writers” (perhaps with the sole exception of the rather too controversial Resat Ekrem Koçu), and all four de­ veloped their talent and perception in contact, context, and deep fascination with Western literature - either imitating European models or trying to translate and adapt them to local reality. Pamuk is uncompromising in his assessment: he hears clearly the Western semi­ tone even in the “native” representations of Istanbul, closest to virtuosity; the “purity” of description and in­ nocence so desired by nationalists and Turkish purists, its independence from European impact are simply im­ possible. We reach a successive essential and sensitive point of the arguments presented by the Nobel Prize laureate: the inevitability of borrowing, whose source is both the centuries-long fascination with the West and a sui generis impotence of Turkish authors incapable of describing their town. Leaving aside various official docu­ ments and the handful of city columnists who scolded Istan­ bullus for their poor comportment in the streets, until the beginning of the twentieth century, Istanbullus themselves wrote very little about their city. The living, breathing city —its streets, its atmosphere, its smells, the rich variety of its everyday life was penned by Westerners - a harsh opinion formulated in a characteristically Orhan Pamuk style. Whoever would like to make a riposte to this cri­ tique by referring to Said’s theory of Orientalism, argu­ ing that the Turks simply had no other solution at their disposal than to succumb to the cultural and political domination of the West, cannot expect to enjoy easy success. Only awareness of the complexity of the Turk­ ish paradox, that East-West angle characteristic for contemporary Turkey, makes it possible, Pamuk claims, to perceive the reverse side of the issue. Orientalism is interpreted in Istanbul, unfortunately, mainly to justify nationalist sentiment or to imply that, if it weren’t for the West, the East would be a wonderful place - and Pamuk seems to be correct within the context of the identity disputes conducted from the onset of the Republic. Album The author reads about Istanbul, but just as often observes it by seeking its soul and the recognisable face of the town in books, etchings, and sketches. Already browsing through his book makes it possible to imagine the way in which Pamuk sees the space of the metropo­ lis: obsessively recurring images of decrepit wooden villas, the yali along the Bosphorus, views of streets �Justyna Chmielewska • I s T A N B u L : RECOLLECTIONS FROM A LOST CITY sprinkled with snow, photographs of the Galata Bridge and ships trying to squeeze into the Golden Horn ports, and, finally, the nineteenth-century etchings by Melling, a favourite illustrator and another European who managed to portray the town better that the local art­ ists. The secret of the force of Melling’s compositions is supposed to be concealed in the specifically "humble perspective” assumed by him: the absence of a central point, the distance from which he looks at a panorama, and the emptiness and life granted to elements placed in the frame - all those features bring his way of see­ ing closer to Pamuk’s perception and enable the Nobel Prize laureate to discover in the archaic etchings the shadow of hüzün. One more thing that cannot be over­ looked: the affiliation supposedly linking Melling with the Ottoman authors of miniatures ready to resign from faithful depiction for the sake of representation con­ current with the canon and subjugating details of the “human” world to strict rules of composition (on the margin: the same principle appears to be applied in Pamuk’s text). Yet another person suspended “between” and non-identifiable either with the imaginary East or the West. The second protagonist of the visual novel and a great illustrator of the town is Ara Güler19 - a reporter prowl­ ing the dark and narrow streets and registering the grim face of Istanbul at the time of Pamuk’s childhood. His photographs are supposed to express the writer’s favour­ ite black-and-white image of the town: street scenes that could appear to be portrayed by sheer accident, blurred takes of dubious lanes at twilight, pedestrians captured as they hurry along day after day, and, finally, scores of photographs documenting the no longer existing Istanbul with its wooden villas and cobblestones. A t first glance, this is an accidental collection or rather one that illus­ trates the text in a somewhat excessively literal way. Nev­ ertheless, it remains valuable because it enabled Pamuk to descend into the street, to leave for a while the drowsy cosiness of his studio with a view of the Bosporus, and to pretend that he too manages to traverse the town and not only imagines it upon the basis of depictions by others. Finally, private photographs - Istanbul is, after all, also a parallel family saga with the town as its backdrop, and the lead protagonists - Orhan, growing up, his brother, who gives him an undeserved bashing, their beautiful mother, the permanently absent dandy-father and the majestic grandmother. Let us add, that this is the Orhan who planned to devote himself to painting and spent several years of volatile adolescence sketching the same panorama of the Bosporus and personifying successive Eu­ ropean painters so as to attain that special, dual, EasternWestern acuity. Once again, an ostensible secondariness or perhaps more exactly: a twisting path leading through the stage of emulating the Orientalist clichés of old Con­ stantinople and towards intentional identification with the town and its image. 148 Intimate town, absent town The autobiographical convention observes its own rules: there is place for slight exhibitionism and the generalisation of one’s condition, and a wide field for manoeuvre for the sake of auteur self-creation as long as the writer is capable of connecting successive mo­ tifs into a whole as cohesive as possible. Pamuk made copious use of these possibilities: poignant photographs of the four-year old pouting Orhan next to Orhan-the intellectual involved in politics, showing off his erudi­ tion. Self-deprecatory confessions about the excesses of first love lead smoothly towards stories about the ruins of the poor districts and their nineteenth-century de­ scriptions. In time, the ostensibly chaotic narration (the chro­ nology of the autobiographical novel is disturbed by successive, supposedly haphazard inserts) produced an order of sorts: Istanbul registers the process of reaching an awareness of being-in-a-city, documenting its con­ secutive stages together with all the complications en­ countered along the way. The path splits into at least three tracks: the text, the image, and life; choosing only a single one leads astray, and ignoring one of them could result in incomplete, fragmentary identification. In other words, there are three domains in which Pamuk seeks his town, and further: three chronological stages of growing up. Childhood appears to be a time of an unthinking, unruffled absorption of space (care­ less rides in a 1952 Dodge, dancing on the pavement so as to miss the cracks and “dangerous” joints, reading shop signs, announcements and neon lights), while ad­ olescence is a time of rejecting the simple image of the town. The exalted quasi-fldneunusme20 of this period led Pamuk towards dark bars suffused with cigarette smoke, clamorous meetings of leftists, and the dirty back stage of the suburbs that merely enhance inner frustration. Finally, the last step: overcoming inner rebellion and the joy of identifying oneself with the community of the residents of Istanbul - mournful in a manner shared by the author, melancholic just like him, and longing for a lost town. The epilogue: the outcome of this reunifica­ tion with people and place, willingness and readiness to create one’s own intimate an urban text that would reflect all three fundamental components: life, image, and literature. Pamuk experienced his catharsis (where else?) on a ferry sailing between the Golden Horn ports, among tired fellow passengers with their dull coats, their skullcaps,21 their scarves and their string bags - amidst the symbolic Others of his Istanbul.22 Among all these ordi­ nary, common people, whom he saw in photographs by Ara Guler more frequently than in the familiar streets of the Europeanised quarters; people sharing with their numerous children cramped wooden houses on the brink of collapse in historical suburbs evoking the au­ thor’s nostalgia. Amidst those millions coming to his �Justyna Chmielewska • isT A N B U L : RECOLLECTIONS FROM A LOST CITY town who desecrated hills overgrown with cypresses and covered them with hideous new concrete apartment buildings (each one crushing my soul). To what degree are these words full of elitist arrogance insufferable for the Turkish readers, how much do they carry of intention­ ally created contrast intent on making the reader once again aware of the nature of the Istanbul hüzün? Finally, one last paradox: while declaring his readi­ ness to describe the melancholic spirit of the town, sup­ posedly unconsciously experienced by all the “locals”, Pamuk wrote a magnificent literary document of the bright sides of the specifically Istanbul version of exclu­ sion. If one were to follow on the map the routes of his excursions, the majority of the districts will remain blanks,23 while those mentioned will correspond to the Europeanised exclusive parts of the town, inhabited by local men of means. The Nobel laureate presents him­ self as a “native” writing about his town as an insider, but a few pages later on he mentions the feeling of al­ ienation and deprivation of roots experienced while strolling in the streets. We can try to decipher the same ostensible contradiction within the context of the so­ cial background against which Pamuk placed himself: writing about the town of old he had in mind a town from an era when the feeling of a loss (post-imperial nostalgia experienced while looking at picturesque ru­ ins) was compensated by an awareness of possession (of social prestige, cultural superiority, economic hin­ terland). In his words: [...] later on, [in the 1960s and 1970s - J. Ch.] when Turkey’s democracy had matured somewhat and rich provincials began flocking to Istanbul to present themselves to "society"; by then, my father’s and my uncle’s business failures had taken their toll, subjecting us to the indignity of being outclassed by people who had no taste for secularism and no understanding for western culture. If enlightenment entitled us to riches and privilege, how were we to explain to those pious parvenus that we deserved them? Perhaps by resorting to a text? On the one hand, Istanbul is a story about an in­ timate, personal growing up of an egocentric man of letters, sensitive to beauty; on the other hand, and in a much less obvious manner, it is a narration about the gradual relegation of the old Istanbul (the town of Pamuk et consortes) by the new Istanbul, desultory, un-aesthetic and not worth our attention: the “com­ mon” and “uncivilised” Istanbul of immigrants from the provinces. The latter are absent in the book, and we may at best notice the shadow they cast on the idealised vision cherished by the Nobel laureate, causing him to become enveloped by the darkest, most murderous and authentic strain of melancholy. The incompatibility of the map sketched by the writer and the actual dynamic of the town should not come as a surprise - this is the consequence of a project realised with sensitivity and piety, intent on reviving in the text a remembered and perhaps slightly mytholo­ 149 gised space, certainly one without any claims to objec­ tivism. For everything we say about the city’s essence says more about our own lives and our own state of mind. The city has no centre other than ourselves, Pamuk explained his powers of observation. Let this be - as long as such non-symmetrical, subjectivised, and intimate attempts remain excellent literature capable of enchanting some and inclining others towards a more profound reflec­ tion on the political-cultural theses of the author. In the case of Orhan Pamuk this manner of conducting a narration is sometimes more successful than an amass­ ment of fictional plots. Endnotes 1 O. Pamuk, Stambuł. Wspomnienia i miasto, translated A. Polat, Wydawnictwo Literackie, Kraków 2008. The num­ bers of the pages in parentheses after the quotations refer to this edition. 2 Already in 2008 the number of the town inhabitants was estimated at 12,5 million. On the Istanbul demographic boom in recent years cf., i.a. A. Aksoy, Istanbul’s Choice, "Third Text” no. 1 (22) 2008, pp. 71-83. It is worth noting that the total of residents rapidly growing since 1950 up to this day is predominantly the outcome of inner migra­ tion - successive tides of arrivals from the provinces set­ tling down in Istanbul. 3 I mention the names of Istanbul districts, probably of little significance for the Polish reader, in order to outline the “elitist map” of the town - these areas are culturally rese­ rved for the Europeanised upper strata and access is hampered for the average inhabitants of Istanbul by the economic barrier. On the ethnic-cultural character of the historical districts of Istanbul cf. Z. ęelik, An Architectural Survey of the City, in: The Remaking of Istanbul. Portrait of an Ottoman City in 19th Century, University of California Press, Berkeley 1993, p. 9 and 21 sqq. 4 . The complete text of the justification of the verdict, the speech given by Orhan Pamuk at the ceremony of presen­ ting the 2006 Nobel Prize in literature, and details con­ cerning the writer's biography and bibliography in: http:// nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/2006/ (access 10.01.2009). 5 Another line of division appears to be much more signifi­ cant within the context of Istanbul: I have in mind the north-south line. The Pamuk family is an excellent repre­ sentative of the “northern Istanbul residents”, a Europeanised and lay middle class living in districts to the north of the Golden Horn - the first beneficiaries of modernisation, in time relegated to the economic and cultural margin. On this division cf. O. Esen, The Tightrope Walk of the Middle Class in a Fractured Istanbul, in: Art, City and Politics in an Expanding World. Writings from the 9th International Istanbul Biennial, istanbul Kultur Sanat Vakfi, Istanbul 2005, pp. 120-121. Pamuk described the experience of crossing the border of the Golden Horn: The trams had been going up and down our street since 1914 connecting [northern districts - J. Ch.] Maękę and Nąantaęi to Taksim Square, Tunel, the Galat Bridge and all the other poor, old historic [southern - J. Ch.J neighbourhoods that then seemed to belong to another country (p. 50). 6 On the ideological and non-neutral significance of rail­ way lines linking the most distant parts of Anatolia and �Justyna Chmielewska • isT A N B U L : RECOLLECTIONs FROM A LO sT CITY 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 the cultural centre (Istanbul) and political capital (Ankara) for the Turkish project of modernism see: S. Bozdogan, Modernism and Nation Building. Turkish Architectural Culture in the Early Republic, University of Washington Press, Seattle and London 2001, pp. 119­ 121. Involvement in building the railroad turned Paul's grandfather into a classic representative of the elite of modernisers, who by imposing reforms intended to trans­ form the crumbling empire into a Western-type state. Yali describes a seaside villa, typical for Ottoman housing in Istanbul, situated on the shores of the Bosporus and "opened” towards the straits and not the town. Nationalistic reforms introduced in the 1930s by the ironfisted Atatürk and his adherents resulted in an effective severance of the cultural continuum between Ottoman and republican Turkey: a change of the Ottoman alpha­ bet to a Latin one and the Muslim calendar to a Gregorian one, a reform of clothes, a secularisation campaign as well as a transference of the capital of the state from sultana­ te-era Istanbul to historically neutral Ankara were only some of the bold modernisation steps taken to transform Turkey from the “sick man of Europe” into a modern republic. Cf. D. Kołodziejczyk Turcja. Historia państw świa­ ta XX wieku, Wyd. Trio, Warszawa 2000, pp. 114-127. An attempted analysis of the category of melancholy in Pamuk's Istanbul by, i.a. Esra Akcan, cf. The Melancholies of Istanbul, “World Literature Today”, 11-12 2006, pp. 39-43. Abandoned ruins of Moslem brotherhoods (banned in 1925 upon the order of Atatürk), a constantly recurring motif in Istanbul, symbolized the religious sophistication of the Ottoman era but at the time of the young Pamuk were merely mute symbols of the fall and degeneration of a past civilisation. On the Istanbul palimpsest cf. A. Nowaczewski, Pejzaże miejskiej melancholii, "Przegląd polityczny” no. 89, 2008, p. 59. Orhan Esen identified Pamuk's favourite motif of a wooden crumbling house, characteristic for the poor districts of Istanbul, with unkempt children reclining on the steps and laundry drying in the windows, as a symbol of backwardness and Oriental poverty contested by adhe­ rents of the modernisation of Turkey; cf. O. Essen, learning from Istanbul, in: Self-Service City: Istanbul, ed. O. Esen, S. Lanz, b-books, Berlin 2007, fragment available on: http://www.metrozones.info/istanbul/index.html (access 15 January 2009). In recent years, successive quarters dominated by such housing, e.g. the Fatih district mentioned by Pamuk, have been torn down. Cf. Pamuk's reflections about the marginal and indirect status of Turkey in the interview: Nadal naiwnie wierzę w Zachód, Magazyn "Dziennika”, 25-26 October 2008, pp. 7-8. The author devoted much attention to this motif also in his Nobel lecture: My Father’s Suitcase, ’’Przegląd polityczny” no. 89: 2008, (insert). Cf. E. W Said, Orientalizm, transl. M. Wyrwas-Wiśniewska, Zysk i S-ka, Poznań 2005, in particular pp. 284-354. The motif of the collision of Eastern and Western impacts is one of the leitmotifs of Pamuk's works. In: My Name is Red ( Nazywam się Czerwień, transl. D. Chmielowska, Wyd. Literackie, Kraków 2007) it is included within the context of a dispute concerning style and authorship conducted by sixteenth-century painters of miniatures active in the sultanate; in Snow (Snieg, transl. A. Polat, Wyd. Literackie, Kraków 2006) this tension is expressed 150 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 in a political and world outlook controversy, thus beco­ ming a direct reason for disturbances in the provincial town of Kars. Cf. Nadal naiwnie wierzę w Zachód, Magazyn "Dziennika”, 25-26 October 2008, pp. 7-8 and Moja turecka biblioteka, "Dziennik”, 24 December 2008. Cf. S. Morkoę, City and Self in Three Accounts of Istanbul: Lorich’s Panorama (1559), Le Corbusier’s Travelogue (1911) and Pamuk’s Memoir (2005), “Middle East Technical University Journal of the Faculty of Architecture” no. 2 (24) 2007, pp. 96-97. On the Istanbul (unrealised) projects by Le Corbusier see: S. Bozdogan, Modernism and Nation Building. Turkish Architectural Culture in the Early Republic, University of Washington Press, Seattle and London 2001, pp. 3-4 and 67. Born in 1928 in an Armenian family, probably the most famous Turkish photojournalist and the only Turk wor­ king for the Magnum agency. Photographs taken in the 1950s and 1960s, showing the fishermen and workers of Istanbul, attained the status of urban icons. In his book Pamuk included chiefly street photographs by Guler. The impossibility of the emergence of fldneurisme d la Turca was interestingly described by Ugur Tanyeli: due to the obliteration of the public/private borderline functioning in Western towns, in Turkey streets became an arena of intensive social control making it impossible to unrestric­ tedly roam other than in groups. Tanyeli pointed out that outer space assumed the form of places of meetings and interactions and not of the isolation of the individualised subject. Cf. U. Tangelo, Public Space/Private Space: The Invention of a Conceptual Dichotomy in Turkey, in: Art, City and Politics in an Expanding World. Writings from the 9th International Istanbul Biennial, istanbul Kultur Sanat Vakfi, Istanbul 2005, pp. 210-225. Another factor hampe­ ring the Istanbul version of fl&neurisme could be strongly politicized town space, cf. E. Ozyurek, Nostalgia for the Modern. State Secularism and Everyday Politics in Turkey, Duke University Press, Durham and London 2006, pp. 93-124. An interpretation of Istanbul as an analogue of Benjamin's Passagenwerk was attempted by D. Kozicka, cf. Stambulskie pasaże, “Przegląd polityczny” no. 89, 2008, pp. 55-57. Takke - a small and usually woolen cap used in Turkey by conservative Moslem men, a male counterpart of the shawl worn by women wishing to demonstrate their iden­ tification with Islam. Stephan Lanz described those poor and usually conserva­ tive arrivals from the provinces as anti-urbanites - the opposite of the ”genuine” residents of Istanbul, who in time occupied the majority of urban space and became culturally alien vis a vis the town elites , cf. S. Lanz, If you can make it in Istanbul you can make it anywhere, in: Self­ Service City: Istanbul, ed. O. Esen, S. Lanz, b-books, Berlin 2007, fragment available on: http://www.metrozones.info/ istanbul/index.html (access 15 January 2009). By way of example, the Asian coast, where 35% of the town's population now lives (about 4,5 million people), is mentioned in the book only twice or thrice as a place where Pamuk's friends raced the Mercedes cars borrowed from their fathers (Bagdad Street) and as one of the favo­ urite localisations of engravings by Melling (historical Uskudar). � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/c5e59e8d8e5428b0e15385a9ed8761f2.pdf 4ee5c86d0c271f016d446ec4991514d2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6510 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource antropologia współczesności Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6082 Title A name given to the resource The Beauty of Human Error/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.112-119 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Stomma, Ludwik Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text LUDWIK ST OM M A The Beauty of Human Error In Memoriam Professor Aleksander Jackiewicz Act I. The Eiffel Tower The Eiffel Tower was erected upon the occasion of the World Exhibition in 1889 and conceived as the at­ traction and embellishment of the event. Its author, as the name indicates, was engineer Gustave Eiffel, ear­ lier known as the builder of a viaduct over the Sioule (1869), a bridge in Porto (1876), and, predominantly, the 122 metre-tall Garabit Viaduct (1878), a techno­ logical miracle of its time. The tower brought him not only immortal renown but also the Legion of Honour, which Eiffel received on inauguration day (31 March 1889) from Minister of Trade Trade Édouard Lockroy (in place of Prime Minister Pierre Emmanuel Tirard, who became short of breath and could not reach the uppermost platform; lifts were installed several weeks later). The Tower is 301 meters high and weighs 9 699 tons. “This tower is the fulfilment of an eternal dream...” - Prime Minister Tirard said without undue exaggera­ tion in his inauguration speech. Designs for soaring constructions ”befitting the capital of the world” had been presented already to Charles VII, Francis I, Henry IV, Louis XV and Napoleon... Almost at the last moment the realisation of Alfred Picard‘s monu­ mental project was hampered by the July Revolution. To the end of 1886 Eiffel’s rival was Jules Bourdais, supporter of a cylindrical tower, also 300 meters tall and topped with a hundred powerful floodlights that would illuminate evenly not only Paris but also the whole of Bois Boulogne, Neuilly and Levallois, all the way to the Seine. Taking into consideration the height of our houses, wrote a malicious journalist, standing like cliffs along narrow canyons, and the fact that the streets of Paris do not radiate concentrically from the site intended for this monstrous column one may presume that the city roofs alone would become flooded with light; hence, probably contrary to the intentions of the authors, only our cats will benefit while pedestrians will continue breaking their legs in the darkness. 1 Despite “eternal dreams” the ultimate decision to embark upon building a ”steel construction accord­ ing to calculations made by engineer Gustave Eiffel”, signed on 8 January 1887 by Eduard Lockroy and the prefect of Paris Eugène Poubelle (yes! - the one re­ sponsible for dustbins), produced a storm of solemn protests. On 14 February “Le Temps” published an open letter addressed to Adolphe Alphand, chief architect of Paris. The signatories included, i.a. Guy de Mau­ passant, Alexandre Dumas, Sully Prudhomme, poets: François Coppée, Leconte de Lisle, painters: Jean Louis Meissonier, Leon Bonnat, William-Adolphe Bouguerau, Adolphe Willette, architects headed by the designer of the Paris Opera Charles Garnier, mu­ sicians, with Charles Gounod, and actors, including Victorien Sardou...: Citizen and dear countryman! We, the writers, painters, sculptors, architects and ama­ teurs devoted to the beauty of Paris that had remained intact until now, come to protest with all our might and indignation, in the name of the unrecognised French taste, French art, and French history that now find themselves threatened —we protest the construction, on the very earth of our capital, the useless and monstrous Eiffel Tower that public spite, often imbued with good sense and a spirit of justice, has already christened the Tower of Babel. With­ out succumbing to chauvinistic exaggeration we may boldly state that Paris is undoubtedly the most beauti­ ful city in the world. Along its streets, wide boulevards, enchanting riverbanks and promenades there tower the most magnificent works of mankind. The spirit of France, the author of those masterpieces, delights in this flourishing of stone dignity. The Italians, the Ger­ mans, and the Dutch, albeit correctly proud of their artistic heritage, do not possess anything comparable with ours, and thus Paris stirs curiosity and admiration in all corners of the world. Are we to desecrate all this? Is Paris to subject itself to the tradesman’s mentality of a machine constructor by losing its beauty and hon­ our? Yes! - This tower, which even commercialised America would not want, is unquestionably an insult to the town. Everyone feels this, all repeat this, all are anxious; we are merely a weak echo of a rightly disturbed public opinion. Foreigners arriving at our exhibition will cry out in surprise: “This is the mon­ strosity chosen by the French to give witness to their taste!?”. Mercilessly jeering, they will be right. Paris of the lofty Gothic, Paris of Jean Goujon, Pilon, Puget, Rude, de Barye, etc. ... will become Paris of Mr. Eiffel. In order to understand the l egitimacy of our outrage it suffices to imagine this ridiculous Tower ruling over Paris in the manner of a pillar of black factory smoke and smothering with its barbaric weight Notre-Dame, Saint-Chapelle, Tour Saint-Jacques, the Louvre, the Dôme des Invalides, L ’Arc de Triomphe ... All our monuments humiliated and belittled, vanishing in this mad dream. For twenty long years we shall be forced to watch how the shadow of an atrocious column 112 �Ludwik Stomma * THE BEAU' made of twisted tin will fall upon this city, trembling with the troubled genius of past centuries. - We turn to you, Sir, who loves Paris so much, who has granted it so much beauty, who has protected it so many times against the devastation and vandalism of industry, and who has the honour to shield it once again. We turn to you, Sir, while guarding the cause of Paris because we know that as an artist who loves all that is beauti­ ful, great and just, you will devote all your energy and eloquence. And if our call will remain unheeded, if our arguments will be rejected, if Paris will insist to be defiled, then let us, the signatories, and you, Sir, at least leave for posterity this protest, which does us honour.3 The signatories did not have to wait long for a riposte: the Tower is not a useless object - Lockroy replied, nor is it an ordinary attraction at the World Exhibition; on the contrary, it provides science with invaluable services. Eugene-Melchior de Vogue stated that the Tower is the immortal victory of masonic lodges over degenerate clericals, a blow dealt against parochial mystifications, revenge for the defeat of the freemasons of Senaar, and an embodiment of the om­ nipotence of science raising the tower of Babel, an edifice forbidden by the Biblical God. 4 Magnificent proof of the industrial power of our land; a monument of secular genius; an extraordinary flight of secular thought ... - added others, and Gaston Tissandier concluded that the Tower will symbolise not only the skills of contemporary engineering, but the whole age of Science and Industry, in which we live; it will be­ come a monument of gratitude for the heroes of scien­ tific renascence at the end of the eighteenth century and the Revolution of 1789, who delineated the paths of progress.5 As the construction work advanced and the Tower grew, the opinions of its supporters became louder and more exalted. The above cited de Vogiie, speaking in the name of the Eiffel Tower, addressed the bell towers of the Notre-Dame cathedral: You old abandoned tow­ ers, which no one obeys any longer. Do you not see that the poles of the Earth, now turning around my steel axis, have changed1 I am the power of the universe brought under control by the genius of calculations. Human thought runs along my members. My forehead is encircled by radiance brought from the sources of light. You were ignorance, and I am Science! 6 An anonymous author of Guide officiel de la Tour Eiffel echoed his opinion: Only from here (from the second platform of the Tower - L. S.) it is possible to grasp the great progress of History. Here, N a­ ture and History demonstrate their peak. It is here - on the plain stretching at your feet that the past took place. It is here (on the Tower - L. S.) that the future will become fulfilled. (...) Thanks to its form of a factory chimney the Tower triumphantly guided into Paris industry, of which attempts were made to deprive the city. Soaring proudly, it 113 reminds the heavens about the might of progress, the vic­ tory of Science and Industry. 7 The praise was crowned with Adolphe David’s Symophonic Poem, opus 63: - Engineers and workers arrive at Champ de Mars (lento) - Beginning of work and the Tower foundations (moderato) - The clangor of iron (moderato e martellato) - Ironworkers (allegro et gaiement) - Turmoil and anxiety among the workers (allegro mouvementé) - First platform, the Tower grows, the summit is closer (andante cantabile) - People on the Tower (moderato accelerando e crescendo jusqu’à la fin) - The French national anthem and flag (lento e grandioso). It should be added that according to its adherents the localisation of the Eiffel Tower accentuated its symbolic dimension. Up to 1765 Champ de Mars had been covered with vineyards, and then, for the next 15 years, it served as a training area for cadets of the nearby Military Academy. From that time, however, it became renowned for numerous spectacular events: 1783 - the Robert brothers launched a huge bal­ loon (which fell in Gonesse, near Ecouen, causing panic among the local peasants), 1794 - the Blanchard balloon, 14 July 1790 - Fête de la Fédération under Tal­ leyrand. In pouring rain more than 300 000 Parisians swore an oath of loyalty to the Nation and the Con­ stitution, �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR 10 November 1794 - the execution of Jean Baillie,strous”, “hideous”, "ridiculous, “horrible”, “made not astronomer and mer of Paris (the same who responded of stone” but of “tin twisted with screws” ; it “smothers to a comment made by the hangman, who noticed the town’s monuments with its barbaric weight” and that he was shivering with fear: Oui, mais cest seule- is the reason why “Gothic Paris will become the Paris ment de froid (Yes, but it is only the cold). of Mr. Eiffel”, etc. Ethical arguments proclaimed: “the 8 June 1794 - Apotheosis, the Festival of the Su­Tower is a profanity”, “it robs of all honour”, “it hu­ miliates”, is “an insult” and “a new Tower of Babel”, preme Being, organized by Robespierre, while utilitarian arguments added: “it is useless” and, 10 November 1804 - Napoleon presented the Le­ finally, socio-ideological ones claimed that the Tower gions with eagles, 1863 - the launch of “Le Geant”, a two-storey bal­ was created by the “tradesman’s mentality of a ma­ chine constructor”, “even commercialised America loon built by A. Nadar, would not want it”, it is an ”industrial product”... 1867 - International Exhibition, 1878 - World Exhibition. Counter-arguments include: ’’victory over the cler­ gy”, “’parochial mystifications”, “ignorance” and the The construction of the Tower lasted 26 months “’past” ; a triumph of “’iron”, “’industry”, “science”, (795 days, to be precise). The Parisian press reported about the course of the work with growing enthusi­ ‘’free thought”, “secular genius”, the “future”, the asm: The workers compete zealously, full of admiration ’’tradition of the Enlightenment and the French Rev­ for the common task. They do not fear exhaustion or in­ olution”, “usefulness”, and, finally, a pathos-suffused clement weather: be it winter or the hottest summer days admission: “Yes, this is the new Tower of Babel”. they labour with total devotion, courage and an undeterred It is easy to notice that the symmetric arguments and counter-arguments seem to be arranged in two will to successfully complete the Tower - wrote “Le cri opposition cycles: du peuple” in June 1887. “Le Rappel” added on 13 August: The number of curious onlookers watching the 1 - industry: art; engineer: artist; iron: stone, construction continues to grow. Foreigners passing through 2 - the future: the past; science: religion; freedom: Paris return from the site of the great undertaking delighted tradition. and slightly jealous. (...) All agree that the Tower appears Take the first contrast - industry: art. to be growing by itself. The French: I’industrie (and the Polish: industriFinally, on 1 April 1889, after all the speeches, alizacja/industrialisation) is derived from the Latin: celebrations, orders, and ribbons tourists mounted the industria, i.e. collective work, the activity of a closed Tower. The guest book placed next to the entrance group of the initiated... Up to the eighteenth century to the stairs makes it possible to learn about their first chevalier d’industrie signified a felon, a member of a impressions 8.What summit will the genius of the French band of thieves. This negative timbre survived all the reach in 1989? —The clouds will tell!’ (a visitor from Bra­ way to the middle of the nineteenth century suggest­ zil); Oh Egypt, my beloved homeland, how I would like to ing unsuitable, common, and even degrading activity. see from the peaks of the pyramids a work as mighty and Art, on the other hand, from the Latin: ars-tis (talent) magnificent as the Eiffel Tower, erected with the hands of and the Indo-European aritus/ritus, refers to a rite, sac­ your children!; Oh my native land! When will you achieve ral activity, the sacred, an encounter of the individual such a success? (a Hungarian); French genius, you will and the sacred. always be foremost in the world!’; Seeing the Eiffel Tower upon the etymological level the distinction into I am proud to be French; Just as on the Tower of Babel industry and art thus delineated further contrasts: here too a great mixture of languages but it does not divide industry: art people —on the contrary, it unites in a unanimous ado­ the collective: the individual ration of France (a Greek woman); I discovered on the the profane: the sacral. Tower the expanse of my native seas (a Breton). Only a Parallel, the iron: stone opposition, in which iron is certain Bloumette expressed some distance: The more I a transposed material while stone ”was begat without admire the Eiffel Tower the more I experience the infinites­ human intervention” places us vis a vis a fundamental, imal nature of high heels; a sergeant of the 18th infantry structural culture: nature opposition. regiment preceded Freudian interpretations and wrote Myth - Roland Barthes maintained - consists in succinctly and concisely: An imposing penis!. The sole overturning culture into nature or, at least, the social, the cultural, the ideological, the historical into the “natural". sceptical and embittered reaction of the day was the What is nothing but a product of class division and its one (is this not an additional symbol?) of our kinsman from the land on the Vistula: We build ever higher, we moral, cultural and aesthetic consequences is presented fall ever lower. Stanislas Skarżyński. Fortunately, his (stated) as being a "matter of course"; under the effect voice was drowned in the general clamour. of mythical inversion, the quite contingent foundations of the utterance become Common Sense, Right Reason, The opponents proposed aesthetic arguments against the Tower, which they regarded as “mon­ the Norm, General Opinion, in short the doxa (which is 114 �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR the secular figure of the Origin). 9 The basic function of collective impression thus consists of a permanent transition of the cultural to the natural, the mythical justification and integration of culture. Meanwhile, in the peculiar case of the adherents of the Eiffel Tower we are dealing with an opposite tendency - we reject Nature! We consciously speak in favour of the trans­ posed. We do not want revealed traditions but truths created by us. We are the future! We are the heretics! ... So many dreams of Castorp and Settembrini are to be found here, so many predictions of futurism and Surrealism. An anthropologist, however, knows, and this is the painful complaint of his (nomen omen) profession, that there is no truth or liberty, and that a myth will only replace a previous myth. The myth cherished by the supporters of the Tower was emancipated society without tradition, religion, and the past, progressing towards unruffled freedom just a step away. This is freedom devoid of tedious injunctions and numbing taboos from the past. Industry, iron, science ! Fifty years later, miniature Eiffel towers advertised (and sometimes still do) spots for cosy rendezvous in Portugal, Central America, the Far East, “all the cor­ ners of the world”. Decorations depicting the Tower are also, in our epoch, an indispensable component of Parisian cabarets, which, like “Folies-Bergère” or “Crazy Horse” consider or offer themselves as truly lib­ erated “’in the Parisian spirit”. Even in private brothel apartments in St. Denis a small golden model of the Tower is virtually unavoidable. Once: industry, iron, science; now: nudity, plumes, Chanel... New generations ruthlessly travestied the ideas of the adherents of engineer Eiffel. Did they ac­ tually betray the message? In June 1984 the lesbians of Paris, demanding the right to legal marriage, carried at the head of their procession a cardboard Eiffel Tower, and in the back a banner: ’’May secular thought win” ... . The Sun emerged from behind the clouds and smiled upon the Tower. Act IL L’A rt de Triomphe The construction of L’Arc de Triomphe an­ nounced by Napoleon on the battlefield at Austerlitz went on for thirty years (15 August 1806 - 29 July 1836). In the meantime, France witnessed the fall of the Empire, the Cossacks entering Paris, the Bourbon Restoration, the Hundred Days, another Restoration, the July Revolution, the onset of the reign of Louis Philippe ... Originally, the Arc was to stand in the presentday Place de la Bastille, since this was the route along which the army returned from the East along St. A n­ toine. The project was changed by the Minister of Foreign Affairs Jean-Baptiste de Nompère de Cham115 pagny, who skilfully suggested to the Emperor that the Arc, soaring over the Etoile tollgate, would be visible from the Tuileries, and thus always before the eyes of the Triumphant Commander; more, His Majesty will ride under it while on his way to Malmaison. 10 The walls of the Arc were 5,40 meters tall when suddenly Jean-Frangois Chalgrin, the author of the design and chief architect, died on 20 January 1811. Work conducted under the supervision of his loyal student Louis-Robert Goust during the tragic days of the fall of the Empire, attained a height of 20 metres. A seven years-long delay now followed. Construc­ tion was not renewed until 9 October 1823 upon the basis of an ordinance issued by Louis XVIII but with a new decoration-ideological programme. The Arc was now to laud Bourbon supremacy in the Span­ ish war. Goust was assigned a political controller - the ultra-royalist architect Jean-Nicholas Huyot, who by systematically questioning all of Chalgrin's drawings ultimately, in February 1830, led to Goust’s discharge. Huyot’s triumph was short-lived. Five months lat­ er, the July Revolution abolished the Bourbon dynasty. Louis Philippe returned to the original conception of the Arc - a monument commemorating the glorious victories won by the Revolution and the Empire; its realisation was entrusted to Abel Blount, whose name was etched for all eternity at the top of the eastern pillar. �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR The Arc is 49,5 metres high and 22 metres deep, decorated with sculptures, bas-reliefs, and numerous inscriptions. 1. Sculptures. - From the Champs-Elysées on the right pillar: The Departure of the Volunteers of 1792 by François Rude (a student of Pierre Cord­ elier); a sculpture today known as La Marseillaise, whose name comes from the “genius of war” dominat­ ing a group of female figures; on the left pillar: Napoleon’s Triumph by Jean Pierre Cortot. From Neuilly: two allegories by Antoine Etex: Resistance (on the right) and Peace (on the left ). 2. Bas-reliefs. - From the Champs-Elysées: on the right: Death of François Séverin MarceauDesgraviers at Altenkirchen 21 September 1796, on the left: The Battle of Aboukir (25 July 1799). Kincei Mustapha surrenders to Bonaparte and Murat. - From Neuilly: on the right: General Bonaparte on the bridge at Arcole, 17 November, 1796. In the foreground: Bona­ parte and the drummer boy André Etienne; on the left: Capture of Alexandria by Kléber (2 July 1798). - From Avenue de Wagram: Battle of Austerlitz (2 December 1805). Napoleon leads the Guards to attack. - From Avenue Kléber: Battle of Jemmapes (6 November 1792). Charles Dumouriez begins the cavalry attack. In the back­ ground, amongst the staff officers: the recognisable figure of the Count of Chartres - the later King Louis Philippe 3. Inscriptions. A. 150 names of localities associated with the mili­ tary successes of the Republic, the Directorate, and the Empire. Looking at a map of present-day Europe we find 35 sites in Italy, 29 in former West Germany, 25 in Spain, ten in France, nine in the former Soviet Union, eight in former East Germany, seven in Bel­ gium, five each in Egypt, Austria and Poland (accord­ ing to the spelling from the Arc: Pultusk, Ostrolenka, Eylau, Danzig, Breslaw), four in The Netherlands, two in Portugal, and one each in former Czechoslovakia (Austerlitz), Luxembourg (Luxembourg), former Yu­ goslavia (Montenegro), Switzerland (Zurich), Israel (Jaffa) and Hungary (Raab-Gyór). B. Names of 660 military commanders represent­ ing over ten nationalities. Alongside the French they include Germans, Italians, Belgians, the Dutch, the Swiss, Spaniards, seven Poles: Kniaziewicz, Poniatowsky (Poniatowski), Lasowski (Łazowski), Dombrowsky (Dąbrowski), Zayonscheck (Zajączek), 116 Sulkosky (Sułkowski), Klopisky (Chłapowski)... and even commanders from Austria (Scherer), Ireland (Kilmaine), Dominicana (Briux) and Venezuela (Mi­ randa). From Place de l’Etoile (today: Place Charles de Gaulle-Etoile), crowned with L’Arc de Triomphe, there radiates a dozen (since 1854) wide avenues: Avenue des Champs-Elysée and, counting clockwise, Avenue Marceau (François Marceau-Desgraviers, 1769-1796 - revolutionary general, victor from Coblenz and Neu­ wied, died at Altenkirchen aged 27), Avenue d’Iéna (Napoleon’s victory over the Prussian army, 14 Octo­ ber 1806), Avenue Kléber (Jean Baptiste Kléber, 1753­ 1800 - victor from Fleurus, commander of the Egyptian army, stabbed in Cairo), Avenue Victor Hugo, Avenue Foch, Avenue de la Grande Armée (from 1805 this was the official name of Napoleon’s Army), Avenue Carnot (Lazare Carnot, 1753-1823 - leading activist of the French Revolution, member of the Directorate, provisional minister of war serving under Napoleon, later an opponent of Napoleon, during the Hundred Days accepted the post of minister of internal affairs, exiled in 1816, devoted himself to research), Avenue Mac-Mahon (Esme-Patrice Mac- Mahon, 1808-1898 - general, royalist, distinguished during the Crimean War and at Magenta, stifled the Paris Commune, Pres­ ident of France, in 1873-1879), Avenue de Wagram (Napoleon’s victory over the Austrians, 4-6 July 1809), Avenue Hoche (Louis Lazare Hoche, 1768-1797 revolutionary general, cruelly pacified the Vendéans) and Avenue de Friedland (Napoleon’s victory over the Russian army, 14 July 1807). The Arc closes one of the most magnificent vis­ tas of urban planning in the world: Place de l’Etoile - Champs-Elysées - Place de la Concorde with the Luxor Obelisk (thirteenth century B.C.) - the Tuiler­ ies Garden - Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel - the Lou­ vre. In a poem mentioning his father, a general whose name was omitted from L ’Arc de Trimophe, 11 Victor Hugo wrote: Oh! dans ces jours lointains où l’on n’ose descendre) sur ce bloc triomphal ou revit tout l’empire ou l’histoire dictait ce qu’il dictait ce qu’il fallait écrire vous avez oublié sire un nom militaire celui que je soutiens et que portait mon père c’était un vieux soldat, brave entre les plus braves dont le sabre jamais ne dormait au fourreau et que napoléon enviait à moreau pourtant sur votre mur, il est oublié sire et vous avez eu tort et je dois vous le dire car le poète pur, de la foule éloigné qui vous aborde ici de son vers indigné �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR sire! et qui vous souhaite un long règne prospère n'est-ce pas de ceux qu'on flatte en oubliant leur père. L ’Arc de Triomphe was intended to be a monu­ ment commemorating the power of the French army, national pride, and the invincible might of the Empire. It served as a point of departure for the funeral corteges of Ferdinand Foch (1926), Joseph Joffre (1931), Philip Leclerc (1947), Jean-Marie Lattre de Tassigny (1952) and the hero of colonial wars - Louis Lyautey (1961). It is here, next to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, established in 1921, that the ceremonial changing of the guard is held. Here runs the obligatory route of all war parades... The tourists, however, blissfully unaware of the blood-stained pages of military history and visiting colourful Paris distant from the roar of canons and the dust of the battlefields, lift their heads to seek on the Arc the names of native localities or familiar sounding surnames. The English appropriate Clarke, MacDonald, Hatry, and Pierce; the Germans - Kellerman, Struts, Stengel... the Spaniards - Almeras, Miquel, Loverd...: the Portuguese - Cosmao, Dugua... ; the Lithuanians - Baltus; and the Czechs (I heard this!) - Zayonscheck... Never mind the fact that those dead are probably rolling over in their graves. In this chaotic mixture of languages the Arc becomes a sign of cosmopolitanism rising above national frontiers, ar­ mies, and a gung-ho legacy. Paradoxically, it is those clueless tourists who are right. From the very onset, albeit independently of the intentions of its authors (naturally, if we recog­ nise them as individuals working on sketches and not the collective genius of history), the Arc was already a symbol of that, which is most alien to the power of armies and the might of empires - a symbol of toler­ ance and probably the only building in the world from which the revolutionary Dumouriez, Emperor N apo­ leon, and King Louis Philippe Bourbon look down; this is the starting point of the exits of avenues named after the perpetrator of regicide Carnot and the reac­ tionary monarchist and hangman of the Communards Mac-Mahon, together with Victor Hugo, defender of the latter’s right to asylum (a stand for which he was exiled from Belgium), the bloody enemy of religion Hoch and the self-declared supporter of clericalism Foch... . Recall yet another vista from the Arc span­ ning from the nineteenth century (Champs-Élysée), towards ancient Egypt, the sixteenth century (the Tuileries Garden) and the thirteenth century (the Louvre).... It becomes apparent that Place de l’Étoile is the site of overcoming and eradicating contradic­ tions between epochs, ideologies, and nations. A site for unity, for everyone, a refuge. Coincidentia oppositorum. Even more so considering that the patron of this conciliation of the opposites is the powerful shadow of the One who was the god of war and the little corpo­ ral, a monarch and a liberator of nations in the name of the ideals of the revolution, an Italian Corsican and “the greatest Frenchman”, a tyrant and the one who: augured ultimate salvation/ For men’s long-exiled liberties (Pushkin). 12 Naturally, one could say that these are mere intel­ lectual speculations and theoretical paradoxes. Let us then take a look at the Arc guest book 13. What joy to see the gateway to liberty (a Czech); Only twice in my lifetime could I experience similar uplifting moments - see­ ing the Statue of Liberty in New York and the Arch of Triumph in Paris! (a Moroccan); Welcome, land of asy­ lum and human rights! (a Romanian); France! You are forever the homeland of liberty! (a tourist from Lyon)... Not by accident do covers of guidebooks and albums showing Paris as a multicultural town, the capital of liberty, feature the Arc de Triomphe, while the night life and frenzy offered by the same town are accompa­ nied by our old familiar friend, the Eiffel Tower. As long as Ravic from Erich Marie Remarque’s Łuk Triumfalny found in Paris refuge and shelter, the massive grey shape of L ’Arc de Triomphe, as if made of liquid silver, towered above14. When, however, the French police arrested and deported the refugees, and when we know that the ominous time of nationalist hordes and ideologies is returning, the square turned into a sea of darkness, in which even L’Arc de Triom­ phe vanished. 15 117 Act III. The Sacré-Coeur Basilica Vineyards, mills, wooden cottages, a dozen crys­ tal clean founts, deep caverns - remnants of gypsum mines, the small church of St. Peter, eight cosy streets, and a small square. The fact that Montmartre Hill (from: mar tray —execution site) preserved its Arcadian character all the way to the 1870s is a strange caprice of history considering that already Louis XVI wished to erect here a royal necropolis (the project was well advanced), the Directorate - a mausoleum, Napoleon - a Temple of Peace, and Louis XVIII - a monumen­ tal column (the subscription was initiated). History too did not spare the hill. In 1814 it was the site of a bivouac of the Russian army (which set fire to half a century) and in 1815 - of the English. In June 1848 the insurgents waged their last bloody battle here, and on 22 May 1871 the famous platoon of woman-Commu­ nards, including Liza Michel and Elisabeth Dmitrieff, put up desperate resistance against the first army corps of Versailles led by General Ladmirault 16. But after­ wards the vineyards once again flourished, orchards blossomed, and trees forgot all about the past ... It was precisely illusory longing for bucolic idyll and freedom as well as a much more rational one for �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR cheaper life that in 1860-1865 inspired a group of young painters, the so-called Manet Company, to set­ tle down on the hill. Renoir worked in studios in, successively, Tourlaque, Caulaincourt (slightly lower) and Cortot streets; Degas - in Blanche, Lepic and Fontaine streets; Cézanne - in Hégésippe-Moreau; Van Gogh and his brother Theo lived in rue Lepic. Then there was Manet, Monet, Pissarro, Sisley... This group of peers (in 1865 the oldest, Pissarro, was 25 years old, and the youngest, Renoir, was 24) made Montmartre famous across the world. The site of their meetings - Café Guerbois - became the stuff off legends but al­ ready when... the artists had long left the hill. On 24 May 1873 the Adolphe Thiers cabinet was forced to announce its resignation by 362 votes against 342. On the same day, Thiers, whom Polish textbooks depict as a reactionary and the hangman of the Paris Commune, was recognised by the Parliamentary ma­ jority as much too soft, liberal, and republican. One of the first steps made by the new monarchist cabinet was to issue a decree (24 July 1873), proposed by the renowned extremists Hubert Rouault de Fleury and Alexandre Legentil about the erection of the SacréCsur basilica on top of Montmartre. A competition was immediately announced in December of the same year 17, and the design chosen from among 78 projects was the one by the architect Paul Labadie, modelled on the Romanesque-Byzantine church in Saint-Front (Périgueux). The text of the resolution passed on 24 July 1873 mentions the need to expiate the crimes of the Commune and for the Papacy’s loss of secular power... . It thus constituted an arrogant demonstration of the clerical conservatism of the new authorities, easily recognised by French society. In a country still partly occupied by the Prussian army (which left Nancy on 5 August 1873, and Conflans and Jarnay in as late as Septem­ ber) the resolution also reflected fierce opposition against the anti-religious Kulturkampf policy consist­ ently conducted by Berlin (14 May 1873 - the enact­ ment of a law against the Jesuits, 14 May 1873 - the dissolution of smaller seminaries and the restriction of the bishops’ jurisdiction) and thus, mutatis mutandis, featured an anti-German hue. Finally, the choice of the Abadi project contained an easily discernible pro­ Russian gesture. N ot without reason was the Russian Ambassador Alexander Gorchakov invited to the first display of the model. By referring to the traditions of the East the white domes of the Sacré-Csur were sup­ posed to evoke Franco-Russian political rapproche­ ment. Unfortunately, an excess of politics usually does not exert a favourable impact on works of art.... Building the Sacré-Coeur basilica took 38 years from the instalment of the cornerstone on 1 February 1874 to the completion of the bell tower in 1912; even 118 then, work on the interior had to be continued with an interval during the Great War; ultimately, conse­ cration took place on 16 October 1919 in the presence of nine cardinals, 12 archbishops, and 98 bishops from all over Europe. All agree - Josette Devin wrote - about the extraor­ dinary ugliness of this building, unfortunately one of the most conspicuous and known in Paris. The war of 1870 thus proved to be just as unfortunate for France as for the beauty of Paris... . Next, however, he added that surprisingly, just as in the ugliness of a beloved face we start to perceive charm and beauty, the Paris­ ians grew used to to Sacré-Coeur and even shower the basilica with sincere affection. 18 In reality, not everyone was compelled to grow ac­ customed. The church is living proof of French light­ heartedness and contempt for the well-worn canons of beauty - the “Times” wrote in October 1919. Just as the Impressionists overcame the aesthetic images of their epoch, so today these white walls accomplish the same on the very same spot... . In an interview given to “Le Figaro” upon the occasion of shooting the film The Life of Emile Zola (1937) director Wilhelm Dieterle went even further: I am not surprised that the Im­ pressionists were so fascinated with the Parisian lightness of this fantastic building in the white afterglow... When in about 1907 the walls of Sacré-Coeur were already tall enough to imagine their ultimate shape, Manet (d. 1883), Van Gogh (d. 1890), Sisley (d. 1899), Pissarro (d. 1903), and Cézanne (d. 1906) were no longer among the living. Others had left Montmartre long ago, driven away, as in the case of Monet, by the hubbub of the great construction site. But who cares? Day and night, steps leading to the basilica are full of colourful throngs of tourists longing for the careless subtlety of Parisian life, wishing to imbibe the legend of the Montmartre of the Impressionists and the Bo­ hème, and taking photographs against the backdrop of the Byzantine gates of the sanctuary. When I asked them, by no means facetiously but simply as a curi­ ous anthropologist, what Impressionist work was their favourite, more than 50% answered: Sacré-Coeur. This should not come as a surprise when reading travelogues and looking at the collages featured on postcards or the canvases by thousands of mediocre painters on show in Place du Tertre. The basilica has simply gotten mixed up with the Bohème, and socalled historical facts have once again proved to be non-essential and dissolved - this time - in the fumes of absinthe. Postscript The beauty of human error? Or, actually, of three assorted errors: the change of the subject of ideology (the Eiffel Tower), the change of ideology itself (L’Arc �Ludwik Stomma • THE BEAUTY OF HUMAN ERROR de Triomphe) and, finally, the change of chronologi­ cal transposition (Sacré-Coeur). These differences, however, are secondary and the essence lies in the dy­ namic emanated by ostensibly unchanging and static objects. “Ostensibly”, since this is an illusory static quality. The Eiffel Tower was quite different in the positive and optimistic era of Jules Verne than in the passionate and decadent “belle époque”. Similarly, the meaning of the Notre Dame cathedral, Mona Lisa, and Van Gogh’s Sunflowers also changed. An historian of art is supposed to describe an artwork (while an his­ torian - an event) as such or, eventually, against the background of “its”: time, i.e. that for which it was intended. The anthropologist is interested in an object within the dynamic context of culture, an ever-living mythical object. The beauty of human error - is it not already an error that the Notre Dame cathedral is an “histori­ cal monument”, that people ”tour” it, that the police regulate traffic in the cathedral naves during Midnight Mass? Is this not a new sign within an equally novel system of values? A new myth? Structural anthropol­ ogy is charged with “losing the author”, with no longer remembering who was the architect of L’Arc de Tri­ omphe and who painted Sunflowers. What a misun­ derstanding! Structural anthropology does not deal with something that can be found in every lexicon. Instead, by studying the subtle game of meanings and myths it continues to rediscover the authentic author: lost in the labyrinth of history, unaware, but still the untiring genius of social imagery. Otherwise, all is true: Paris is the city of liberty, lightheartedness, cosmopolitanism, subtlety, frivolous ambiguity. It is also a refuge, the capital of the world and coincidentia oppositorum. Everyone who reclines on the lawn in front of the Eiffel Tower may feel how Axis Mundi - the axis of the world - runs across his navel. 19 Endnotes 1 A. Picard, Tours de 300 metres de hauteur, “Revue de l’architecture et des travaux publics”, 1885, p. 32. 2 According to the original project the Tower was to be pulled down after twenty years. 3 After: H. Leyrette, Gustave Eiffel, Paris 1986, p. 172 and 174. 4 E. M. de Vogue, A travers l’Exposition, “Revue des Deux Mondes”, VII/1889, p. 19. 5 G. Tissandier, La Tour, “Le Figaro” (special edition), 2 April 1889. 6 E. M. de Vogue, op. cit., pp. 24-25. 7 Guide officiel de la Tour Eiffel, Paris 1987, pp. 5-6. 8 After: J. P Spilmont, M. Friedman, Memoires de la Tour Eiffel, Paris 1983, pp. 191-193. 9 R. Barthes, Changer l’objet lui- même, “Esprit”, vol. IV/1970, p. 6. 10 H. Dillange, LArc de Triomphe et le Carrousel, Rennes 1983. 119 11 V. Hugo, LArc de Triomphe. 12 A. S. Pushkin, Napoleon, [in:] Dzieła wybrane, Warszawa 1965, p. 92. 13 Visitors' book at the Arc de Triomphe Museum, availa­ ble at the Museum - year 1986. 14 E. M. Remarque, Luk Triumfalny, Warszawa 1973, p. 117 and 370. 15 Ibid., p. 482. 16 W Serman, La Commune de Paris, Paris 1986, p. 500. 17 J. Hillairet, Dictionnaire historique des rues de Paris, Paris 1980, vol. l, p. 269. 18 J. Devin, Paris de toujours, Paris 1968, p. 149. 19 Salvador Dali was wrong - the axis of the world (centre du monde) is not situated at the train station in Perpignan. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/377c608a5ccce2b6abc7608dd8675d9a.pdf f1ee49d2c048b623c2839715652f5d59 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6511 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource antropologia miasta Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6083 Title A name given to the resource Fragments of Venetian Discourse / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.120-143 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Czaja, Dariusz Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text DARIUSZ CZAJA Fragments of the Venetian Discourse I. Hieroglyph 1. It was probably Henry James who was one of the first admirers of Venice to distinctly draw attention to the fact that the veritable building material of the town is neither sand, stone nor water but something much more powerful: light, conceived as materia prima: The light here is in fact a mighty magician and, with all respect to Tit­ ian, Veronese and Tintoretto, the greatest artist of them all. You should see in places the material with which it deals— slimy brick, marble battered and befouled, rags, dirt, decay. Sea and sky seem to meet half-way, to blend their tones into a soft iridescence, a lustrous compound of wave and cloud and a hundred nameless local reflections, and then to fling the clear tissue against every object of vision. 1 More than a hundred years later, the phenomenal Watermark by Brodsky contained a distant reflection of that observation, albeit this time in a more concrete form. Brodsky made an observant remark about the particular variant of Venetian light: The winter light in this city! It has the extraordinary property of enhancing your eye’s power of resolution to the point of microscopic precision [...]. It carries no warmth or energy, having shed them and left them behind somewhere in the universe or in the nearby cumulus. It’s particles’ only ambition is to reach an object and make it, big or small, visible. 2 What is the light mentioned in those two frag­ ments, how is it comprehended? Quite certainly it is not merely a physical quality. It is no longer ordinary electromagnetic radiation, but possesses the power of extracting things out of non-being. To put it in stronger terms: it has the power to create the world and render it visible. This gesture changes things fundamentally: it takes the conceit of light out of the space of physi­ cal description and strict measurable parameters and introduces it into curious space with properties that only partly succumb to rational description. 2. Each successive Venetian narration carries traces of comments by predecessors and is added above or 120 along other texts about the town, even if not always aware of this fact. The foundation of the discoveries made by Ewa Bieńkowska in her intentionally palimps­ est novel: Co mówią kamienie Wenecji? 3 is Venetian light in its assorted forms and versions. They are thus an open reference but also - and this must be stressed - an original and creative development of the abovecited observations of her predecessors. Already the fragment opening the book is highly symptomatic: This person stood in the centre of Piazzetta on a cool but sunny autumn morning, and holding a book looked at the cover and then at the view before him, rais­ ing and lowering his head in a regular rhythm, over and over again (...). His facial expression was both astonished and delighted to such a degree of bliss that I could not pre­ vent myself from a gesture of indiscretion. I came close and looked over his shoulder. Obviously... This was the cover of a cheap album of works by Guardi, reproducing precisely that, which was situated right in front of us. The slabs of Piazzetta leading towards the water, St. Mark’s, the church on the island of San Giorgio Maggiore on the opposite shore, and translucent sky marked with several swift clouds. The veracity of the image bordered on the uncanny, one felt the same chilly air, the same suffusion with light, the glistening quality of the dark colours (as if with an addition of bottle green), the strong vibrating white colour of the church facade, and the surface of the canal, whose smoothness was produced by tiny waves ruffled by the wind. One had the impression of a model, which in some manner rendered the view more accurately than our eyes (...). (CMKW, 7-8) This thoroughly Venetian genre scene is not con­ cerned solely with measuring the distance between the real and the painted, the reduction of the intensity of the painterly mimesis, which in a moment will reveal its illusory character. Here, the heart of the matter is different. Recalling the morning frame from Piazzetta, Bieńkowska openly demonstrated her writer’s inten­ tion: a wish to discover Venice predominantly in the images created there, to extract and name the Vene­ tian eidos manifested in those disturbing objects made of colour and light. In other words, this is a richly documented book about Venetian painting... or more exactly, about Venetian art and Venice as a work of art. Undoubted­ ly, the key to the town is painting, the works of Vene­ tians. An undertaking, and this cannot be concealed, that remains highly risky (If I could describe the Vene­ tian courtesans... , as in Milosz’s famous reservation about the possibility of depicting the canvas by Car­ paccio), since it embroils the narrator of the story into all the problems faced by the ekphrastic statement.4 Regardless whether this intention succeeds or not it must be underlined that it is in this particular gesture of abandoning literature for the sake of painting that the originality and force of Bieńkowska’s book lies. �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTSOF THE VENETIAN D i s c o u r s e Venice, Photo: Joanna Benedyktowicz 121 �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE Whoever would like to perceive Bieńkowska’s publication primarily as a compendium on the history of art would be wrong.5 Although it brims with erudite comments bibliographical details, sophisticated de­ scriptions, and interpretations of particular canvases, it remains obvious that this is more than just a guide­ book on Venetian art, although one cannot exclude the possibility that this is the way in which it could be perceived. Following the complicated adventures of Venetian painting, delving deeper into the art of Bellini, Giorgione, Tintoretto, and Titian all the way to Guardi and Canaletto, the author revealed for our sake a complicated pattern, still only partly recognised, of spiritual and technical borrowings, affiliations, con­ tinuations, and negations occurring between their oeu­ vre. Actually, this feature is not the most relevant. It is merely factographic substance from which one can depart towards an intellectually subtler concept. Precisely. As I have mentioned, the book by Bieńkowska is usually read “transparently”, without understanding that this prose, sometimes with a strong underpinning of style, is not solely a thorough report on library and museum surveys but, first and foremost, a literary construction. And if this is so, then it is not because it cannot be - conceived without committing a cognitive ”sin”. In other words: it is an attempt not only at an account but also tries, sometimes in a high­ ly evocative manner, to impose with the assistance of rhetorical operations an image of Venice. Hence my task: to take a look not only at the designates towards which the text steers us but rather at the text itself, the way in which it creates a vision of the town and the lin­ guistic operations with which it fulfils this task. To put it differently: to discover the mythological component contained in the book. This is particularly interesting in view of the fact that many parts of Co mówią kami­ enie Wenecji? possess a distinctly meta-textual nature and the discursiveness revealed therein could suggest that this sort of narration is free of all myths. Unfortu­ nately, this is not so simple. There, where we fall into the trap of the language mythical matter reveals itself with all force whether we know this or not. More: it is worth remembering about a certain recommendation that has all the features of a self-fulfilling prophecy: there where there is Venice there you should search for a myth! Apparently, the mythical narration present in the book is organised predominantly by two closely con­ nected motifs: the metaphysics of light and the nature of the creative act. The whole erudite and impressionoriented “rest” is based on these two foundations. Let us try to take a closer look at them. 3. The first question posed by Bieńkowska is totally essential: how did it happen that it was precisely here, in Venice, at the turn of the fifteenth century, that there emerged painting so dissimilar to all that that was being executed all around, for instance, in the workshops of Tuscany? Were the Madonnas by Giambellino, The Tempest by Giorgione or The Pastoral Concert by Titian conceivable outside Venice? - she asked rhetorically and is clearly inclined towards some sort of a version of geographical-aesthetic determin­ ism. It is Venice, the author added, and its unique light that left such a strong impression on local paint­ ers. Venetian space is an inimitable laboratory of light, a place exceptionally suitable for observing its changes and for seeing how it behaves in a confrontation with matter: Whoever toured Venice or looked at its paintings in foreign museums was aware that something special was taking place as regards the question of perception and the puzzle of the visible nature of the world. Here this feature was exceptional and provoked unique responses. The sim­ plest elements of the world exist in Venice in a manner not encountered elsewhere, granting ordinary activity an additional aura, semi-ceremonial and semi-intimate. Light shines differently across the lagoon, builds space, enfolds things, draws forth and conceals their matter, and endows the latter with scores of guises. (CMKW, 237) In this town everyone, whether he wishes to or not, becomes engaged in looking. Here, we all are only a mere addition to the eye, the author echoes the lesson taught by Brodsky. Venice is the sole space in which the eye reveals its autonomy so distinctly, in which it not so much separates itself from the body as totally subjugates the latter: Venice taught how to look and suggested percep­ tion. Each of its seasons and time of the day, each caprice of the weather was a lesson in the manner in which the theatre of the visible is arranged, the manner in which plans and depths are constructed, the way in which they occupy their surfaces and abandon them. It teaches what happens with colours when they are illuminated by the variable glimmer of the lagoon, when they outline the meandering canal or the line of the coastline with its half-moon shape. That what is light becomes doubly reflected from the water and the stone; the degree to which it makes it possible to penetrate the con­ cealed substance of things and the extent to which it main­ tains us in a state of illusion. (CMKW, 238) Here we counter an interesting and creative ap­ plication of the metaphor of Venice as a theatre. Now, Venetian space will no longer be the patinated, old, and crumbling stage design that it is often perceived (in vain would we add that this is not a compliment!), but will become a living and pulsating panorama transformed into a theatre of perception. An instruc­ tive panopticon of the stirring work performed by light, texture, and colour. In other words, an instru­ ment with distinctly positive commutations enriching cognition. Remarks about the variable and disturbing nature of the visible are developed in another beautiful and 122 �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE instructive metaphor of the space of Venice possess­ ing the features of a magic telescope whose simplified version is the kaleidoscope. It combines the narrow field of vision and depth evading our gaze, concealed but foreseen in each element of the vision. The slight­ est movement and tremor of the telescope shift all the components that upon each occasion arrange them­ selves into a different world, into related micro-cos­ moses that, however, vary with every moment. The limited field of vision - the narrow canals, streets, and squares, whose majority are streets slightly expanded to make space for a church - produce the impression that the centre of vision is transferred elsewhere, al­ ways further on, and will be reached by walking ahead, by discovering the point of an encounter, the point of an equilibrium, somewhere where the eye can no longer penetrate. Each step causes an alteration, a rearrangement of elements creating an inexhaustible number of configurations; a walk across Venice is tantamount to slowly twisting a kaleidoscope and the transformation of its countless virtual versions into re­ ality. (CMKW, 71-72) This game with the unknown appears to be endless, since each consecutive version shows a successive one. Interestingly, the town plan­ ning configuration, narrowed down, stifling, and at times claustrophobic, does not become tedious due to the incessant presence in this restricted space of the elements: the sky and water. One could outright have the impression that Ven­ ice extracted itself from non-being as if specially for the sake of painters. The latter took up this challenge and devoted themselves to studying colour and light. Venetian painters discovered, albeit each in his own manner, an astonishing thing. As if contrary to all sorts of Platonic approaches they recognised that the mystery of reality lies in its skin, its surface appear­ ance. That e v e r y t h i n g is already given to us h e r e, and it is only necessary to be able to see it. It is in Venice that convincing arguments were provided demonstrating that the corporeal is merely a form of the spiritual and that only a thin line divides optics from metaphysics. For all practical purposes, the entire book by Bieńkowska is an attempt at describing this mysterious and, from the viewpoint of common sense, impossible abutment of opposites. 4. If it is true that, as Maurice Merleau-Ponty main­ tained in his pioneering analyses of the phenomenon of perception, painting, in its most profound vocation, is an incessant examination of the mystery of the vis­ ible 6, then Venetian painting is certainly the most credible confirmation of this declaration. It was in Venice that a discovery was made of the creative force of colour and its fundamental role in the creation of 123 painterly reality. Painting was revealed as a passionate celebration of the visible. Take a single instructive example. The Tempest by Giorgione, still puzzling and resisting all exegetes, belongs definitely to the canon of Venetian master­ pieces. Here is an ekphrase of this famous canvas as proposed by Bieńkowska: It is impossible to describe The Tempest without succumbing to a paralysing feeling of helplessness. Sometimes, personal recollections can assist us in coming closer to it. The eye first registers a cloudy sky and a snake-like line of lightening against ominous heav­ ens. Lightening is the source of light, it illuminates the walls of the town and the tops of the trees in an abrupt flash, which everyone recognizes from his experiences of summer storms. This flash brings forth the phosphorescent white­ ness of the stones and for the single blink of an eye changes leafs into constellations of glistening points, accentuating the dark shadows of trees standing against the light. Before the eye rests on a mysterious Gypsy woman in the lower part of the painting it is attracted by the view of a town as if straight out of a dream. The flash of lightening for a single moment changes not only the appearance of things but also their substance, and leaves us convinced that for a split of a second we took part in a different, ceremonial, and secret existence of the world. Only later does out gaze pause at a female figure and even later extracts the figure of a man —his white shirt and dark red jerkin. Both figures are less absorbing that that, which is taking place in the sky and on earth, but we feel that that the painting could not do without them. It is thanks to them that it evades pan-aestheticizing “Ro­ mantic” savouring and gains an equilibrium. (CMKW, 46-47) Not by accident in her description of the canvas the author did not concentrate on a mysterious an­ ecdote, which is the case of so many difficulties for its interpreters, but on the just as puzzling purely col­ our stratum, sensual and visual, not to say: formal, if it were not for the contemporary, almost exclusively “technical” comprehension of that term. The land­ scape of The Tempest is so extraordinarily rich as re­ gards colour that it reveals in Nature qualities whose existence the “ordinary” eye bypasses and simply does not surmise. Contrary to commonplace habits the painting is not a carbon copy of reality but its crea­ tive construction, created in an alliance of the eye, the imagination, and the intellect. It is the painting that reveals and projects into the visible the reflections of the invisible. It would be difficult to acknowledge an abuse or ex­ aggeration in the author’s claim, placing The Tempest among religious works. Naturally, this is quite a differ­ ent religiosity than the Renaissance (only?) compre­ hension of a religious canvas. She discerned in the per­ ception and reflection of Giorgione an unprecedented attempt at a totally new understanding of its meaning: �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE Giorgione - as far as we know - did not leave behind any religious paintings (...). This too is not unusual for those times. I have the impression that this fact is connected with the attitude, which we sense in The Tempest, as if he wanted to discover a different form for the sacrum, a form not foreseen in the official canon and one about which he too did not know, matching shapes and colours, eliminating the first sketch, and conducting a further search. Accord­ ing to him the sacrum was further from man (further than in the Christian missive - after all, so strongly anthropo­ centric) and closer to direct experiences of the world, that vibrating light, air, and earth shown in such a disturbing manner in The Tempest. (CMKW, 49) Giorgione discovered and with brilliant virtuosity demonstrated that a painting, regardless of the theme, can be a congenial medium of metaphysics.7 That a patient contemplation of the puzzle of the visible, the concentration of ways of the appearance of light, guides beyond its boundaries, towards a harmonious coexistence of “the visible and the invisible”. That the greatest achievement of the art of painting is not aes­ thetic entertainment, but can become the most pro­ found form of cognition. To put it differently: that a painting does not have to be merely a screen of reality, but can turn into an instrument of its r e v e l a t i on, disclosure, as the Latin interpretation suggests. A rev­ elation of the limits of the visible. 5. In Polish: “light “and “world” (światło and świat) are connected by an astonishing lexical similarity. As we have seen, in Venice light assumes extraordinary creative power. It reveals the world and extracts quali­ ties in it that were not anticipated. It is the funda­ mental building material of paintings - those specific products, “new worlds” . Yet another unusual compo­ nent of Bieńkowska’s narration is connected with the nature of the latter: reflection on the miracle of the birth of Venice. An attempt at an explication of the creative act. A t this stage, we abandon the aesthetic discourse and plunge into the dark terrains of ontology. Taking into consideration purely rational reasons, Venice, that strange civilizational and aesthetic prod­ uct, simply should not exist. This is obvious. It should not be and yet it is. Despite all gathered knowledge about the history of Venice it is impossible to find some rational reason for its existence. It is pure impos­ sibility, a paradox, a curiosity, a freak of Nature, or, as some claim, a miracle. It follows that Venice actually engages the mind not only and not predominantly as a town-planning problem but as a serious ontological puzzle, as a cipher that has to be decoded. What is the origin of Venice, what are the reasons for its exist­ ence? If for a moment one would relegate - since it is impossible to reject them completely - political, eco­ 124 nomic, and sociological reasons based on otherwise serious and scientifically confirmed arguments 8 then there remains only a single possibility of a purely poet­ ic nature: according to it, the town built on a lagoon ex nihilo is a folly of human imagination, an insane crea­ tive gesture devoid of pragmatic reasons. It is creatio ex nihilo repeated in a human dimension. Venice is an entirely imaginary town. Note, how­ ever, that this insane conception lacks the same sort of cold calculation that took place in the case of St. Petersburg, another town on water brought into be­ ing by the human fiat. Hence, perhaps, in both cases the unreal and phantom-like character, the mixture of dream and awakening that is part of their nature has quite a different dimension. But was it only the human hand that was involved in this project? In the emergence of Venice from non-being the motor force was not merely human imagination. Here, something more was needed: imagination outfitted with divine prerogatives, as in Blake: The material —and all others - being of Venice at each moment depended on a miracle, a constant preservation in a being which philosophers de­ scribed as the Supreme Being. Not only did it decide about creation, but in addition it conserves its work from mo­ ment to moment; without its incessant attention it would have dissolved in nothingness. The miracle of Venice, basically and actively human and arbitrary, forces us to think about constant, extraordinary intervention —so that which is could exist. So that it would not vanish together with springtime mists, so that it would survive wintertime attacks of freshet, floods flowing from terra firma and drowning St. Mark's Square, filling basements and under­ cutting foundations. (CMKW, 98) Exactly: the wonder of Venice consists not only of the fact that it was created at s o m e t i m e and was brought to life, but to an equal degree that con­ trary to all else, and despite the incessant destructive work performed by Nature, political failures or civilizational crises, it s t i I l goes on. Consequently, there emerges the question: What calls for greater effort: to create or to ensure duration? To this query, which once excited learned minds, Venice replies: I am, I continue be­ ing, the improbable became reality. Today, we know that the danger of gradual and systematic annihilation is real. But do we believe it? It is impossible to treat it seriously when we stand, for example, in Fondamenta Nuove facing the glistening stretch of the lagoon, the cemetery island of San Michele, and to the left, in the background, the less visible and Impressionistically outlined coastline of Murano. It is impossible that the Supreme Being resigned from its achievement, the masterly operation when with human hands and with the assistance of millions of beech posts it lifted out of the salty marshes one of its most magnificent works. What does this mean? Would Venice have to cease existing since the eternal work performed by the sea, the creative-destructive work of man, successfully tackled its �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE solidity? With its essence, one that does not have any coun­ terparts in some sort of an emporium of ideas and came into being only across the ages, connected by a dramatic bond with time? (CMKW, 98) Not for the first time did Bieńkowska make it obvi­ ous that Venice is a reality that cannot be explained with a metaphysical dimension, regardless of the way in which it is comprehended. From time to time, therefore, she shifted reflection from languages suit­ able for architecture or the history of art to unambigu­ ously theological rhetoric. Thus comprehended, not only Venetian masterpieces but Venice as such and conceived as a holistic ontological project containing not merely the miracle of creation but also the mystery of duration, are proof of the living existence of spir­ itual reality. Here, Venice is not “solely” a magnificent town, nor is it a superficially understood aesthetic di­ mension, its most profound component constituting its differentia specifica. Venice, as a multi-strata, unique reality is a work of art in its vivid meaning, accentuating predominantly the creative gesture. In other words, it is something that has been produced thanks to the creative act, and this means that it had been elevated to existence ex nihilo, without emulating the model of an already existing image. The aquatic genesis of Venice matches the exegesis of the creative act performed by George Steiner who showed convincingly how in the emer­ gence of each work of art (a painting, a poem, a so­ nata) the essential element is randomness. This means that it could be totally non-existent and that the very essence of a work of art includes the fact that it could have been never embodied: The work of art, of poet­ ics, carries within it, as it were, the scandal of its hazard, the perception of its o n t o l o g i c a l c a p r i c e (my emphasis - D. C.). 9 There is no beguiling logic of the necessity of its emergence. How rarely do we realise that such an admired work of art could have never existed! That thanks to some force, which cannot be fully analysed, it emerged from original nothingness. In this sense - one could add - each great work of art (including Venice) fully deserves to be regarded as a miracle since it comprises an open and brutal over­ coming of the logic of necessity. To put it yet differently: in the perspective outlined here Venice proves to be not only one of elements of the visible world (one of many) but something much more: it is a world on a reduced scale, a place in which all the most essential issues of our worldly existence are concentrated, the most profoundly symbolic real­ ity in which, as in textbook definitions of the symbol, extremities and contradictions merge. Symbolon com­ bines the spiritual and the material, the totally alien and that which is profoundly own, the conceptual and the imaginary. As Hans-Georg Gadamer wrote: We understand the symbol (...), the experience of the 125 symbolic, to mean that the individual and the spe­ cial resembles a particle of being, that the something, which corresponds to it is a promise of supplementing entity and happiness, or that the still sought particle supplementing the whole is a second particle matching our fragment of life.10 The experiencing of the symbol contains the warmth of the binding mystery but also the poignant certainty of participation in some sort of completeness transgressing our individual nature. In a genuine, deeply experienced encounter with the reality of the symbol our gaze seems to be turned towards the observer. The symbol is a mirror, in which our most profound spiritual “I” is looking at itself. This cognition is not only the recognition of that which is different but also self-cognition. Perhaps it is in this particular circumstance and not in literary inertia, the film legend or the pressure exerted by mass-scale tour­ ism that one should seek the true force of the end­ less attraction of Venice and its hypnotising gaze. All those seduced by Venice constantly stressed that they suddenly found themselves in a totally alien and ex­ otic space, but at the same time never felt more at home. More, they argued that despite the cognitive resistance initially put up by the town they ultimately felt an inexplicable unity with it. Such statements make it possible to understand a certain recurring cir­ cumstance: extremely emotional reactions to rumours about the annihilation of Venice. This is not difficult to comprehend: what would we care about the death of Venice, prophesied time and again, if we did not notice in this fact a prefiguration of our death? 6. There is not a shadow of doubt: in her book Ewa Bieńkowska disclosed extremely aptly several earlier unknown or only slightly recognised faces of Venice. Do not delude yourself, however, that we have final­ ly found out what Venice is r e a l l y like, and that while reading the book we have reached some sort of an “objectively existing” essence of the town that can be measured, tested, and confirmed. Actually, Bieńkowska has added to the web of the myth, labori­ ously woven for centuries, yet another thread by writ­ ing a successive version, this time her own. Her twomotif narration - the one about the creative power of light and the one about the origin of Venice - is only a camouflaged variation of the Biblical story about creatio ex nihilo. This is the reason why the narration as­ sumes the properties of an archaic myth according to the meaning proposed by studies about religion: a holy story about a powerful event, about the way in which something appeared in the world, came into being, emerged from primeval chaotic magma. This endows the story with a hieratic feature (in the literal, etymo­ logical meaning derived from the Greek hieros), and ensures that in the intimate discourse about Venice �D ariusz C z aja • F R A G M E N T S ( THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE the heart of the matter involves undoubtedly prime thing's. Here, Venice is a sign, but not: - as in this novel by Brodsky - a watermark, but rather a hieroglyph. Not always lucid, sometimes rattier illegible, but with all certainty: a holy sign. II. T h e deceitful beauty of the mask 1. One on tite images appe aring most often in attempts at reaching the essence ot Venice is, as we know, tine figure of an unreal town.Thris image, depending on tlee view, can assume two diametrically different classifica­ tions. Tlie unreal, in the eyei of a person enchanied with thf town, can mean something extraordinary and dazzling, and describe a world situated tit the pinnacle of the scale of his wishes and bewilderment. The unrerl is a designation of tin object that remains beyond the limits of tlee imagination eomething for which there is nr comparison In visiblr reality. Thus com­ prehended unreality is rhe utmosa degree of adoration and aesthetic sublimation. Ie is also, paradoxicallyethe name oh a powerful and multiplied exiitence. This it r being whose actual unreality is not sunject to any sort ofdiscutaion or appeal. The same adjective in the eyes of ascep tic can, hrwever, signify space with deformed onthlngee Somet thing that does not exist truly, strongly, and in reality. On the contrary: in this case, unreil "Venice proves to be merely collective hypnosis, a cognitive illusion inheritef across the nenfuries and concealfng the real image of things. In that case, the town on the lagoon is no longer an enchanting curiosum, but a being with an extremely doubtful identity; a town that not so much exists as pretends that it existse A town of artificial beauty and tawdry glitter. Tombac pretending; to lie fold. A town-planning phantomf This impressfon is visible in T ie Venice Text 11 almost trom the very first words. Here are several instructive examples arom differ­ ent time bertpectives. Eighteenth century. Edward Gibbon, author of the: slassical "The History of the Decline and Fatt of the Roman Empire, whose acrid itatement quite oaten inaugurates a lithany ob complaints rbaut Veneeian aet^lity, did not concea! his disenit after a brief visit: I was afforded some hours of astonishment ansi some dayt of disgust hy the spectacle of Venice. 12In this ftatement let us accentuatenot only fhe historian’s extreme disilSusionment with the city but the wrrd “spectacla”, rather clearly itating tOat Venetian space is not a real world; on the tontraey, it is a world put ore show', fleeting, and un­ real. !n addition, it is a case of poor art producing only distaste and thui worthy of swift oblivion. Nineteenth century. Mary Mc Carthy quite aptly dtscribed the behaviour of John Ruskin, the great codifier of the preatous stones oi Venice (The Stonee off 1Venice), who feom an initial enthusiast changed into a fanltfinder and a demystificator r f Venatian allure: Ruskin, who was her overdue Jeremiah and whr came at the end to detest nearly everything in Venice, spent half his days trying tf expose her frauds - climbing laddere in dusty churches to prove (what he had sushscted) that the Venetian Renairsance was a false front, a cynical taick fo.).0 Here too Venice deludes and pretends to be something aft r W. Turner, Veduta dal canale che porta Lido: la Riva degli Schiavoni (fragment) fSource: Venezia. Acquerelli di T ner, L'ippocampo, Milan 2008) t2 t �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE that it is not; uttered by Ruskin, such a declaration is a veritable kiss of death. Twentieth century. This motif of deceit and men­ dacious illusion returns in the text of yet another seri­ ous destructor of the Venetian myth, the outspoken Regis Debray. In a modest volume whose title leaves no place for ambiguities: Contre Venise, we encoun­ ter entire sets of epithets. The author compared pal­ aces along Canal Grande to a Potemkin mock-up, barely resembling human adobes and totally lifeless. 14 Here is the culmination conclusion: This city with its theatres, its opera, its masked balls is a theatre itself. (...) Venice is not a city but the representation of a city. 15 In other words, Venice is a town-model, a town pre­ tending to be a town, something that imitates real life. A town that cultivated a beautiful illusion and cel­ ebrated a world of theatrical illusion for so long that it exhausted itself and died, ultimately becoming that, which once was its valued hallmark: a mask devoid of a living, real face. Twenty first century. In a whistle-blowing arti­ cle published several years ago in the “Independent” about an apparently immortal question concerning the purposefulness of conserving the crumbling pal­ aces and churches of Venice, the author already in the first sentence pinions the readers with a strong end line: all who had just returned from Venice had taken part in horrendous deceit. 16This is followed by customary lament concerning the Venetian world of illusion - the effect is enhanced by statements made by eminent men of letters (naturally, including the classics of the destructive current, i.a. the abovementioned Gibbon and Debray, but also the Italian Futurist Marinetti, with impetus turning Venetian lies inside out 17). The text ends with the poetics of a ver­ dict eliminating all possibilities of an appeal: Venice is not endangered, it is dead. 18 In other words, touring Venice resembles strolling amidst rotting and musty sets, across a gloomy cemetery of past splendour. It is participation in collective hallucination, for which in addition one pays a high fee. But there is something more. This rather funereal description shows clearly that the old slogan Venice preserved, so strongly affect­ ing the imagination, is already very outdated. What is there to conserve, and for what purpose? There is no longer any rational reason to be concerned about a declining town, just as there is no sense in dealing with a painted corpse. Apparently, times are changing but this dark thread present in Venetian accounts remains almost unbroken. Arguments vary, different comparisons and metaphors circulate, but the basic intuition appears to endure undisturbed. 2. Among numerous testimonies expressing aversion towards Venice, which in a more or less sophisticated 127 manner reveals the town’s artificiality, falsehood, and phantom status, we come across an essay by Georg Simmel:Venedig (1907) 19 This brief text - sometimes issued in a separate volume together with two other portraits of towns (Florence and Rome 20) - is not only a handy catalogue of negative opinions appearing in publications written earlier but also, as can be easily proven, a true a r c h i t e c t of demythologisation statements made already after the publication of simmel’s essay. simmel presented his hermeneutics of suspicions in a series of arguments. His demystification of Venice construes images and comparisons that, probably con­ trary to his intentions, are not semantically transparent and as such outright invite to embark upon an interpre­ tation. It is worth taking a closer look at them. First, let us read this text as neutrally as possible, trying primarily to capture and name the “negative” sets of meanings in it, and then see what they mean and in what manner, but already without the deciphering intention and rhe­ torical custody of the author. In the case of simmel the unreality of Venice has many names. In order to understand something of simmel’s Venetian lesson it is necessary to first comprehend the way in which he interpreted urban space. This is certainly not rhetoric characteristic for an historian, an architect or a town planner. True, simmel made fragmentary use of languages typical for professional researchers but he did not identify himself completely with any of them. He did, however, merge them into a peculiar synthesis, typical only for him. Simmel in­ terpreted urban space, first and foremost, as a series of signs or, better still, indices referring to a reality more profound than the visible one. 21 Hence he saw the town predominantly as a text providing much food for thought. This is an ambiguous and multi-dimensional reality, a significant organism that is not a simple sum of its parts. A laboratory example of such an approach involves fragments dealing with the space of Rome. Here, ordinary sensual perception of urban space became a point of departure for a wider conclusion: hence the multi-storeyed form of Rome is capable of translating the haphazardness, contradictions and ir­ regularity of the history of erecting the town into a cohesive whole, with the top and the bottom grant­ ing the sinuous lines of the image of the town guide­ lines realised by all the details. This is the direction followed by the dynamic of the urban life of Rome: no element, even ancient, alien and unnecessary, can evade its extraordinary vitality. Even dissimilar ele­ ments are drawn into this current. The inclusion of old and oldest monuments into later development is a symbolic expression or frozen form of the same el­ ement that the dynamic of Roman life presents in a fluid form: the creation of own life unity out of end­ lessly different elements. [MiD, 56-57] �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE Simmel depicted Rome as a curious town, which draws the power of its influence from the variety of the elements comprising it. This process takes place both in the spatial dimension (particular “monuments” ex­ ert an impact not as isolated objects but as an entity) and temporal dimension (individual epochs in some incomprehensible way merge together, thus creating a palimpsest configuration of harmoniously coexisting strata). In doing so, he disclosed the phenomenon of the w h o l e, which, strangely, individual parts do not cancel but build, although not by means of simple ad­ dition. This is why, Simmel insisted, the typical tourist rushing from monument to monument understands little of the genius of Roman space because he does not notice the beauty of the second power inferred from particular beauties and imposed upon them. [MiD, 57] In other words: he is unable to penetrate the veil of the senses and to cross over to the other side of the looking glass, which discloses the spiritual depth of the town, just as he is incapable of putting together particular phenomena of the visible world so that the miracle of the whole could reveal itself. In a similar - anatomical, holistic, and spir­ itual - manner Simmel wrote about his favourite Flor­ ence, demonstrating at the same time the miracle of its cohesion. Everything in this organism matches: the past, albeit severed from the present, still pulsates in current life, and Nature, which the spirit encircles as if it were its astral body [MiD, 163], remains in a strange symbiosis with works of art. Everything here adds up and mutually supplements, creating a semblance of implemented utopia, an ideal town. Florence is the cosmos of realised Harmony: it is the joy of the mature man who has achieved all that is most essential in life or resigned from it and now wishes to only seek a form for his conquest or relinquishment. [MiD, 168] 3. The essay written by Simmel about Venice starts as if with an anacrusis, i.e. by defining the principal features constituting a work of art. A t first glance, this might seem rather strange but Simmel knew very well what he was doing: he was preparing solid ground for further reflections. A work of art, he maintained, should be always assessed from the viewpoint of its truth or falsehood. A work is genuine when its outer form is a living and adequate expression of reality. Sometimes, however, it may happen that a work of art seems to be referring us to some metaphysical world, which should be expresssed in it, but nothing of the sort takes place: particular fragments can be perfect and remain in mutual harmony but the w h o l e is detached from the roots and the greater its perfection the more radically does it lie, pretending to be some sort of inner life, world outlook or religious conviction that it actually denies. [MiD, 177-178] 128 This is a very relevant statement because the inadequacy of form and content, here depicted by an opposition between the empty interior and the lavish exterior, will become a pair of opposites that will work brilliantly in the further part of the text, i.e. the inter­ pretation key to Venetian space. The entire ideological construction of Simmel’s text is based on a juxtaposition between Flor­ ence and Venice. As we know, such an approach is by no means new in the history of ideas. Already once in the history of European culture we have dealt with such an acute contrast of both towns. Then, the heart of the matter was the essence of painting and the way of constructing a canvas. Renaissance treatises end­ lessly discussed a certain fundamental problem: what comes first, what is more important: drawing or col­ our? 22 In this dispute the names of both towns were for the time being extracted from the space of geography and politics and rendered legible emblems of a certain painterly attitude. Florence, therefore, is a model-like embodiment of disegno, the primacy of drawing over colour. Venice is just the opposite, i.e. the domination of colorito, a passion for the constructive role of colour and the weaker role of the line. This is a contradiction not to be reconciled. In the writings of simmel we also encounter a harsh contradiction, but the principle of the opposi­ tion is different. This time we are dealing with the function fulfilled by architecture, and more precisely: the idea of the town concealed behind real buildings. Or perhaps something more: the very conception of life obscured by town-planning premises. In simmel’s essay Venice is the model-like reverse of Florence, its sick contradiction, an ominous anti-thesis. start with a comparison of the architecture of both towns. The most profound differences between the architecture of Venice and Florence probably lies in the fact that in the palaces of Florence, or rather the whole of Tuscany, we perceive the outer aspect as an adequate expression of the inner meaning: as a vainglorious, grave and lavish demonstration of power tangible in almost every stone. Each palace represents confident, sovereign personality. On the other hand, Venetian palaces are sophisticated playthings, whose uniformity masks the individuality of their residents, a veil whose folds are arranged in accordance with the rules of its beauty while showing the life concealed be­ neath only by hiding it. [MiD, 178-179] Simmel did a lot so that his conceit would become convincing. Earlier remarks about the work of art are skilfully transferred into urban space. The yardstick of the evaluation of architecture is the degree of concur­ rence between the expression and the contents or ref­ erence to an archaic differentiation between form and contents. Florentine palaces are transparent in the function of expression and do not conceal anything. �D an u sz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE W. Turner, Chiarore mattutino sulla punta di Santa Maria della Salute, sullo sfondo de Zitelle, (fragment). (Source: Venezia. Acquerelli di Turner, L'ippocampo, Milan 20085) They find total fulfilment in their revelatorE function. The opposite is crue in the case of Venetian architec­ ture. In order to de fend Inis thesis Simmel was will­ ing to sacrifice evens elementary respect for facti and common sense, i.e. only someone for whom tine initial conceit ie more important than empiria verifiable at a single gfanee can maintain that Venetian palaces afe identical (by way of example, take a look at C a’d’Oro, C a’Ree:.onico, Palazoo Dario - whas depressing similasity!). Let us move on, since palaces concealing life ore not the end. Sailing along Canal Grande we know that liOe, re­ gardless of its ntture, is aertainly different. Here, in 0i. Mark’s Square, the piazzetta, we teel the iron will of power, the murky passion embedded behind this tran­ quil phenomenon. Thc latter, how aver, seams to live in a state of ostentatious separation from being, and rise exterior does not: receive from the ina^rior any sort of guidelines or no urishment; it heeds only the laws of art, which appear to be outrighe established for deny­ ing the former. When, howevec, even rite mosf per­ fect arf does not conceal a meaning of life - or when it opposes it - then art becomes artificial- Florence is perceivsd as a work of art since its obvious form is con­ nected with life, which has undenisbly abandoned it but etill loyally stands bn ito side. Venice is an artificial town. Florenct will nevsr becom ea mere mask because its phenomenon re sounded with the pure voic e og real life, while in Venice, where all tranquillity, lighgness, end freedom strvnd only as a facade for a sombre and violent life, unrelentingle striving towards its god, the twilight of this liZe left behind only unfeeling decora­ tions, the talse beauty of the m ask.[M iD , 179] The same old story. Florence is transparent for the inner senses while Venice is aaliehood that conceals emptiness. Florence continuec being, an in the past, a work of art while Venice rs a mere extract oOartificial­ ity. Despite lexicel similarity, art and artificiality are 129 not quite the same. The reason lies in the fact that historical lite, ergo, true liOe, even though it has aban­ doned both towns (here Simmel does not seem to pro­ test so strongly), id some mysterious wae -till exerts an imprint on Florentinn architecture, continues being present in it, and permeates it in an outright intimate mannen while a Ve netian palazoo is only an old skin (thc externel) aasf off by a once living and vittl organiem. We are cemoelled to accept this intuition at tace value in view oCthe faca that Simmel did not offer any arguments. One could ask the justified question: wheat Weis that ’’real life” supposed to mean and why does it still appear in Florenye while totally abandon­ ing Venice? Simmel went eeen further in intensifying an imaye of artificial (unreal) Venice. Apparently, in ths Vene­ tian theatrum ie is not only buildings but also pgople that lose their vitality, while rUe town sucks their blood and changes them intc a collection of shadows. aimmet made creative use ya the nur particulady orisinal Zigure of Venice as a theatre, without losine anything of his iniaial intuition: W. Turner, Porta della Carta, Palazzo Ducale, ifragmosle. (Source: Venezia. Acquerelli di Turner, L'ippocampo, Milan 2008) �D an u sz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THEVENETIAN DISCOURSE In Venice people walk as if across a stage, busy with barren dreams or undertakings that yield nothing; tkie^y incessantly appear around a corner and immediately vanish around anorher one, always resembling; actors meaningleso beyond the stage because an it there takes place a play devoid of causes and effects foi the rkality of the next moment. The work of art binds particu­ lar elemente into a single whole and imposes its own meaning; uonsequently, in Venice the image of people appears to tie shallow. They walk and stand, buy and solt, watch and speak - all within the enchanted cirkle of thie town, where illusion is detached from being and seems to Ire two-dimensional, added to its real and definitive essence. But this concealed esoenca appears to be dead, and all activity resembles a faekde without f background, onu peart of nn equaoion whote second part has been obliterated. [MiD, 179-180] Anticipating by severcl tecedet tine statement made by Debrae about V enice, which is no longer a town but only pretends to be one, Stmmel demon­ strated the way in which id Venice the moet ordinary tomn-plannins elements creating every other town are subjected to striking deformations causing a signidicant shift: of their normal Sanation: Here even bridges lote theis exhilarating power. As a r/le, a bridge accomplishes an extraordinaty teat and in one swoop establishes tension and conciliation between points in space, moves brtween them, makes it possible to experience their division end unton. This dual lunction, which endows a purely picturesque phenemenon with deeper and vital significance, fades in Venice, the streess e l i d e over innumerable bridgas as if along an even road, and ie seems that at this point a street is only talcing a deep breath without interrupt­ ing iti unvarying course. [MiD, 180] Worse "yet. In Venice changing seasons lecom e almoet invisible. Thk poor and fragile vegetation of Venice, Simmler claimtd, seems to be deprived of roots, and tfeus while normal vefetation always testi­ fies to the vitalitn of the base, here it appears to Ire sus­ pended in air and easily merges with the lifeless stone mock-up. The reason why Venice kppears to be deveid oP all symptoms of We, and that, which intensities ita phantom-lika dimensions, is a speasal dnily, routine rhythm not eneountoeed in ana other Pown: Thare probably does not exise another town whore entire life would possess a s i n g l e and i d e n t i c a l tempo. No vehicles or draught animuls cpmpelled no chase each other at the same speed, or gondolas moving at the rate and aceording to the rhythm, of pedestrianr. This is the reason why Venice always appeare d to be a ’’dretm”. As a rule, reelity stimulates us: the spirit, left so its own devices or subjecied to a uniferm impacti would remain in a state of inertia and only a change of experiences directs it towards tin sxternal existence, which would enterrupt its leisure. 130 W. Turner, Santa Maria della Salute e la Dogana, viste dalle Zitelle, sullo sfondo Il campanile di Santo Stefano, (fragment). (Soueca: Venezia. Acquerelli di Turner, L'ippocampo, Milan 2008) This is why uniform and feng-lasting stimuli acf in a hypnutic mtnner and the continual rhythm creates a dimmed state of unreality. The monotony of till Vene­ tian rhythms deprives its c f the stimuli and shocks necessary to experience lreality and trests us into a dream of sorts, in which we are surrounded lay illu­ sions of things ye without the rhings as such. T tn spirit, embroilnd in the rhythm of this town, becomes im­ mersed in an ambiemce thar site nesthetec image of the town proposes iu the form of objectivity: as if only the upper, reflec ting strata of the spirit breathed while its W. Turner, Gondola e chiaro di luna, (fragment). (Soueca: Venezia. Acquerelli di Turner, L'ippocampo, Milan 2008) �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE full reality remains on the side, apparently submerged in idle slumber. Living by means of contents severed from the substance and experiences of real life we par­ ticipate in the lie of Venice. [MiD, 181] It is precisely this sensoric deprivation offered to us by Venice that contributes on yet another level to ex­ periencing it as a phantom deprived of the substrate of reality. In the final conclusion, maintained in a pessi­ mistic mood just like the previous comments, Simmel returned once again to initial intuition according to which Venice is pure surface devoid of all foundation, an illusion through which no being can be seen. Once again there appears the positive figure of Florence, whose buildings, images, and space preserve the life current that once was the source of their existence. If, however, an illusion to which no being ever corre­ sponded and whose contradictory beings had perished, pretends that it constitutes life and entirety, then it is a common lie and as if an embodiment of the ambigu­ ity of life. The dark and symmetric squares without vehicles that appear to resemble a chamber are just as ambiguous as the crowds unavoidable in narrow lanes and creating the illusion of intimacy and the "cosi­ ness” of life (...); the small, dark canals whose water uneasily quivers and flows, but one cannot distinguish the direction in which it moves without reaching a goal, are equally ambiguous. [MiD, 182] The horror of the hollow and the horror of unextinguishable ambiguity. If I am correct, in the definitions accentuated above simmel anticipated a phenomenon of simulacrum described several decades later. Venice is a gigantic lie, the illusion of all illusions, a facade that conceals nothing. This is probably the most bru­ tal disillusion performed by the philosopher. There is nothing behind this otherwise beautiful screen, which Venice is according to universal belief, behind this curtain.... A dark well of nothingness. Time, there­ fore, to remove the film off our eyes and start looking at Venice open-eyed. To see what it r e a l l y looks like. Also sprach Simmel. 4. The effect of the exposing interpretation proposed by Simmel is shattering. But naked truth is never ap­ petising. Simmel believed that Venice finally disclosed its genuine self - naked and featuring ugly nudity, repulsive, devoid of the veil of sugar-coated images, this grossly advertised wonder, this Golden Calf on clay feet, this trompe-l’oeil, this painted deception, this cliche 23 - one could add at this point a contemporary (and so very “Simmelian” in spirit!) commentary by McCarthy to the opinions of those who had not succumbed to the charms of Venice. Note that the philosophers disillusion is multi­ motif and takes place on several levels. It is precisely because it appears in various domains simultaneously 131 that it possesses such an extensive impact. Let us, therefore, gather all the invectives and epithets ad­ dressed to Venice. Venice is an illusion, a falsehood (the epistemological level), a lie, pretence, a theatre (the ethical level), an imitation (the aesthetic level) and, finally, an illusion, a dream, a non-being (the ontological level). We can see, therefore, that the in­ firmity of Venice cannot be reduced to only a single level. o n the contrary, on all the essential levels of hu­ man experience the town is located in the decidedly negative regions on the scale of values. The diatribe by Simmel contains a striking thought, i.e. that Venice as a whole, in all of its aspects, is a being tainted by an irremovable blemish. It is, therefore, a reality that one has to decidedly oppose. This is the last nail in the cof­ fin of Venice: an otherwise beautiful elegy written to commemorate its departure of no return. As I mentioned, Simmel’s text has an essential place in the long history of visions concerning Venice. He is probably the most eminent on the list of “negativists”. His grimaces and maledictions did not remain, as in the case of many others, only upon the level of impressions but subjected the latter to a discursive analysis with a theoretical underpinning. There seems to be little sense in conducting a polemic with visions (I already mentioned certain doubts concerning, so to speak, “material truth” while discussing the text). The truth of visions lies in their very existence. o n e thing, however, in Simmel’s writings is annoying and calls for a commentary: I have in mind the thesis about the ambiguity of life, mentioned at the end of his state­ ment. To put it in plain terms, I am concerned with the fact that the description of Venetian architecture and life performed by Simmel - many would call it extremely apt! (by way of example, who would ques­ tion a thesis about the vividly theatrical dimension of Venice?) - does not have to produce the o b v i o u s conclusions, which he drew upon the basis of observa­ tion. If one were to delve deeper into The Venice Text, then for each of the “negative features” mentioned by Simmel one could easily find a neutralising “positive quality”. Here is one instructive example: the widely dis­ seminated and known topos of Venice perceived as a dream, also present in Simmel’s writings. Simmel keenly registered the monotony of the stimuli offered by the town, the repetitiveness of Venetian rhythms, the striking immobility of the sets in which local life runs its course. (And this is the reason why Venice always appeared to be a “dream”). These observations were rapidly associated with the nature of a dream in order to draw even quicker the conclusion that this slumbering Venice has an unambiguously negative (mendacious, depriving of real traits, detaching from the truth) impact upon the people residing therein. �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE This part of an observation, however, does not contain anything of preordained necessity. Here are two counter-fragments about somnolent Venice to support the thesis: Venice makes an impression of things seen in the enchanted semi-shade of some sort of a dream. The curious magnificence of this town, resembling a flower emerging from deep waves, the strange absence of all noise - there are no automobiles, carriages or other vehicles - produce the illusion that we are strolling along the chambers, halls, and porches of a bewitched castle. Light, possessing the glimmer and sparkle of rays cast by diamonds, and isolation amidst the abyss of the sea grant extraordinary power to this visiondream. 24 This description seems to be somewhat familiar: the striking peace, quiet, and immobility of the town as well as the association of those observations with sleep. The conclusion, however, is totally different. Such drowsiness does not cause slumber. It does not lie. On the contrary: it intensifies impression and transfers into an extraordinary sphere, although there is no mention of any sort of betrayal of “real” life for the sake of some sort of passing illusion. Just the oppo­ site, there is the joy of becoming familiar with another sphere of life and its intensity, not encountered on a daily basis. Instead of expected passivity and sensual torpor, as in the writings of Simmel, there is ecstasy. Yet another fragment enhancing this recognition from another side and interesting not because it ab­ rogates Simmel’s definition (Venetian ambiguity) but demonstrates its one-dimensional character and limi­ tation: It suffices to free oneself from the carnival-spectacle Venice, to immerse oneself in it at night or at dawn, to come here in the autumn or the winter in order to under­ stand its true nature. A dream experienced while awake. (...) What is the essence of the dream - reality intensi­ fied, enhanced and powerful and combined with endless changeability, fragility, and fleeting qualities - this is also the essence of Venice. There are no towns in the world equally concrete and full of life and, at the same time, il­ lusory, enmeshed in echoes, sounds, the chiaroscuro, and mirrored reflections 25. Here, in turn, Venice does not seem to resemble slumber but actually is its essence. Note, the person proposing the description not only does not become distracted while pondering the degree of the real na­ ture of his experience, but outright cultivates this state of uncertainty, ontological suspension typical for the moment of transition between sleep and awakening. Just as in the previous example, Venice asleep is a dif­ ferent and, it is impossible to hide, better dimension of existence. It is a space in which one would like to live. La vida es sueño, as Calderon put it. This phrase still possesses the power of somber recognition. Who errs: those, who like Simmel, refer Venice to the land of illusion and non-being, or rather those who see it as an instrument for the recognition of the true nature of the world? What do the cited descriptions prove? I suspect that looking at Venice Simmel perceived it extreme­ ly keenly, as his comments convincingly prove. The trouble is that his perception is based on negative pre­ comprehension (its causes could be perhaps explained by a psychoanalytical discourse). The latter is, in turn, founded on a conviction (illusion?) maintaining that there exists somewhere (where?) a world that is free of ambiguity. His animosity towards Venice is, therefore, not the outcome of a defect of sight but of the pressure of an intellectual project. Its source is unattainable longing for a realm of unambiguity, full of transpar­ ency and realised harmony. Such a world, however, occurs only in fairy tales. III. Pasticcio 1. For each visitor arriving in Venice for the first time, waking up in this town is an exceptional event. Wak­ ing up in Venice with a tremendous hangover grants this unusual experience an even more special flavour: I awoke from the surrounding morning noises with such regret and sorrow inside that, even having opened my eyes, for a long time I remained motionless, without the strength to shake myself and to remove this torpor, uninvited just before dawn. (...) I ended up in Venice. I awoke in an an­ tique bed, on multi-coloured sheets that smelled of quince and dry apricot blossoms. A high and clean ceiling is above me with an ornamental decoration, which doesn’t remind me of anything. Around me is an entire collection of fine objects made of silver, walnut, ebony, sandalwood, ivory, bronze, terra-cotta, lace, velvet. Before me —five entire days and nights in this reality more like a hallucination. 26 This situation, as can be seen, is unfavourable, to say the least. A headache, unclear recollections of yesterday’s excesses, and all-pervading sadness. The person who one morning found himself in this opulent setting is Stanislas Perfetsky, the rarely sober Ukrain­ ian poet, musician, performer, and main protagonist of the exciting book by Yuri Andrukhovych - Perverzion. Perfetsky was invited as one of several speakers at an international conference held on the Venetian island of San Giorgio Maggiore under the evocative ti­ tle: “The Post-Carnival Absurdity of the World: What Is on the Horizon?” This is only the beginning of his Venetian escapade and nothing foretells its bloodcur­ dling successive course. Perverzion can be read in several ways. It appears to be outright programmed for a series of diverse albeit not necessarily mutually excluding interpretations. One can, or rather should first read it with a naive (this does not mean: imprudent) attitude, enjoying the 132 �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE inane adventures of Perfetsky in Venice and finding extraordinary pleasure in participating in the untamed element of creating a fictional plot. One can conduct a useful analysis of the language and treat the novel predominantly as a tempting exercise in poetics. o r it could be read in a more cultural dimension, discover­ ing the voice of its author among those who deliberate on the present-day shape of Europe. Yet another, promising, and not at all marginal track appears to be an interpretation of Andrukhovych book from the viewpoint of the image of Venice depicted therein. Placing the plot in this particular town was a decision of great semantic importance. Consequently, there arise a number of questions. What sort of an image of the town emerges from the text? In what sort of meaning contexts does it appear? What are the characteristic symptoms of this por­ trayal? What is the relation of the portrait of a town presented in Perverzion to the long, after all, list of its literary representations? We shall follow the traces of those questions. 2. Before we broach the topic of Venice and its as­ sorted perverse images, first a few words about the book and its literary dimensions since literariness alongside various other assets - is its chief substance. With Venice as the prime target one cannot forget this fact. Perverzion takes place entirely in the language, is constructed of words (and not ideas!), and simply does not exist beyond abundant, rich, living, pulsating, un­ expected, and innovative language. This is important since upon one of its levels of meaning it can be eas­ ily deciphered as a novel about language, its endless potential and causal force. This is one of the reasons why it is so difficult to propose a summary. The sec­ ond reason is the multi-motif and polyphonic - in the precise meaning of the word - construction. There are numerous differently sounding voices, styles, po­ etics (an autobiographical confession, an interview, a report, an interrogation, official printed matter, a libretto text, a last will and testament...). By making use of those testimonies the narrator tries to deter­ mine what actually occurred to Perfetsky in Venice and to explain the mystery of his strange - possibly suicidal - disappearance. As a genre the book is a hy­ brid: a crime story, a romance, a picaresque novel, and a fantastic vision. The novel has been classified rather unambiguous­ ly as an almost model-like example of a postmodern text, and such features as a mistrustful usage of lan­ guage or genre unsteadiness were supposed to support this opinion. As is known, labels quite often serve the excellent mood of the person who does the labelling rather than actually describe the objects to which they 133 refer. The adjective: "postmodern” granted to Andrukhovych novel wants to express in an abbreviated form everything but actually says nothing. The issue at stake is much more complicated. True, superficial familiarity with the book might confirm the conviction that we are dealing only with unhindered literary fun and thrilling attempts at games played with language. From the viewpoint of the lat­ ter the narration is, first of all, an element of parody, pastiche, and the aping of assorted stylistics and types of articulation. Here everything is upside down. The presented world is governed by excess and caricature, an incessant mixture of comic and serious elements, and thus components of a literary convention known as the grotesque. These are, after all, distinctive signs of the text belonging to the postmodern camp. o n the other hand, there is too much meta-critical laughter and self-ironic attacks not to notice that this - ever so! - postmodern stylistic serves not solely fun but a l s o the process of doubting certain obvious traits of postmodern dogmatics. Quite possibly, it assists first and foremost the most popular postmodern mantra about the all-embracing game and lack of gravitas as a response to the breakdown of the fundamental in­ tellectual, theological, and ethical orders of modern times. To put it still differently: Rabelaisian laughter conceals serious identifications. This observation al­ ready transfers us directly to the cultural reflection present in the novel. Everyone who embarks upon a commentary to Perverzion is defeated at the very onset. It is not only impossible to summarise this book properly, but its gargantuan laughter effectively safeguards it against “researchers specialising in insect legs”. Let us try, however, to perform several analytical motions while fully aware that in this situation they must resemble piercing a living butterfly with the dull pin of dis­ course. 3. What does Venice look like in the text of Perverzion? o n e would like to say: this is Venice treated ironically, as is everything else. To put it as briefly as possible: we are dealing with an erudite discourse of parentheses. 27 The author is well aware that literary Venice - especially in its popular version - is to a con­ siderable extent a lot of faded allegories and moribund metaphors. 28 And that he is writing his “Venetian” text on a thick pile of texts left behind by his predeces­ sors. His originality, after all, consists of the absence of originality, however paradoxical that may sound. Instead of new allegory he creates a gripping and fren­ zied collage (or, perhaps even better, a patchwork) of all that had been written about Venice across the centuries. A number of conventional metaphors, com­ parisons, associations, and motifs present in numerous �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE descriptions of the town - all this has been subjected to parodistic travesty. Take the first of many examples: a motif permeat­ ing European imagination from the end of the nine­ teenth century, the agony of Venice vanishing and slipping into the sea. Here is a pertinent declaration of aged (He looks at least a hundred years old [P, 71]) Professor Casallegro 29, who appears in the text as himself but also as a personified, so to speak, history of Venice. More, he fulfils the function of chairman of the “La morte di Venezia” (sic!) foundation and or­ ganiser of an international conference: Venice is dying, Mr. Perfekcy (...) The true death of Venice will happen not from swallowing by the sea or sand, not from floods or heavenly thunder (...) All this is only external, that is, apparent, that is nonessential (...). Entire institutions exist that have been summoned to save Venice (...). They stirred up a multitude of ideas, each more clever than the next (...). And now —for the sake of saving this stone, this gold, this marble, these stuccos and mosaics, this pigeon dung —several eggheads even propose to move this entire Venice to some safe and drier place (...). The monuments that will perish in these dirty waters, as it were, are dearer than (■ ■ ■ ). Otherwise, asses would have wanted to chase away everything living from here including the shitty pi­ geons and to preserve everything here in perpetuity (...). They contend that no one should be living here in twentyfive years. Such an, you know, accident zone (...). So that only ghosts of people should rush along the canals on ghosts of gondolas (...). [P. 64, 65] This extraordinarily funny literary realisation of arguments about moribund Venice, usually presented with deadly seriousness, is yet another answer to the question: what should be done with Venice, how to put a halt to its gradual disappearance? Further: the Venetian theatre and opera, Venice conceived as a theatre, and the opera-like qualities of Venetian life. It is worth checking how these lofty conceptions are faring today. In a bravura operatic se­ quence Andrukhovych reduced them to ground level, thus demonstrating their cheap and dubious side. The object of his sarcastic attacks is one Matthew Kulikoff, announced by the “La morte di Venezia” foundation as: one of the most well known opera directors and innova­ tors of the contemporary world. [P, 171] It is he who was commissioned to stage the opera Orpheus in Venice so that it may function as a musical appendix to the sci­ entific seminar. Here is the director, whose statement disgraces the entire undertaking in a manner that does not call for lengthier commentaries - his invitation to the premiere says: I was terribly enthralled with the idea of doing an opera in such a legendary city. Because right here, in this island state saturated with culture and its institutions, is quite appropriate for embodying one of my mad intentions - to create an opera beyond operas, an opera of operas, where 134 the very elements of operaness, its inner actuality, its sub­ stance, is parodied, rethought and, if You accept this, is elevated even higher. To my assistance came the old Italian experience of the seventeenth to the eighteenth centuries (to the point, the centuries of the most luxurious flowering of Venice). I have in mind the so-called pasticcio, when new operas were created on the basis of the deconstructing and recombination of elements of operas that already existed. The historical-cultural space of Venice, its topi, its genius loci, it seems, assisted me in my work. The spiritual land­ scape of the Italian opera tradition had no less meaning for me. Finally, the space of the stage and the hall - the magic of this fantastic space, the Teatro La Fenice, its aura. And countless other spaces in addition - the individual creative spaces of each, who believed me and worked with me on the same team. [P, 172-173] True, the director was not lying. The music of this opera is a combination of works by Monteverdi, Vival­ di, Donizetti, Bellini and several other composers, and its structure does recall a pasticcio - but this time comprehended literally, as a pâté . Or as an aesthetic monstrosity. The opera libretto contained in the book is undoubtedly the work of a madman. Thrilled with his own genius, the opera director Matthew Kulikoff, together with his crazed vision of an opera about o r ­ pheus as an entity made up of fragments of the ex­ isting world, proves to be an idiot submerged in self­ adoration. His opera about Orpheus in Venice turns out to be complete drivel and a postmodern fiasco of the idea of a total work. 30 Only literature salvages this verbal-musical pâté . In order to take a closer look at the auteur strategy of demythologisation let us examine one of the figures often exploited in literature: Venice as a crossing of the worlds, as the hinge of Europe. 31 Venice as a meet­ ing place of the culture of Western and Eastern el­ ements. As a gateway to the East, a bridge between the East and the West. Those methodical tropes have become firmly embedded in European writings and imagination. Entering St. Mark’s Square, the protago­ nist of Henry James’ Travelling Companions, admitted: I had left Europe; I was in the East. Theophile Gautier described the basilica of St. Mark as an Oriental dream. Jan Morris in: The World of Venice wrote outright: In Venice the Orient began, and John Ruskin in his monu­ mental: The Stones of Venice described the beauty of the basilica: It possesses the charm of color in common with the greater part of the architecture, as well as of the manufactures, of the East. In turn, Boris Pasternak saw the colour gamut of night-time Venice in the com­ pany of such words as: halva and Chaldea, the magi and magnesium, India and indigo. It is to this well-established topos: Venice as a place where, as that old banal saying goes, “East meets W est”, that the novel makes an ironic reference. But is anyone actually meeting someone? And if so, then �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE what sort of West and what sort of East? What sort of a bridge is this? One simply has to notice that Andrukhovych granted the well-worn metaphor of a "bridge” linking Western culture and the oriental element an entirely new meaning, one with a changed sign. The East, the Orient, which usually acted as a cryptonym of a mythi­ cal and exotically conceived version of the world of Islam, here denotes simply post-Soviet Ukraine, while halva and magnesium are replaced by the products of the spirits industry. A t the conference a representative of the former soviet colony is treated with condescending superior­ ity. A constantly recurring motif is that of the absence of any sort of knowledge about Ukraine among envoys of the civilised world. The organisers of the confer­ ence perceive Ukraine as an earthly version of a Never Never Land, a phantom reality somewhere on the very edges of the inhabited world. A distant and peripheral land on the border of non-being. A land somewhere at the end of a map, assuming that it actually does exist. A country-phantom. Its real name means nothing and thus it appears in official papers in different versions as: Urania, Ukrania, czy Ukraya, so as to include this unmarked particle into the world of linguistic and car­ tographic imagination. The Ukrainian, however, remains unconcerned and openly demonstrates his feeling of affiliation with Europe. During confession heard by the vicar of the church on San Michele, which smoothly turned into an alcoholic binge, Perfetsky admits to a number of truths about his origin. We learn about this dialogue from the priest’s account: “I’ve come here from a re­ ally distant land. May be you don’t even know about it, Father Antonio. Suffice to say I was born in a little town in the mountains, quite close to the center of Europe” At this point it seemed to me that he wasn’t completely ra­ tional. “What are you saying?" I was surprised. “Is it so far from here? Isn’t the center of Europe somewhere in Switzerland?" “No, Father, amid different, entirely dif­ ferent mountains, far from here!" he insisted. “Perhaps in the Ural Mountains?" I myself remembered something from school lectures on geography. “No, not the Urals, but in the Carpathian Mountains, Father", he corrected me. “Some of you still call them the Caucasus". [P, 110] This exemplary lesson of cultural relativism dem­ onstrates the scale of misunderstandings. The centre of Europe is not an immobile point. On the contrary, its location depends on the place where opinions are formulated. Hence the very concept of Europe has nothing of pre-established unambiguity and changes depending on who is speaking and where he lives. It is easy to guess, therefore, that the appearance of a phantom representative of equally phantom peripher­ ies in the cultural centre of civilised Europe becomes the cause of a number of unusual events. Perverzion is not, therefore, yet another text evok­ ing close historical relations - actually intense and present in a multitude of domains - between Venice and the Oriental world, but introduces a refreshing and cognitively enriching novum. It confronts the old figure of Venice as the gateway to the East with the entirely contemporary dilemmas faced by Europe. Cultural Europe, focused on its centuries-old civilisational lineage, is now forced to tackle new savages. As always, they arrive from the East. Is this barbar­ ian Ukrainian people a tribe totally alien or one of us? Perfetsky goes far to demonstrate in his complex lec­ ture the reasons why Ukraine could never belong to this part of the world: Where Europe was just beginning to arise, to grow, to be constructed, at the same instant Asia revolted, demanding the establishment of its despotic and simultaneously anarchic status. At this moment I am not saying that this is bad. But I am just saying that this is its essence, and this essence vehemently contradicts the other essence - the European. [P, 224-225] The strug­ gle of two tendencies, both facing different directions, determined the history of Ukraine. This exuberant historiosophy, formulated with deep conviction, is to serve Perfetsky simultaneously as a safe conduct pass enabling him to enter European salons. 4. Another image, permanently linked with Venice, is carnival. Here things become more complicated. The image of the town in the throes of fun (Are you familiar with Venetian Shrovetide? 32), with féeries of light and the inevitable parade of people concealed behind masks is almost an indispensable and thoroughly exploited el­ ement of numerous travelogues and literary and film depictions of Venice. By rendering the carnival the semantic axis of his story Andrukchovych envisaged it much deeper than a mere seasonal festivity. Now, carnival means something different (and much more serious!) than only a period of a temporary suspension of mores or festive debauchery. First and foremost, carnival or, more precisely, its decline - real or merely presumed - is, as we remember, the topic of a confer­ ence held in Venice. The invitations addressed by the organisers to the participants of the seminar say: We in Venice are inclined to think that the loss of C ar­ nival has occurred. We can see this. Almost no one can see this - for Carnival exists, it occurs year after year, sev­ eral times, for various reasons, with fires and masks, with wine and dance. Carnival exists, anyone will tell you from among those who still (or already) do not see and of which they are of countless number. Carnival is becoming bigger and bigger, it’s everywhere and uninterrupted, others who are of evil persuasion will tell you. But is it really this way? Or is it only measured by what is gulped down and devoured? Or with unbelievable 135 �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE swarms of tourists, Japanese, hotel services, amusements, or with the return of money and losses on pyrotechnics? And is this already only bare mechanics, machinery, cold industry, massive consumption, permanent parasitic be­ havior? What if it is just a trap? [P, 37] In Andrukhovych’s flamboyant narration “Vene­ tian carnival” is thus a more or less legible figure of the poor world - European contemporaneity. It can be discovered already in the ambiguously sounding ”post-carnival” in the title of the Venetian seminar. This peculiar carnival would be, therefore, a reality occurring after the carnival in the classical meaning of the word, some sort of a new mutation characteristic only for our era. Andrukhovych thus accepted simi­ lar connotations - such expressions as: post-religion, post-history, post-culture, etc. But if that prefix is changed into a noun then it becomes apparent that it can be understood as Lent (Polish: post) carnival, in the metaphorical sense: of little nutritious value, barren, poor. If the term were to be referred to events from the presented world (distinctly carnival events in the novel take place during Lent!), then it might sig­ nify also Lent, which assumed the features of carnival and resembled it to such a degree that the differences between them became unnoticeable. All this is the reason why the contemporary Vene­ tian post-carnival turns out to be an open oxymoron, a world based on a paradox. It is a special prank, some­ thing openly abnormal. In cultures of the past carnival was, after all, always a time directed against Lent. The formula: ”the battle of carnival and Lent” expressed this contradiction well. Here, carnival possesses the features of Lent emanating exhaustion. Consequently, is carnival still possible? Lecturers offer different re­ sponses, as a rule do not speak on the topic, or simply jabber. Listen to the end of Perfetsky’s speech; speak­ ing chaotically, he at least from time to time refers to the essence. In this fragment he seems to be uttering words that he finds most crucial although the whole time they are affected adversely by the poetics of irony and endless play-acting: Allow me a single truism just before the end of my talk. I expect that it won’t excessively irritate you. Only love can save us from death. There, where love ends the “absurdity of the world” begins. And I don’t think then that “anything" can still remain “on the horizon’’. Be­ sides emptiness, of course. It attracts, it calls, it pulls - how can we render resistance in this time of “postlove”? At the least I would want to be like a prophet and fore­ cast something here today. I proposed to your inattentive­ ness all of just several versions, each of which separately is erroneous, and all together contradicting each other. But all the same I will attempt, even out of such a hopeless situation, to emerge with honor, that is, with a certain con­ clusion. ... 136 I hold to the traditional system of notions. If we under­ stand carnival as the extreme strain of the powers of life in all their fullness and inexhaustibility or also the loftier manifestation of the battle between love and death (death as emptiness, as antilife, as nothing), than carnival truly should never end, or, at least, last as long as we have not spent our credit by the Heavenly observer. [P, 237-238] Jokes aside, it seems that at this stage Andrukhovych said several essential things, already beyond laughter. Although his declarations lack the passion of a missionary and the certitude of the only correct prescription, is there any better place to ask about the future of the carnival than Venice? The above statement introduced a certain disso­ nance to the earlier outlined likeness of post-carnival. In his sarcastic descriptions of Venetian reality the author unambiguously suggested that contemporary idolatry of permanent fun is no longer a source of joy; on the contrary, it is becoming a source of suffering. That, which once was an emanation of vital forces, today is a symbol of their disappearance. And if not of death then certainly of some form of non-life, pre­ tended life, life deprived of a genuine vital force. The reason why this is taking place lies in the fact that in the past carnival frenzy was a clear-cut caesura in a world ruled by order, and even if norms were not re­ spected it was acknowledged that they existed. Today, in a world of constant fun, a carnival-time mixture of matter, post-carnival ceased being a temporary suspen­ sion of stable order. There is no more “negative” back­ ground against which it would define itself. Everything is carnival, and there where this happens nothing is carnival and the carnival suspension of time is sense­ less. Post-carnival is, therefore, a sad figure of vain time. A contradiction of the frenetic carnival. Sheer exhaustion with fun... Thus: is carnival still possible? such questions are addressed to the participants of the Venetian sympo­ sium by its organisers, and this is the sort of query that Perverzion asks us. The question was formulated in a literary procedure, without any discursive justifications and footnotes, although I claim that it is cognitively profound and culturally essential. If I understood him well, Andrukhovych, who became familiar with the therapeutic properties of carnivalisation as a lifestyle in the Lent-like world of Soviet Ukraine, answers in the affirmative although it is not quite certain wheth­ er in the world of liquid values, a world in which the awareness of the tragic properties of life is vanishing (has vanished?), a return to differentiations introduc­ ing order into the experience of time is still possible. It seems, however, that this positive assessment of the carnival is unconcerned with its institutional res­ urrection. The heart of the matter pertains rather to two issues. First: carnival conceived rather as a certain mental disposition, carnival as a creative emanation �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE of life, an antidote against false attitudes and impo­ tence typical for the contemporary world, a liberating energy that supplements the already obligatory call: "Everything already has taken place” with the rec­ ommendation: ’’Yes, but everything still awaits to be discovered”. Secondly: carnival laughter envisaged as the generator of culturally reviving behaviour. Not the sort, therefore, which takes its anger out in foolish de­ struction and turning all constant points of reference inside out, but the kind that would possess liberating properties and reveal uncrititcal attachment to old schemes and intellectual habits, which would disclose their barreness and cultural chaos. It is difficult to evade the thought that it is precisely Perverzion that is an embodiment of such a comprehension of Carnival. 5. of the Venetian image in collective imagination. At the same time it must be stressed firmly that this Ven­ ice d rebours, despite its jeering portrayal, belongs - on par with laudatory texts - to The Venice Text, with all that this entails. It plays the role of a counter-sign, an anti-structure, and a negative myth, but regardless of this deciphering gesture it does not cease being part of a wider narration. Venice in Perverzion resembles a crooked mirror in which we might notice a caricature of our vision of this town - cultivated for years, stale, musty, and faded. It is up to us whether we would like to look at our reflection. But who is capable of such perversion? IV Resonances 1. The Latin word: perversitas means: reversal. From the literary viewpoint Perverzion proves to be predomi­ nantly an intelligent and discerning strategy of revers­ ing symbols. The image of Venice depicted in the book seems to be aimed against the most universal Venetian aspects of the discourse: the Bombastic and the Senti­ mental discourse. The most widely disseminated like­ nesses of Venice have been turned inside out. There is no fragile ecstasy of À la recherche du temps perdu, no desperate decadence of Death in Venice, no horror and tightening noose of fear of The Aspern Papers. Other, less distinctive examples can be multiplied. Instead of customary solemnity, seriousness, and mournful­ ness there is overacting and flippancy, and instead of suitable melancholy - irony and sarcasm. Such an in­ depth, gut-feeling carnival Venice has never appeared in literature despite the fact that scenes of carnival festivities (in their strictly calendar comprehension) are not, after all, the object of the description! In other words, carnival-time Venice from Perverzion turns out to be a world turned upside down twice and the disappearance of the chief protagonist grants yet another meaning to the trivialised expres­ sion: “death in Venice”. Andrukhovych was clearly trying to bring the unbearable, contrived quality - so frequent in Venetian rhetoric - down to earth. His ob­ jective, however, does not seem to be some sort of a radical disillusion whose culminating conclusion is to set fire to Venice! It rather appears to be - as Debray put it so brutally - to kill in oneself the Venetian il­ lusion (fantôme de Venise 33), but not, as is the case in his diagnosis, in the form of hysterical rejection but by keeping a rather emollient, ironic distance. Further targets include the disclosure of the comical and trivial qualities of numerous concepts present in the popular language (only?) of narrations about Venice 34 in order to demonstrate how certain emulated images are sepa­ rated from reality and start living a life of their own, as well as how insufferably flat and secondary is the shape 137 A t the beginning - a puzzle. What film starts with the below-cited scene? A fishing boat sails on a sea with a surface composed of choppy waves. It makes its way towards the dark out­ lines of islands concealed by a curtain of light cast from the sky. Pearly reflections trickle from the side of Ven­ ice, composed of marble and lace, still aslumber and already distant. From time to time they move upwards, piercing the mist suspended above the sea. The boat contains, apart from the fisherman listen­ ing to the regular sound of the engine, also two persons huddled together. A balding, forty-five year old man, dressed inappropriately for this time of the year and observing, with his head lowered, the traces left be­ gin by the boat. Later, we find out that this is Andrei Gorchakov. His face is turned but the general outline makes it possible to notice that he is fair-haired and slender. Gorchakov’s right hand is lowered and almost touches the boat. He holds a lit cigarette, which has nearly turned into ash. Gorchakov’s hand remains just above the water. By some miracle the lengthy ash stays on the cigarette. The boat sails along the coast of San Giorgio, slowly moving next to a paginated marble statue. This Titianesque-shaped nude turns its back towards a care­ fully trimmed hedge. A t this precise moment, right in front of the enthralled Eugenie, the marble, cracked, wet, and devoured by time, starts to slowly shift and disintegrates into tiny pieces, as if watched in a slowmotion movie. 35 The puzzle is not that difficult. The name of the protagonist in the quoted fragment is already a suf­ ficient clue for many readers. There is no doubt: this is the beginning of Nostalghia by Andrei Tarkovsky. I am right: this is not the beginning of the film but of the screenplay! A pity that the scene - stirring the imagination and offering interesting possibilities of its visual version - was ultimately not included in the film. 36 After all, it seems to be a distant echo of �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTSOF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE Edward Steichen, Venice (1907) the opening scene of Visconti’s Death in 'Venice. A sailing; boat, morning; light skimming; on the weter. And Gorchakov ... . A t the end of the take Ire dips ffis hand into the water lagether with the ashes. 37 Goechakov is a late embodiment of Aschenbach, whose surname, after till, conceals ashes and water. From the verc onset Gorchakov ir split asunder end looks fleetingly at tire surface, but his thoughts follow an­ other directionand suggest distant images. He rails acroos the lagoon, but his inner sight perceives the black water of the river Moskvo. 38 He is here, bruit he wishes to be elsewhere. And this is how things are going to bc. The Russian émigré, tired of ItaHan beauty, longs for home and Iris native land. This elsewhere Iras very concrete parameters. One way or another, tire title of the film does not lie arid, is en excellent description of tire main theme. Wherever fhe protagonist goes, and whatever he sees, he is not at home. He is in Italy but cannot bear being without Russia. He is here and now but he wants to be there and at some other time. He pinee. In his poign­ ant comme ntary on tht film Leoni° f atc in wrote a lot about this special Russian variant of nostalgia with its onderpinning of despair and - we have to believe him - incurable. 39. I evoke the initial fragment o° the screenplay for other nefarious purposes. I do not wish to either comme ne on tire film or name the colours of 138 Russian nostalgia contained therein. Anyway, others had already done this quite thoroughly. 40 I do, however want to write about nostalgia. N os­ talgia concerning Venice. This is why I evoke (nostal­ gically?) a scene with which numerous spectators of Taskovsky’s 'work are probably unfanoiliar. Nostalgia is the reverse of anticipating an encounter with in. It is a backward glance. A t tins moment, I would like to taring; to life that, which has turned into a dusty? book­ mark of memory. To disremembir that, which has been ejected, lost:, and forgottfn. And firsf and foaemost, ao ask about tha feasibility? of .ravelling in time and what could become a vehicle of a journey into the past, into le temps perdu. 2. We care see immediately that the above-cfied scene is lacking iomething. Obviouyly, that miysing element is music. Tha point, however, is not simply to add sound tv the image (delineated with the wore-. The objective is fomething more: music fulfilling the? function of naming spvce. After all, the-e exists a firm conviction persistently? recurring in the history of at­ tempt? as dnlving into the Venetian emgma, namely, that music is simply? anotheo name for Venice find that "Venice cbes noi exisf without music. Thus co mprehended "Venice is in its essence musical, which mepn- �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE that its distinguishing feature is not at all palpable space - those kilometres of marble beauty - but time. Something much more fragile and difficult to cap­ ture. To put it in more precise terms: a special expe­ riencing of time, the flow and compression of time, its whirlpool, but also the halting of time. What sort of music could accompany the recalled scene, what sort of sounds would be capable of carrying its bur­ den? Perhaps this could by the third, “Venetian” quar­ tet by Benjamin Britten, his last musical score with open references to the earlier composed opera: Death in Venice? And in particular its last part, Passacaglia, whose second name is already much more precise: La Serenissima. 41 Music, some claim, is the quintessence of Venice and experiencing the town is purely musi­ cal. The most acute observers of Venice were capable of noticing this feature. In a passage probably most classical for this trope Frederic Nietzsche wrote in Ecce homo: I could not pos­ sibly dispense with Rosssini and still less with my South­ ern soul in music, the work of my Venetian maestro Pi­ etro Gasit. And when I say beyond the Alps all I really mean is Venice. If I try to find a new word for music I can never find any better than Venice. 42 These are the words of Nietzsche - an admirer of Venice, seduced by the city. In the next sentence he immediately added: I do not know how to draw any distinction between tears and music. I do not know how to think either of joy or the South without a shudder of fear. 43 These are already the sentiments of Nietzsche the ecstatic and the nostalgic, author of a project for a strangely beautiful image of a town in which tears added to music produce a state of solace and in which beauty possesses an inevitable underpinning of horror. Venetian music. What is its essence, what could be its perfect audible landscape, to recall a phrase from Rilke? Philippe Sollers wrote a subjective Dictionnaire amoureux de Venise, whose considerable part, unfor­ tunately, proved to be a disappointment since it was painfully predictable (cf. such insightful entries as: “Byron”, “Casanova”, “La Fenice”, “Stravinsky”, etc.). In it he included a number of musical entries. In this tedious catalogue of well-worn images of Venice the sound emanation of the town appears to be - depressingly obviously - Vivalidi. V like Ven­ ice and V like Vivaldi. One cannot hide the fact that this is even quite correct. If there exists the spirit of a place and a perfectly harmonised spirit of the time then this is it. Two, three chords and we are already on the spot, on the lagoon, between the sky and water, in a sailing ship, a boat. 44 De gustibus non disputandum est, and the same is true for visions. It would be difficult to be ignorant of Vivaldi’s birthplace and the town where he wrote his music. Just as it would be difficult to assess his oeuvre (still lit­ tle known, and if so then in a caricature form). When 139 I say: Venice, when I seem to be fingering this sound, and when I listen to the harmonics surrounding it I cannot help the fact that I do not hear Vivaldi. I do hear, however, Mahler’s Adagietto from Symphony no. 5, and I see Dirk Bogarde on a deck arranging a blanket on his lap, the mercury sheen of the lagoon ... What is that you say? That it was not written in Ven­ ice or with Venice in mind? That is meaningless. The force of great art consists of the fact that it supplies a vision capable of overcoming us completely and im­ posing itself with some sort of mysterious ruthlessness. We succumb to it, offering no resistance, softly. He who has seen the first takes of Visconti’s film is lost for always. This initial phrase, slowly (sehr langsam!) unwinding as if a scroll of transparent fabric, those crescenda lost in thought, those dark swirls of Mahler’s Adagietto - all this will follow him step by step. 45 The downbeats will always bring to mind Ven­ ice and evoke from memory its dark trace. We may defend ourselves, but this is always stronger than us: already after several phrases “Esmeralda” will emerge from the milky mist, in a moment Aschenbach will cross the empty square where a bonfire will be burning, and thus, due to dark fatalism, he will make his way to the very end towards a chasm, and we shall follow him. 3. For years, I have been convinced that Mahler en­ joyed a monopoly as regards Venice until I saw and then heard a record titled: Wagner e Venezia!, made by the Uri Caine Ensemble. A rara avis, a true rar­ ity, an audiophile’s treat. 46 The corrugated cardboard of the navy blue cover, the embossed golden letters, and in the middle a reproduction of a painting by A n­ tonio Rotta: The Fiancée in a Gondola (ca. 1880). In the foreground - the outline of a young woman. Her profile and décolletage glimmer. She reclines in a dark cabin (such gondolas were still used at the end of the nineteenth century) and floats on the lagoon. Sunrise seeps through a rectangular opening and the contours of the island of San Giorgio Maggiore (the same as in the scenario by Tarkovsky!) rise in the distance. 47 In the booklet attached to the record carefully chosen excerpts of texts by Nietzsche and Wagner are accompanied by a series of excellent photographs from the turn of the nineteenth century. Il teatro Camploy, from 1876, Rio del Santa Caterina (1870), Piazzetta (ca. 1900), Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi (1855), Grande gon­ dola (ca. 890), a portrait of Richard Wagner (1882) and especially the striking Gran Caffè Quadri (ca. 1900). In the foreground - five persons at café tables. Judging by their clothes it is early spring or late au­ tumn. The men are wearing double breasted coats and bowler hats. A lady in a hat, with a veil across her face, holds a parasol resting on the ground. Between them �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE -a boy in a coat and a cap. Further to the right - a waiter in a black jacket, a white shirt with a stand-up collar, and a bow tie. He holds a tea kettle supported on a white napkin draped on the other hand. In the background - three men deep in conversation. Above them - a lampshade. Light coloured (white?) drapes hang from the arcades filling the space between the columns. All stood still for a moment at a sign given by the photographer, with the boy smiling and gazing straight at the lens and thus at us. I mention these reproductions in such detail because they are not or­ dinary illustrations to texts contained in the booklet. Here the past gains shape. Let us repeat after Barthes his favourite mantra: the photograph says predomi­ nantly: what is. It freezes the past in a frame. Wagner first arrived in Venice in 1858 and stayed several months. Interestingly, although he immedi­ ately appreciated its charm he found the town boring. Then he changed his mind; here, he wrote the score of Tristan und Isolde. Regularly at 11 a.m. he drank coffee at Caffe Quadri. Wagner savoured Venice and breathed it. He received all the impulses produced by the town. This is the way in which he described in his autobiography one of his most intense Venetian experiences: As I was returning home late one night on the gloomy canal, the moon appeared suddenly and illumi­ nated marvellous palaces and the tall figure of my gondo­ lier towering above the stern of the gondola, slowly moving his huge sweep. Suddenly he uttered a deep wail, not unlike the cry of an animal; the cry gradually gained in strength and formed itself after a long-drawn “Oh!” into the simple musical exclamation: Venezia! This was followed by other sounds of which I have no distinct recollection, as I was much moved at the time. Such were the impressions that to me appeared the most characteristic of Venice during my stay there, and they remained with me until the completion of the second act of Tristan, and possibly even suggested to me the long-drawn wail of the shepherd’s horn at the beginning of the third act. 48 The composer lived in Venice twice in 1882 and then on his last journey ever. He was not a resident of Venice by birth but, so to speak, by death. Death in Venice: he died on 13 February 1883 at the Vendramin-Calergi Palace on Canal Grande. As John Norwich noticed with thinly concealed irony: For him death in Venice would be fitting. 49 There are two reasons for the greatness of the Wagner e Venezia record and my delight with it. The first is an intelligent and original concept for a crea­ tive lesson about the music. The pianist Uri Caine rearranged fragments of Wagner scores, i.a. Tristan, Lohengrin, Tannhäuser, and The Master-Singers of N u­ remberg for a string quartet and a piano with the addi­ tion of an accordion (sic!). In other words, for a café ensemble. Contrary to appearances, this decision is by no means frivolous nor is it brutally iconoclastic. It is, 140 however, well aware of the provocative game played with tradition. 50 Caine admitted that he wanted to transpose the bombastic texture of Wagner’s music into a lighter form so as to extract the qualities em­ bedded in it: beauty and kitsch, harmonising so well with the popular image of Venice. 51 He achieved a brilliant de-construction (I firmly stress the creative momement) of Wagner’s massive works. The modest sound texture, the chamber instrumentarium resound with intense lyricism, but also with the sentimental frosting of certain Wagnerian compositions. This is not an accusation - I am simply stating a fact. Here, the musicians oppose Nietzsche’s oft-cited malicious opinions about the chronic decadence and morbidity of Wagner’s music. The effects? It suffices to listen to Liebestod, ex­ cellently rendered by Mark Feldman’s violin, or the beautifully performed overture to Lohengrin. Just as overwhelming is the Ride of the Valkyries executed by violins chiefly in the pizzicato technique, thus altering those kilos of sound from the original score into deli­ cate tulle. In turn, the unorthodox use of an accordion introduces a distinctly ironic distance. The second reason concerns an ostensibly sec­ ondary issue, that of the site of the recording. In this case, it turned out not be minor. A small part of the record was made at the Metropol Hotel along Riva degli Schiavoni, but predominantly in the Wagnerian (naturally, shared with Byron, Balzac, Proust...) Gran Cafe Quadri! More important, this is a live recording, a circumstance that cannot be over-estimated. The project was clearly concerned not only with histori­ cal deconstruction, but also with taking into account the authentic emotions of the listeners and register­ ing them on the recording together with the genuine sounds of the Venetian phonosphere. Already the very beginning of the record is excellent: unidenti­ fied murmurs, partly heard voices, individual instru­ ments, the sound of a water glass or a wineglass; after a longer while, without any previous preparation, this magma produces the beguiling Liebestod cantilena. The closing fragment of the overture to The Master­ Singers of Nuremberg is simply a miracle: the last echo of the string instruments is overlaid by an increasingly powerful chime of bells from a nearby campanile! Such effects cannot be planned - they are a blessed occur­ rence or a wonderful decision of fate. All this is the reason why for several years I have re­ garded Wagner e Venezia - always as an entity together with its iconographic side -as the most incredible and, from another viewpoint, the most credible evocation of Venice. This is a time machine strongly affecting the senses, a poignantly intensive creation of the space in which one would like to reside. Listening to s u c h Wagner I allow myself to be seduced and transported in time already from the very first sounds. Nostalgia �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE is the child of memory and desire. Due to the mel­ ancholic hue and dominating sadness it has much in common with melancholy but is not tantamount to it. Melancholy is prone to enclosure within a chalk circle of depression and contemplation. Nostalgia, on the other hand, contains motion to the outside. Nostalgia is an emotional movement with a dual nature: it in­ cludes the initial sweetness of returning (nóstos) to the place of longing and the final bitterness of recognising (álgos) the situation in which we actually are. Yes, for a moment all is beautiful, but when the last sounds grow silent the dream comes to an end. Puddles out­ side the window are not Venetian canals. 4. The more intensely I think about it the more of­ ten I experience a curious thought: perhaps Venice is present the most when it is not longer next to us. When it is not an object of direct perception, but emerges from tempus praesens and changes into the past tense. When it withdraws and becomes separated from us with an invisible windowpane. It settles down in dark niches of memory and waits, to return in a reminiscence, sometimes unexpected and puzzling, caused by a banal event such as an uneven pavement (the case of the narrator of In Search of Lost Time) or a familiar sequence of sounds. It is then that memory becomes a magnifying glass enlarging our emotions and imbues the phantom image with the density of a real vision. We see, therefore, a strangely clear image, a sui generis distillate, a world devoid of accidental ad­ ditions characteristic for the "here and now” percep­ tion. This is an astonishing paradox: the unreal begins to exist more intensely than the real. It is the present that becomes illusion. Venice, just as Nietzsche wished it to be, is mu­ sic. But he forgot to add that it is also another name for nostalgia. A perfect synonym. Venice, the adopted homeland of many, 52 is longing enclosed in stone. A longing for home, although the latter is strange, stands on water, and everyone arranges it according to his wishes and expectations. Here is a photograph taken probably in 1991. An October morning. A chill from the lagoon. The sky, all tattered shades of grey, resembles pigeon feathers. I sit at a table in Quadri, with my trousers rolled up, because the square is full of water. Venice is flooded, with water at knee level. Behind me, in blurred con­ tours, a piano trio is playing. I keep hearing the same sounds, although indistinct. Something light, probably a café evergreen, some non-invasive waltz. The space next to the tables, which resemble moored boats, is almost empty. The music has totally dissolved itself in the humid air. This situation is somewhat absurd and inexpressibly beautiful. The musicians are playing for no one, or perhaps for the one who will evoke this insignificant event sometime in the future, but neither they nor he know this. Right now, I am distant from that particular moment and myself. When I gaze at the past perfect - a balding, forty-five year old man 53 I feel strange. The moment was luminescent but I ex­ perienced a lump in my throat. Actually, this is an ap­ propriate reaction. Pursuing his hermeneutic of tears, composed of aphorisms, Emil Cioran defined Venice as a town of tears caught between doubts and dreams. 54 If I am not wrong, it is exactly such an ambivalent experience that Joseph Brodsky wrote about in the last passage of his Watermark, the most tender of all Vene­ tian elegies on departure: By rubbing water, this city im­ proves time’s looks, beautifies the future. That’s what the role of this city in the universe is. Because the city is static while we are moving. The tear is proof of that. Because we go and beauty stays. Because we are headed for the future, while beauty is the eternal present. The tear is an attempt to remain, to stay behind, to merge with the city. But that’s against the rules. The tear is a throwback, a tribute of the future to the past. Or else it is the result of subtracting the greater from the lesser: beauty from man. The same goes for love, because one’s love, too, is greater than oneself. 55 141 Endnotes 1 H. James, Venice. An Early Impression, in: idem, Italian Hours, ed. with an introduction by J. Auchard, Pennsylvania State University, 1992, p. 53. A meticulo­ us analysis of the image of Venice in texts by H. James in: T Tanner, Venice Desired, Oxford 1992, pp.157-209. 2 J. Brodsky, Znak wodny, transl. S. Barańczak, Kraków 1993, p. 61, 64-64. 3 E. Bieńkowska, Co mówią kamienie Wenecji?, Gdańsk 1999 (further as: CMKW). 4 The rhetoric of the descriptions of painting in this book is a topic for a separate sketch. 5 In order to become convinced it suffices to compare Co mowia kamienie Wenecji? with Joanna Pollakówna's Weneckie tęsknoty, whose major part also deals with Venetian painting. The difference is fundamental: Bieńkowska wrote about Venetian painting, but never neglected a wider perspective: intensive enrootment in an incomparable cultural-civilizational-aesthetic project that she considers Venice to have been. Pollakówna, on the other hand, is much closer to the standard narration of an historian of art following the biographical entan­ glements of painters and the aesthetic quality of descri­ bed canvases. Cf. J. Pollakówna, Weneckie tęsknoty. O malarstwie i malarzach Renesansu, Warszawa 2003. 6 M. Merlau-Ponty, Oko i umysł, selected, prep. and intro­ duction by S. Cichowicz, Gdańsk 1996, p. 27. 7 On such aspects of some of Giorgione's canvases - eva­ ding rational analysis - see: George Steiner: I have alre­ ady referred to the enigmas of silence in Giorgione, to Giorgione’s ability to „paint silence”. I suspect that this par­ ticular gift relates closely to his renditions of duration, of suspended narrative. Where Giorgione’s song and musical instruments are involved, the play of duration against time lies obviously to hand. But how can one account for the wonderfully translucid presence, vibrato of distinct, though related, gradations or planes of time in the painting known as �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 The Three Philosophers? By what spiritual-technical means does Giorgione initimate the muted menace of worldly time, of time charged with incipient silence so different from the pastoral-mythological irreversibility of time and the domination of the continuum in the background of The Tempest?, G. Steiner, Gramatyki tworzenia, transl. J. Łoziński, Poznań 2004, pp. 215-216. On the still insufficiently recognised beginnings of Venice cf. G. Benzoni, The Art of Venice and Its ‘Forma Urbis', in: Venice. Art & Architecture, ed. G. Romanelli, Koln 1997, pp. 12-13; J. Morris, The World of Venice, New York 1988, pp. 17-20; W Szyszkowski, Wenecja. Dzieje Republiki 726-1797, Toruń 1994, pp. 6-9. G. Steiner, op. cit., p. 31. H. G. Gadamer, Aktualność piękna. Sztuka jako gra, sym­ bol i święto, transl. K.Krzemień, Warszawa 1993, p. 43. At this stage I apply the concept introduced by Vladimir Toporov, who in his dazzling reconstruction of the image of St. Petersburg in Russian literature applied the term: ’’the St. Petersburg text” to designate all statements pertaining to the town. "The Petersburg Text" is not an ordinary mirror of the town, enhancing the effect. It is a construction with whose assistance one achieves a transition a realibus ad realiora, a transformation of material reality into spiritual values, cf. V. Toporov, Idea petersburska w historii Rosji. Petersburg-Moskwa, in: idem, Miasto i mit, selected, transl. and introduction by B. Żyłko, Gdańsk 2000, pp. 49-50. In the footnotes Toporov also mentio­ ned the St. Petersburg-Venice paralell known in Russian literature. The Autobiographies of Edward Gibbon, ed. J. Murray, London 1896, p. 268. M. Mc Carthy, The Stones of Florence and Venice Observed, London 1972, pp. 174-175. R. Debray, Contre Venise, Paris 1995, p. 22. Ibid., p. 23. S. Bayley, Whose Venice do we want to preserve? And why, when, “Independent”, 14 April 2004. Cf. F. T Marinetti, Against Past-Loving Venice, in: idem, Selected Writings, London 1972. S. Bayley, op. cit. The original appeared in a periodical issued in Munich: Der Kunstwart, Halbmonatsschau über Dichtung, Theater, Musik, bildende und angewandte Kunst. Translation into the Polish in: G. Simmel, Most i drzwi. Wybór esejów, transl. M. Lukasiewicz, Warszawa 2006, pp. 177-183. Further as: MiD, with the page number. Cf. French edition: G. Simmel, Rome, Florence, Venise, transl. Ch. David, Paris 1998. Lukacs described Simmel's miniatures of cities as excellent examples of "Impressionistic philosophy”, i.e. a method in accordance with which the author attained the intended effect with several rapid movements of the pen; cf. Ch. David, Notes sur l’impressionnisme philosophique de Georg Simmel, in: Simmel, Rome, Florence Venise, p. 57. The outlines of this dispute were skillfully reconstructed by, e.g. M. Rzepińska, Historia koloru w dziejach malar­ stwa europejskiego, Kraków 1983, second edition, pp. 272-289. M. McCarthy, op. cit., p. 174. P. van der Meer de Walcheren, Dziennik nawróconego, transl. Z. Starowieyska-Morstinowa, Kraków 1982, p. 61. G. Herling-Grudziński, Dziennik pisany nocą 1973-1979, Warszawa 1990, pp. 217-218. 142 26 Y. Andrukhovych, Perwersja, transl. O. Hnatiuk and R. Rusnak, Wołowiec 2003, p. 59, 61(here: transl. and introduction by Michael M. Naydan, Northwestern UP 2005, p. 52, 54). Further as: P together with page num­ ber. 27 Mentioning the origin of the novel and difficulties with finding a suitable language Andrukhovych particularly underlined the enormity of Venetian logorrhoea: During my first stay in Venice - in 1992, when I spent only 16 hours there - I promised myself that one day I shall write a Venetian novel. For many years I grappled, rejecting succes­ sive ideas and was terrified by the awareness that Venice has been the topic of quite a few novels. Who needs another one? Finally, I discovered a suitable form; Srebrny sygnet. Z Jurijem Andruchowyczem rozmawiaJan Strzałka, ’’Tygodnik Powszechny”, no. 32:2003. 28 The words uttered by Perfetsky in the interview can be recognised as an expression of the convictions harbo­ ured by Andrukhovych: Will there be a book about Venice? - That would really be a crazy idea! To write about Venice? Can you write anything else about Venice? After thousands upon thousands and thousands of the pages already written? No, I’m nobody’s fool. Sorry. [P 244] 29 The semantics of personal names in the novel as well as the extraordinary invention of Andrukhovych's termi­ nology are material for a separate essay. 30 Much seems to indicate that this concept, at first glance purely literary, was preceded by an original model. An opera by Harrison Birtwistle: The Masks of Orpheus, premiered in 1986. It took ten years to write and the author of the extremely bombastic, and pretentious libretto, convoluted to the limits of the absurd, was one Peter Zinovieff! It does not take much to see his reflec­ tion in Kulikoff and the paranoiac libretto of Orpheus in Venice as a parody of the irritating grandiloquence of The Masks of Orpheus. Competent commentaries by musico­ logists on the opera by Birtwistle-Zinovieff additionally confirm the above supposition: This work represents the conception of the twentieth-century total theatre. (...) Zinovieffs libretto alone totals almost seventy pages and contains, alongside the main text of the three acts, a copious commentary by the author, a detailed description of the structure of the work, an explanation of the nature of the rites, a description of the stage design together with drawings, numerous tables showing the construction of the acts and scenes as well as an appendix containing the principles of the “Orphic language”, cf. Z. Helman, Metamorfozy mitu Orfeusza w muzyce scenicznej XX wieku, in: Mit Orfeusza. Inspiracje i reinterpretacje w europejskiej tradycji artystycz­ nej, ed. S. Żerańska-Kominek, Gdańsk 2003, pp. 292­ 293. This is a rather neutral description but already the author of a monograph about the musical transforma­ tions of the myth of orpheus was less kind and wrote outright that Zinovieff's libretto read as a dramatic work may seem pretentious as well as confused, W. Mellers, The Masks of Orpheus. Seven Stages in the Story of European Music, Manchester 1987, p. 168. 31 This was the name granted to Venice by the historian W H. McNeill, depicting the town on the lagoon as a cen­ tre in which Western culture met the Eastern element and a place where thoughts, ideas, commodities, etc. flowed in two directions across the centuries Cf. W. H. McNeill, The Hinge of Europe, 1081-1797, Chicago and London 1974. 32 A. Malczewski, Pieśń masek, in: Maski, selection, prep. �D ariusz C zaja • FRAGMENTS OF THE VENETIAN DISCOURSE 33 34 35 3(5 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 and ed. M. Janion and S. Rosiek, Gdańsk 1986, vol. 1, p. 7. Debray, op. cit., p. 11. By way of example: an almost bottomless treasury of secondary words, banalities, and obvious statements about Venice is Erika Jong's Serenissima (transl. E. Horodyska, Wrocław 1992). This book, supposedly admired by enthusiasts (although it is hard to believe this) looks like it was appears to be constructed accor­ ding to a “do-it-yourself” kit supplied to the author; all the elements used to portray the town are ready-made. Here is a brief fragment from the very opening: City of plagues and brief liaisons, city of lingering deaths and incen­ diary loves, city of chimeras, nightmares, pigeons, bells. And so on, to tire very end. Reading; this book prior to beco­ ming familiar with Perverzion is highly instructive and cognitively enriching. I guarantee that the fun will be even greater. A. Tarkowski, Scenariusze, vol. II, Warszawa 1998!, pp.103-104. Tarkovsky's notes in his Diaries, dating from tire time he was working on the film, make it possible to propose el rather trivial but probable reason: money. A considera­ ble part of the notes, apart from remarks about the pro­ gress made on the screenplay, also de scribes the struggle waged by both authors - Tarkovsky and Tonino Guerra - to obtain funds, rhe necessity of7eliminating; certain scenes prom thf film or their reduction, etc. Cp. A. TaAuwzki, Dzienniki, transl. and prep. S. Kuśmierczyk, Warsznwa 1998, pp. 190-276. ¿Ay. Tarkowski, Scenariusze, p. ce4. Ibid., p. 103. L. Batk’n, Czym jest nostalgia?, ’’Kwartalnik Filmowy?” n°. 9-10:1995, p. 2-2. Z. Benedyktowicz, Powrót do domu. Tarkowski i Kantor, ’’Kfnteksty” no. 2:i008, pp.14-27. Listen to this quartei in a unique performance by? the Belcea Quartet (B. Britten, String Quartern 1.2&3>, 3 Divertitmenli, EMI 7243 5 59i68 2, 2005) F. N ietzsche, Ecce homo. Jak się stajemy tym, caym jeste­ śmy, Kraków 2002, p. 59. Ibid. Ph. Sollors, Dictionneire emoureux de Venise, Paris 2004, p. 460. 143 45 The intuitions of Bohdan Pociej about the Adagietto contain an even more apt reflection on the merge of the introduction from Death in Venice and the accompanying sound: In this scene the entire epic-dramatic symphonic quality is supplanted by the pure expression of beauty suffu­ sed with love. Here music and its melodic speech are gover­ ned (...) by the fluid rhythm of emotion, a delicately swaying movement ceased by a sigh and swelling with intense longing for completeness. This is an expressive mirage of happiness, painful due to its elusiveness, B. Pociej, Szkice z późnego romantyamu, Kaaków 1978, pp. 121-122. 46 Uri Caine Ensemble, Wagner e Venezia (Winter&Winter 910 013-P, 1997). 47 Since in The Venice Text everything is connected, it reems suitaple to mention upon this occarion that the book: Co mówią kamionie Wenecji (see: chapter I? begins with a compariion of the view of the town with reality, and thee gaze of the tourist is focused on San Giorgio; in turn, the conference about the post-carnival nonsense of7the world (see: chap ter III) takes place on the game riland... 48 R. Wegner, Mein feben, Munchfn 19 11, vol. H, p. 684. 49 j. J. Norwieh, Paradise of Citi6s. Venice and Its NinatMenthcentuty Visitors, London 2003, p. .41. 50 Caine treated in a similar way - and with an equally axcellent outcome - music by Mahler, cf. Gustaw MahlerfUri C aine, Primal light (Winter&Winter, 910 004-2, 1997). Admittedly, the method applied in both recordings did not e’ways paus ehe test, for mstance, in Bach's T he Goldberg Variations g inter&Winter, 910 054-2, 2000); here, Caine's raconstructions proved totally? unconvmcing. 51 Cf. M. Zwerin, An ‘interpretive musicologist’ takes on MaWer. Rri Ccine, the classioal jazzman, “International Herald Tribune”, 13 February 2002. 52 °immel wos so wrong to write with distaste: although our soul can thus find in Venice an adventure, it cannot build a home, Simmel, IMostj drzwi, p. 183. 53 Actually, 47 years old, but as we know one should never interfere with quotations! 54 E . Cioran, Święci i łzy, tranrl. and preface by I. Kania, Warszawa 2003, p. 140. 55 J. Brodski, Znak wodny, transl. S. Barańczak, Kraków 1993, p. 105. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/a4e06af46839f307f36ec444f56107d7.pdf 75bac1cfac61e813531107fc7ad909f3 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6508 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource antropologia kulturowa Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6080 Title A name given to the resource My Province/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s.79-83 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Szpilka, Wiesław Kuba Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text W hile skiing towards Mr. Kasprowy and slowly climbing a slope I could not resist the impression that this was quite a dif­ ferent mountain than the one I knew a quarter of a century ago. The configuration of the terrain had not altered and the tricks performed by the skiers are not radically different, but the novelty is striking. N ot s o long ago, a mere twenty or s o years ago, Mr. Kaspro­ wy was the domain of a distinctly delineated relation between the metropolis and the province. This small area witnessed the coexistence of all Polish skiers and it was immediately obvious who came from the centre of the country and who from the more distant regions. Obviously, there existed a single common de­ nominator and a skiers’ world. Within its range the less numerous members of the elite remained closer to the realisation of a certain evident model (skiing style, fashionable clothes, Western equipment, amo­ unt of time spent on the Mountain), while the masses standing in queues could only dream and hope that one day they too would join the “Duchy of Warsaw” (this being the name given to the skiers’ metropolis). Despite all the differences and every s o often fierce animosity there existed a certain discernible commu­ nity, and the centre and the peripheries remained an important structural element of its existence. Today, no one speaks of the “Duchy of Warsaw“ because it is simply impossible to notice any sort of a “capital“ on Mr. Kasprowy. There are also no elements making it possible to situate the skier upon a certain scale. Skis, clothes, shoes mean s o little. Their universality and availability have deprived them of some of the symbo­ lic significance; in addition, skiing itself now possesses a radically different dimension. The equipment of a serious skier creates a radical chasm from that of the amateur. The two no longer meet while assessing the style of their performance, nor do they share conversa­ tions about the quality of the snow. They simply come from dissimilar worlds and the Mountain too differs and no longer creates a bond. Relations are weak or outright absent. The multiplicity of the proposals defi­ ned by the snow and skis is the reason why the opposi­ tion: model-like/emulated, strong/weak, metropolitan/ provincial is replaced by: mine/not mine. Choice and personal decision become fundamen­ tal since they grant a name. I would like to ski, I de­ clare, and this access, together with its consequences, defines me much more that the sort of skier I shall become. It is not blind chance or an accident, but some sort of powerful and demonic determinants that locate me here and not elsewhere. I select and mould my world whenever I have the opportunity, will and energy, and enter a reality whose basic property be­ comes mine-ness. This is the case in the mountains. I s this an enclave, a special place with individual features or, on the contrary, do distinctive tendencies that in wiesław szpilka My Province horizontal and expansive worlds are less visible come to the fore in this small area? In Lapidaria 1 by Ryszard Kapuscinski, a spiritual diary of drifting across the world inspired by extraor­ dinary intellectual and physical activity, a voracious need to see, experience, and comprehend the world, we deal with a grand panorama of our times. The au­ thor constantly contrasted the poverty of the South with the wealth of the North, the descent of the Third World, which he found emotionally close and which is a concept encompassing more a civilisational quality than a political or geographic one, and the enclosure of the West, which to a considerable measure provoked it. The contrasts entail assorted qualities, but the op­ position of interest to u s , i.e. between the metropolis and the province, is missing. The world at the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty first century appears not to have a distinct centre. On the contrary, Kapuscinski constantly stressed a tendency towards separation and distinction, a striving towards autonomy, and, in a word, a provincialisation of reality. Professor Piotr Sztompka about the world congress of sociology in Montreal in 1998. The Congress dealt pri­ marily with the processes of globalisation (...). The other aspect of globalisation is a defensive manifestation of own distinctness (...). Globalism - a feature of the contempo­ rary World - is the fragility of dominant confrontations, orders and unions. “Today” might look totally different than ”yesterday” and no one is any longer surprised that suddenly things are different, no one asks about the causes or seeks the roots. (...) Pessimists claim that the future of our planet will in­ volve further Balkanisation and even tribalisation. They declare that in a certain sense we are returning to the most distant times, to our very beginnings, when Earth was populated by an enormous gathering of innumerable groups, clans and ethnic communities without any clearcut central structures and hierarchies. This Balkanisation and tribalisation are not only territorial but also mental. A narrow, closed and one-directional mentality is on the rise, 79 �Wiesław Szpilka • MY PROVINCE one that rejects everything that is different and that does not confirm its convictions about its exceptionality, superi­ ority and supremacy (...). Provincialism denotes enclosure within one’s narrow world in which the local mediocre at­ tain the dimension of powerful heroes and petty incidents achieve the rank of historical events (...). The weakness of provincialism lies in the fact that it often becomes a shelter for the frustrated, the failures, those devoured by ambition and devoid of talent.2 This portrait of contemporaneity outlined by Kapuściński is confirmed also by other prominent in­ terpreters. A close image is depicted by, i.a. Bauman in Liquid Modernity.3 In other words, we are dealing not with a subjective vision but with a solidly ground­ ed opinion. In addition, it harmonises with the fact that the Internet - a web, the emblem of our times, universally known and obvious, also emphasizes the changeability, undulation, horizontality, and absence of hierarchy, as well as the fetters, the whole, the im­ possibility of evasion. H o w is it possible in a world thus perceived, devoid of obvious centres whose number is s o great that they mutually annul their magnetism and where metropo­ lises perish due to their peripheries, to speak about the province and its spiritual offspring - provincialism? N o problem would arise if we were to assume that the phe­ nomenon of the metropolis and the centre is created by quantity. On the other hand, however, it is easy to indicate examples toppling such a thesis. Political or financial power and the force of culture, science, and art are often located beyond the most populous largest cities. Small Geneva is higher ranking in the financial world than gigantic Mexico City, while Washington is politically more important that New York. Moslems regard Mecca as much more significant than Cairo or Karachi. We may speak about the phenomenon of interest to u s only when there come into being new models of existence, lifestyles possessing sufficient power and energy to conquer both further and nearer regions. Assorted factors may stimulate the force of ra­ diation. Nonetheless, the latter is evident. The gener­ ated model is legible and distinctive; hence the force of its attraction. Kapuściński never indicated any point endowed with such properties on the map of the con­ temporary world. He also consistently did not speak about the province as a physically existing space but of­ ten returned to provincialism, which he conceived as a state of the spirit and a manner of thought, and which he deemed as the worst threat for human existence. He inhabited some sort of a spiritual metropolis that he did not present outright. One thing, however, is clear. It is not located anywhere in the concrete world but remains a transcendent point making it possible to at­ tain a distance - naturally, varied - towards all sorts of reality. This citizen of the world, a martyr of the jour­ ney, whose path links New York salons with African refugee camps, Parisian hotels with collapsing Russian rural dwellings, who talked with the great figures of our times, described the sources of his “worldliness”: The impact of my childhood upon later fascinations: Pińsk was situated along the peripheries of, once, Po­ land, and now, Europe. This is probably why I am con­ stantly attracted by the peripheries of the world. The cli­ mate of the peripheries, the time that follows such a slow course there, the languid and drowsy atmosphere, those empty streets and immobile faces peering through small win­ dows and raised curtains. I remember silent Bernardyńska Street and the unexpectedly appearing figure of a rabbi. He walks hurriedly and looks around nervously as if he suddenly became aware that he had mixed up worlds and has to quickly return to non-being. Paradoxically, Kapuscmski’s openness, curiosity, and attention came into being in a godforsaken locality amidst marshes and bogs, but were able to truly originate, develop, and produce effects only when severed from the roots and after abandoning the place of origin. In his essay - significantly entitled: Paradoks prow­ incji5 - Dariusz Czaja indicated the archetypical di­ mension of such a situation: Fellini’s Rimini, Kantor’s Wielopole, Mrożek’s Kraków - the worlds of begin­ nings, small, poor, part of the past, never to return. One either left them or outright escaped from them, and at times the horror of history drove one out. It is impossible, however, to abandon them totally. They are constant, albeit as reminiscence, nostalgia or long­ ing. For the authors - an important source of their works, and for those who use only their life to write a text - a lesson taught by memory, an important stirring of the soul. D. Czaja described this movingly: Accord­ ing to this interpretation, the inhabitant of the province is simply a different name of the human condition of each one of us regardless of the place of residence. (...) The presentday Everyman is a figure with an underpinning of longing, whose characteristic mark is a part of the DNA cultural chain distinguishing each one of us. 6 Lithuania, my fatherland! You are like health/ How much you must be valued, will only discover/ The one who has lost you. A t the onset of the twenty first century, when li­ quidity, change, and impermanence are a global expe­ rience, and in the wake of the previous century, an era of disinheritance, banishment and loss, Mickiewicz’s words resound with a dramatic force containing a strikingly true image capturing human plight. A por­ trayal of the Poles from the Eastern Borderlands, the Germans of Prussia, the Serbs of K o s o v o , the Hindi of London, refugees from China and Indochina living in American cities, the inhabitants of refugee camps in Africa and on other continents. Much divides them, but they share only/as much as “lost fate, whose value grows as it becomes more distant in time and space. The harmony and beauty of a reality given without 80 �Wiesław Szpilka m y p r o v in c e our choice, and in this sense natural, becomes obvious only from a perspective, and as a finite experience it results in longing and calls for reflection and delibera­ tion. A thus conceived province would be, therefore, the name of a spiritual land enduring via literature, the cinema, music, and the visual arts. As a rule, in its capacity as the memory of the poor it would become a vanishing continent implicitly departing together with them. If we describe the province in this fashion then what will its opposite be like? Is the here and now in which we exist a centre or a metropolis? In what manner is it accessible considering that we lack in it distance necessary for cognition? After all, we remain inside a reality that is only becoming and starting to take place. It is open and focused on the future, and thus unclaimed. We expe­ rience it more than understand it, or rather it is our existence within it that constitutes its comprehen­ sion. In this case, our understanding does not consist of examination and interpretation (as in the case of the province) but of selection and activity. It involves writing much more than reading reality. A t the end of his journey Kapuściński said something very charac­ teristic in one of the interviews: I do not understand the world. Despite this, or rather precisely for this reason, he fervently described his special experiences while creating the world. In his: I do not understand the great reporter evoked a peculiar feature of the centre, the space of life. In extraordinary essays about the reflections of Friedrich Nietzsche, Krzysztof Michalski also pre­ sented this quality: Always, regardless of the extent to which we determine how much we shall know about it, “my” life, “our" life are something more than just I or we. Consequently, it possesses an inalienable, different, dark, and strange side, about which all knowledge fails, a side about which we cannot know. Note that the word “dark” assumes in this context additional meaning. Here, “dark­ ness“ does not denote a mere lack of knowledge. It is ex­ cess rather than absence, excess that is life, an excess of meaning beyond everything that we know and can know. A darkness of life seen from the point of view of each par­ ticular moment, a darkness about which we can say that it is unfathomably deep, mysterious, and too full of meaning. (...) In other words, by describing life as the will of power Nietzsche maintained that life does not adapt itself to the world but shapes it (...). Life understood as power and the will of power is a life that cannot be restricted either to that, which it is or something that it could or should be. In that sense, it is "excess". (...). Life is creative. It is the power of the will because it always exceeds itself by creating constantly new forms, of which none can become its ultimate form.7 If we, therefore, see the province as a painted im­ age, a completed text, the space of memory, that what is closed, distant, and recollected and for which one longs, then the centre appears to be life, the will of power s o evocatively depicted by Michalski. Note that the most conventional manners of presenting the op­ position of interest to u s aim in a similar direction. Boring, suffocating, ever the same, ossified, dark, sti­ fling, hopeless - are those not the names given to the province? Even when we describe it as calm, gentle, laid back, a vacation destination, and locate it on the site of death/birth, it remains distant from the force of existence. He who wishes to exist better, to live and not to vegetate, sets off for the symbolic city. It is the latter that bustles, roars, glimmers, and constitutes multiplicity, intensity, and fever. Kapuściński declared that great cities attract thanks to their opportunity, potential, and reinforced life that reveals quantity. The metropolis and the province are thus more the figures of an existential situation than a descrip­ tion of material reality. This is the reason why there is nothing strange in the fact that the same place will be evaluated differently. We are dealing with a black hole in which everything gets lost, while for others it is a territory full of life. Accounts by Andrzej Stasiuk from the European end of the world show just how radical this reversal can be or even something more: contrary to initial observations we are not tackling a strong opposition. Here, life is not contrasted with death or existence with non-being. It rather faces that, which is taking place, coming into being, which creates, encloses, grants shape and form and renders comprehensible. This is life harmonized with knowledge, the obvious, and the impossible novelty reducing it. But we must re­ peat: KNOW ING and BEING - wrote D. H. Lawrence - are opposite, antagonistic states. The more you know, ex­ actly, the less you are. The more you are, in being, the less you know [...]. This is the great cross of man, his dualism. The blood-self, and the nerve-brain self.8 Succumbing to the province is a natural process of the life, which one wants to see and understand. The price of such a task will be cooling off, slowing down, enclosure, the loss of the principal quality of the metropolis, i.e. power, excess, the dark side. Why pay such a price, what is the purpose of knowledge, the province, memory? Why did the “blonde beast” establish a “dead class”? Tadeusz Kantor, whose re­ flections about the province Zbigniew Benedyktowicz extracted and recalled in Powrót do domu,9 said: Prob­ ably only there can we be redeemed,10 adding: We stand in the door helpless, saying farewell to our childhood, upon the threshold of eternity and death, in this poor and gloomy interior; beyond those doors storms and human hell rage and tidal waves rise.11 Against what does that childishly helpless and poor space protect u s , towards what sort of eternity does it lead u s - this is the theme presented in Kantor’s spectacles through image, sound, mood, 81 �Wiesław Szpilka • MY PROVINCE the avoidance of words, declarations, and unambigu­ ity. Figures of the inferno, the flood and the storm indicate that for this immensely dramatic person ex­ istence is threatened with annihilation, dissolution, scattering, i.e. the loss of steady points, obvious places of reference. Osip Mandelstam, yet another great witness of the twentieth century, wrote during an apogee of Stalinist terror: We are living, but can’t feel the land where we stay, and this phrase conceals the horror of a total lack of enrootment and the absence of all anchors. We are liv­ ing meant at the time: we are driven, exiled, marched, treated as a herd at the disposal of others. All mineness is destroyed and denigrated, and sole truth lies in the created project of the future, while the present is considered only if it serves the former. Nothing op­ poses a thus devised, constructed life created by peo­ ple and dependent on them more than the province. Childhood and old age, birth and death, the extremi­ ties of life remembered and recalled, all possess certain independence. Given without a choice, obvious, and impossible to negate, close to the borderline of all hu­ man power, they refer to, or perhaps only indicate or suggest a dimension greater than life and transcend­ ent in relation to it. Reference to it denotes seeing the poverty of each finite existence and comprehending the relativity and, in this sense, the weakness of each project. More, in this perspective there is no other but provincial life. The metropolis is only a movement, a blinding flash, an escape from the memory of prime and ultimate things. Hope, faith or, worst of all, certainty that such a moment will last puts an end to all think­ ing and dims the imagination. After all, the project of condensing volatility, the enslavement of power is one of the central ideas of the metropolis. The power of its existence is not to transfix the end, which discloses frailty. It would be an expression of pride and narcis­ sism to grant the idea, frequently merging in the me­ tropolis, the name of provincial thinking, but it would also indicate its universality and extensive distribution rather than scattered intensity. While pondering the opposition of interest to u s we continue the laborious task of delineating the obvious border between its members. The metropo­ lis and the province, death and life, the intense and the weak, the dark and the comprehensible, the open and the closed, the existent and the recalled, all those categories introduce order into reality, create order that makes comprehension possible, but also conceal more - they lose an existence that cannot be uttered through them. The continuum, the transition, the encapsulation, the difference of the same, the horror of the metropolis-province - this is the misery of eth­ nographic thinking adhering to life and experiencing reality. A magnificent weakness. When after the last steep ascent I finally reach Świńska Pass and look at Goryczkowy Cirque, ever the same and yet totally different due to past ski expedi­ tions, experienced years, and the events I witnessed in this calm place, where, fortunately, I am now all alone, I known that I am in my provincial-metropol­ itan world. I hear once again the words of Claudio Magris, an Italian from Trieste, said about Ryszard Kapuściński and indirectly, in my opinion, about the issue examined by u s : Kapuściński knows that it is neces­ sary to carefully listen to the voice that is within us without obscuring it with words. I find in him a sense of life that is also fundamental for me: loyalty to wanderings with people whom we love, be they living or dead but ever present. And loyalty to things, places, seasons of the year. This writer, so fascinated with reality and its limits, sometimes succumbs to a desire for whiteness, emptiness, a void, a poor cell — the most discreet signs of all things. Silence - as if there was too much clamour, too many events and objects, too many oppositions. I too always thought that someone who really loves life without artificial comfort and its bathos sometimes becomes really tired of it all.12 Endnotes 1 R. Kapuściński, Lapidaria I-III, Biblioteka Gazety Wyborczej, Warszawa 2008. 2 R. Kapuściński, Lapidaria IV-VI, Biblioteka Gazety Wyborczej, Warszawa 2008. 3 Z. Bauman, Płynna rzeczywistość, Wydawnictwo Literackie, Kraków 2007. 4 R. Kapuściński, Lapidaria IV-VI, op. cit., p. 35, 36, 43. 5 D. Czaja, Paradoks prowincji, “Konteksty” 2/2008, pp. 14-27. 6 D. Czaja, op. cit., p. 33. 7 K. Michalski, Płomień wieczności, Znak, Kraków 2007, pp. 232, 241. 8 K. Michalski, op. cit., p. 246. 9 Z. Benedyktowicz, Powrót do domu. Tarkowski i Kantor, “Konteksty” 2/2008, see here english vesion previous pages. 10 Z. Benedyktowicz, op. cit., p. 24. 11 Z. Benedyktowicz, op. cit., p. 25. 12 C. Magris, Wierność wędrówce, in: Kapuściński R., Wierszezebrane, Biblioteka Gazety Wyborczej, Warszawa 2008, pp. 133-134 82 �Wiesław Szpilka • MY PROVINCE UMARŁA KLASA TADEUSZA KANTORA zapis filmowy ANDRZEJA WAJDY cricoteka Ait the top: DVD cover and poster to Umarła Klasa (Dead Class) by Tadeusz Kantor Publisher: Ośrodek Dokumentacji Sztuki Tadeusza Kantora Cricoteka Janusz Palikot Studio Filmowe Propaganda Kraków 2007 On the left: cover of the book: Jam Koet, Kadysz. Strony o Tadeuszu Kantorze, Biblio­ teka Mnemosyne, ed. Piotr Kloczowski, wyd. slowf/obraz/terytoria. 2007 Graphic and typing loyoutJanusz Górski On the cover: window from Wielopole, Wielopole Photo: Marcin Czechowicz © by Pracownia 83 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/2570763e79b8c0be81ac73b371f43f19.pdf fd9aef0345c58629b3502a62718f2ab4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:6509 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2014 Subject The topic of the resource antropologia współczesności antropologia miasta Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:6081 Title A name given to the resource A Phantom of the Centre of the World/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2014 Special Issue s. 82-111 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Benedyktowicz, Zbigniew Language A language of the resource ang Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text fully?) hidden collective imagination of the past dec­ ades, and that it is a prominent part of the latter. On the other hand, the Palace has not been discussed by ethnographers. The reasons for embarking upon this topic and the motives, which inspired me, are much more numerous and I shall thus mention only several most essential ones. Start from the least important. This article was to appear in a monographic issue of “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” about the symbolism of the centre. In refer­ ence to this category, described by Eliade, the issue in question was to embrace reflections concerning the symbolic of the home conceived as mythical space, the mythology of the place in a sequence characteristic for the symbolic of the centre: home - village - town; these deliberations pertain to the small (local) home­ land, the mythology of the town. A sketch on the Pal­ ace of Culture was to be published next to an article evoking images of the homeland in reminiscences by Wieniawa-Długoszowski, the poems of émigré poets, and images of the “small homeland” recorded in folk poetry; alongside images-plans by Surowiak; next to reflections on the world of allotments, and, finally, combined with an essay by Ludwik Stomma on the significance of the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower - the mythical sites of Paris. According to the principle of the counterpoint these assorted reflections on the symbolic and mythical structures of the home were to be accompanied by yet another contemporary symptom, another variant and sui-generis extension of the symbolic of the centre. This concept was comple­ mented by discernibly lively interest in the category of the home upon the basis of reflections about culture, expressed by parallel research into the conception of the home conducted by sociologists and sociologists of culture,4 or the extraordinary success of Witold Rybczynski’s Home. A Short History of an Idea, 5 a best­ seller on the American, Canadian and English-speak­ ing market. This Canadian architect of Polish descent devoted special attention in his study about the Home and a brief history of the idea of the Home to such concepts as: “intimacy”, “privacy” and “domesticity” by following their historical moulding up to this very day. With images of homes in contemporary film as well as those launched by fashion, advertisements, photography, and magazines on interior design as his point of departure Rybczyński recorded the phenom­ enon present in particular phases of fashion in recent years, i.e. a special nostalgia and longing for the past, and the complementary phenomenon of discovered (devised) “tradition” created for the sake of contem­ poraneity; in doing so, he descended more and more into the past. For all practical purposes, the book is a publication not so much from the range of the history of architecture, as the title and the name of the author could suggest, but from the domain of the history of ZBIGNIEW BENEDYKTOWICZ A Phantom of the Centre of the World. A Contribution to the Anthropology of Contemporaneity From the corner of Racławicka and Miłobędzka streets (I live nearby) Every day, if I’m up to it, I look at the Palace of Culture... Its architecture is unimportant It is the architecture of my imagination that is significant The architecture of my of blood and heart Life and death Sun and mist. (...) (Eugeniusz Zytomirski, Pałac Kultury, in: Liryczne okienko Stolicy, “Stolica”, 15 May 1963) In the perspective of a moment the past day is seen dif­ ferently than the past millennia. (Stanisław Cichowicz, Skąd ten kanon?, Polska Sztuka Ludowa”, no. 1, 1990) M uch has been written about the Joseph Stalin Palace of Culture and Science.1 Hundreds of reportages and articles. It has been the topic of poems and songs, poetry and prose. Its image beca­ me a permanent part of contemporary literature and has intrigued and inspired the cinema.2 It appeared in youth subculture, in fanzines, special-occasion texts of rock bands, and Rastafarian texts, and is discernible as a motif of graffiti on the walls of Warsaw houses.3 It has been discussed by journalists, publicists, men of science, architects, and historians, historians of archi­ tecture and art, and men of letters. The Palace of Culture has been the theme of writ­ ings by Hanna Krall, Stefan Kisielewski, Leopold Tyr­ mand, Jerzy Kosiński, and its foremost bard - Tadeusz Konwicki. A thorough survey must (perhaps without undue astonishment) lead us to the declaration that the Pal­ ace of Culture belongs to the quite possibly non-co­ hesive, scattered, and at times concealed or (shame­ 84 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD culture, written with extensive anthropological impe­ tus. The transformations and moulding of the conceits of “domesticity”, “intimacy” and “privacy” are dis­ cussed in reference to the language, culture, mentality and changes occurring therein during particular eras, times and places. The book is dominated by the prin­ ciple to which the author referred in the introduction and which is contained in a maxim by Milan Kundera, namely, that the task of the writer and writing does not consist of proclaiming the truth but its discovery. The force of the publication in question is also determined by the fact that the reflections amassed therein were inspired by the author’s personal experiences and were closely intertwined with the extraordinary adventure of building and shaping his home.6 Despite this ex­ tensive anthropological perception and frequent refer­ ence to examples borrowed from assorted distant and frequently exotic cultural situations, the characteristic feature of Rybczynski’s book, concentrated mainly on American, Anglo-Saxon culture, is a distinctively Occidentalistic attitude. This holds true predominantly for experiences recorded either in the history of West European culture or those belonging to contempora­ neity. We are dealing with a brief history of the idea of the home written from the Western point of view. In other words, the planned monographic “home” issue of “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” could, together with a text about the Palace of Culture, become a contribu­ tion from this part of the world together with its rather different complications, from this part of the ‘’other Europe”, a contribution to the theme of the home ap­ pearing and discussed in present-day humanities and stirring the interest of the most varied milieus. This original conception, however, was partly thwarted and the issue was split into several fascicles. Nonetheless, the problem remained. For many years, ethnography and anthropology of culture wrote about the “disappearance of the tradi­ tional object” of those domains. This trend was recent­ ly mentioned most conspicuously by Clifford Geertz in his essay: Be There, Write Here: The world, examined chiefly by anthropologists and once known as primeval, tribal, traditional or folk, and today emergent, under­ going modernisation, peripheral or still concealed, has changed immensely as has the world of the scientific institutions from which these researchers originate.7A similar course was followed by James Clifford, whose re­ flections concentrate on the problematic nature of the description of culture shown against the backdrop of relations between twentieth-century ethnography, art, and, literature (The Predicament of Culture. TwentiethCentury Ethnography, Literature and A rt) .8 Observing the changes to which ethnography was, and contin­ ues to be subjected, Clifford placed greatest emphasis on the one that occurred in experiencing the journey and residing, the change and shift of the meaning and sense of such concepts as: “centre” (“Metropolis”) and “Peripheries”. If the task of ethnography is to search for a way of understanding and approaching a differ­ ent world, which since the sixteenth century has been unified in cartography, and one of the fundamental functions of ethnography is “orientation” (a term dat­ ing back to the time when Europe travelled and was engaged in self-discovery in relation to the fantasti­ cally unified ”East”) then it could be said about twen­ tieth-century ethnography involved in reflecting “new spatial praxis”, new forms of residence and circulation, that it is accompanied by a sui generis experience of “disorientation”. When we take a look at our century through the prism of a drastic expansion of mobility including tourism, economic migration, immigration, throngs of polyglotic refugees, emigrants, and asylum seekers, when we take into account urban scattering and the blending of foreign populations in towns on six continents, and, finally, the very fact that “habi­ tation” takes place with the assistance of mass-scale transport, automobiles, and airplanes - then all this is the reason why in the contemporary world the two ex­ periences of “habitation” and “travelling” are becom­ ing increasingly difficult to distinguish. Apparently, there is no such a distant place on the planet where the presence of modern products, the mass media and their power would not be palpable. Old topography is exhausted, Clifford concluded.9 No one any more (and the ethnographer in particular) leaves home in the hope that he will discover something radically dif­ ferent, new, or strange. The feeling of nativeness can be discovered at the ends of the world. A t the same time, differences, cultural distinctness, alienness, and foreigness are becoming part of the closest environ­ ment. The anticipation of authenticity in culture and art is doubted. The old topography is exhausted, wrote James Clifford. Why go to the Trobriands?10 - Polish sociologists seem to be echoing him - when one can come across the closed world of consciousness isola­ tion in a contemporary village some 200 kms from Warsaw. Within this context the Palace of Culture and Science could appear to be an extremely attrac­ tive and intriguing object for an ethnographer. In its capacity as an example of sui generis (domesticated (?) exotica within the range of our outstretched hand it poses assorted questions, tempts, and outright chal­ lenges to embark upon an attempted description and to take the risk of interpretation. It seems odd that ethnographers, sensitive to the strangeness of the sur­ rounding world and cultural phenomena, and accen­ tuating the importance of astonishment in cognitive experience inscribed into anthropology have so far paid insufficient attention to it, and that simply noth­ ing has been written about it. Meanwhile, the Palace of Culture makes it possible to transgress this tradi­ tional situation and condition of the ethnographer, 85 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD not very clearly outlined in the contemporary world terpretation and its archaic religious-ritual foundation Olędzki proposed his own common sense presentation (be there and write here) and makes it possible ’’to be here and write here” and thus to realise the essence of hopscotch. Employing peripatetic detailed analysis he tried (despite serious gaps in the documentation of the task of present-day anthropology as understood by Geertz. While attempting to locate this text within - once again, ethnographers had failed) to insert hop­ scotch into history, connecting it with the idea of uni­ its current, and speaking about the anthropology of contemporaneity I accept its comprehension by fol­ versal education developing across the world from the second half of the nineteenth century, the production lowing the example of the American anthropologist: The risks are worth running because running them leads to of flagstones, the urban environment, and closely with a thoroughgoing revision of our understanding of what it is a certain old fashioned model of elementary school­ to open (a bit) the consciousness of one group of people to ing. Hopscotch is to contain the idea of labour and the (something of) the life-form of another [...]. What it is (a outright onerous passage from grade to grade, from the task at which no one ever does more than not utterly fail) most difficult or worst remembered first grade - HELL, is to inscribe a present —to convey in words “what it is like" to the last - HEAVEN. Without delving further into to be somewhere specific in the lifeline of the world: Here, the details of this unilinear, historical interpretation, as Pascal famously said, rather than There; Now rather and without becoming involved in a dispute about it, than Then. Whatever else ethnography might be —Mabecause this is not the occasion, let us return to the linowskian experience seeking, Levis-Straussian rage for Palace of Culture and Science. I cannot tell whether order, Benedictine cultural irony, or Evans-Pritchardish the proposed sketch will be capable of helping Jacek cultural reassurance —it is above all a rendering of the Olędzki and other researchers in solving doubts (if actual, a vitality phrased.11 they were to experience them), getting rid of uncer­ I would be not quite honest if I were to insist thattainties and discovering a response to the question: ethnographers had never written about the Palace of Should the Palace of Culture be included amongst cosmic trees? (In my opinion, it will prove to be of little use Culture and Science, appearing in a polemical form in: Przyczynek do powinności przemyśleń perypatetycznych12 since these are not the intentions of this study, nor is it possible, seeing that uncertainty and doubts, as the by Jacek Olędzki. Recall the essence of the dispute: the heart of the matter was hopscotch, or, more pre­ gathered material will show, are part of the allure of cisely, an interpretation of this game, full of question the Palace and one of its constitutive features). None­ marks and referring to its archaic ritual-belief motif theless, as regards the Palace I would be inclined, in contrast to Olędzki’s proposal, to choose the part of of “wandering to the netherworld” discussed by Jerzy Sławomir Wasilewski in: Podróże do piekieł. Rzecz o sza­ interpretation he rejected. In order to do so, I seek the support of the earlier-cited Geertz: Ex ante prescriptive mańskich misteriach (Warszawa 1979). Not to be groundless, let us cite a hazardous, but criticism - this is what you must do, this is what you must tempting owing to the symbolic of a journey to the neth­ not - is as absurd in anthropology as it is in any other intellectual enterprise not dogmatically based.14 I shall, erworld, example of hopscotch. Is jumping between “hell" therefore, select the first of the two manners of inter­ and “heaven" not the echo of some sort of ritual journey pretation: the “farsighted” one, whose horizon con­ to those regions? Note, that jumping on one leg (similarly to limping) is associated universally with the demonic, with sists of the archaic-religious-ritual (Wasilewski), and the spheres of the subterranean. Does the schematic figure the “short-sighted” historical-genetic one, peripatetically interested in the details of daily life, our closest of the “person" drawn in chalk not resemble a shaman’s drum, shaped like a human figure with a monstrous head, contemporaneity (Olędzki) ... I was prepared to write: I choose the former, which I find closest. But is any or an anthropomorphic cosmic tree painted on its surface? Rejecting this interpretation Olędzki declared: In sort of a choice actually necessary? In the case of the Palace of Culture we are in the opportune situation of this manner we might explain everything, including the first skyscrapers together with the most recent ones, more than not being forced to investigate or present its histori­ 400 meters tall. After all, these are simply non-anthro­ cal origin (i.e. Joseph Vissarinowicz Stalin), and have pomorphic cosmic trees, "axes linking the bottom and the at our disposal extensive and varied documentation top" (or trees of life, a term obsessively applied by many re­ spanning from the emergence of the idea of building searchers). I cannot tell whether the Palace of Culture and the Palace in Warsaw, the erection of the first foun­ Science may be regarded as a cosmic tree but it was cer­ dations, and the particular phases of its growth and expansion all the way to the present day. In the case tainly the first highest building in Poland (today this rank of the Palace of Culture both approaches could exist is held by the Warszawa Hotel). Not without reason was its called “Prudential".13 By resorting to irony and deri­ as parallel without one excluding the other (i.e. in our conventional division: the second excluding the first). sion Olędzki urged us to resort to Prudence (after all, The Palace of Culture offers us the wonderful oppor­ the first Warsaw skyscraper belonging to an Insurance Society was known as “Prudential”). Rejecting this in­ tunity of being longsighted and myopic at the same 86 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD time. That this is a division far from perfect is demon­ viewpoint of a moment one sees rather yesterday than past millennia.16 strated by the earlier cited example of hopscotch. A t the end of his article Olędzki reconstructed meticu­ I am well aware of the fact that there are numer­ lously a scenario of the “ritual-theatre” accompanying ous possible interpretations of the Palace of Culture hopscotch and returned to the “rashly” criticised the­ - architectural, historical (historiosophic), ideolog­ ical-political, reference to the world of the language sis proposed by Wasilewski about the existence of an and phenomena of propaganda, and many others. I, archaic hinterland of this children’s game. More, both however, am most interested in the Palace of Culture interpretations, the one closing Olędzki’s article and envisaged as an unusual “strong” reality, by no means the one suggested by him at the beginning of his text, part of daily life, a reality “existing par excellence”, or, do not undermine the course followed by Wasilewski. The “laborious and onerous transition from class to to cite M. Eliade - sacral reality, an element of the contemporary secular sacrum. We face a question class” and “the mood of intensifying the awareness of similar to the one Claude-Henri Rocquet asked Eliade the difficulty and demonization of the task” present in the game remain within the aura of the initiation rite; about the Lenin mausoleum - is it a sacral object? 17 it was to its background and archaic foundation that To what extent can the profanum turn into the sacrum? We are concerned also with recognition of the Wasilewski made references. To make things clear: expression and structures of the sacrum in a world, the difference between those two approaches consists of the fact that the interpretation proposed by W a­ which presents itself decidedly as profanum. I am in­ silewski is “understanding” and, in my opinion, did terested in the Palace of Culture as an element of sym­ not harbour the ambition of “explaining” in the way in bolic imagination, a structure of long-term duration. which Olędzki comprehended it, while its historicalThis is the reason why I wish to examine the Palace genetic interpretation could be described precisely as in reference to the complex and symbolic cycles of the “explanatory” .15 “centre”, the symbolic of the centre of the Earth 18, such images belonging to it as: “holy mountain”, I must admit that in ethnology and ethnography with I “cosmic mountain”, axis mundi and parallel visions of had been always attracted and enchanted not only by a predilection for the concrete (presented in a mas­ columna universalis, “a pillar of the world upholding al­ terly manner in texts by Jacek Olędzki), but also by most everything that is”, a column of the heavens, a pillar, a ladder, a “stairway to heaven”, a tree, “the tree the fact that sometimes distant cultural phenomena of the world” and “the tree of life”. I intend to search are considered not in isolation, and that for the sake of their more complete comprehension (without ob­ for those images characteristic for archaic conceptions and systems of religious imagery in contemporary tes­ literating differences and specific contours) they are timonies about the Palace of Culture, making it pos­ contrasted on a more universal scale, where (as in the case of Wasilewski) archaic shamanic ritual scenarios sible to perceive a community (and difference) in the of “wandering to the netherworld”, the initiation ritu­ experiencing of space and place by contemporary man al, and the contemporary game of hopscotch involving and a member of primeval societies. This is the experi­ hell and heaven can exist side by side, encompassed ence described by Eliade: (...) The religious man sought to live as near as possible to the Center of the World. He within a single glance. Just like the Lascaux cave paintings can be exam­ knew that his country constituted the navel of the universe, and, above all, that the temple or the palace were veritably ined within their palaeolithic temporal and cultural horizon, and the work executed by a contemporary art­ Centers of the World.19 ist on Big Salt Lake in Utah can be viewed separately, I shall be the interested in the Palace of Culture so it is possible to perceive them jointly. In our periodi­ as reality brimming with meanings and amassing as­ cal this was the theme of reflections by Stanisław Ci­ sorted, frequently contrary emotions. In a word: a chowicz, which can be referred also to other cultural contemporary myth of the Palace of Culture and the phenomena, both the children’s game of hopscotch Palace as a myth. A symbol that concentrates both drawn in chalk on a sidewalk and the example of the contents referring to the archaic symbolic of the world Palace of Culture, of interest to us: Art has its expanse, and stressing - here I slightly precede the analysis - its which establishes the artist’s gesture from and for him, it phantom-like, unreal character. Speaking about the has its temporality ruled by the mystery of the existence Palace of Culture as a symbol and about the symbol, its of mankind. In him and in it one must contrast artistic polyphonic and polysemantic nature, 20 I refer directly documents left on the walls of European caves by the Pal- to the comprehension of the symbol mentioned by aeolithic culture and on the dry bed of an American lake Yuri Lotman,21 accentuating its ’’unclear”, ’’allusive” by contemporary culture; this double scale, especially the character: The content only flickers through the expres­ temporal one, contains a proximity incomprehensible for sion and the latter only indicates the content by means of man; true, eyewitness familiarity with history is alive but allusion. The example of the Palace of Culture makes historical retrospection erects a memory carrier: from the it possible to follow all the essential features of the 87 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD symbol as a condensator of cultural memory, also de­ scribed by Lotman: 1. The symbol always features something archaic. Each culture requires strata of texts realising the function of the archaic. 2. Symbols preserved the ability to store exceptionally copious and important texts in a rolled-up form. 3. The symbol never belongs to a single synchronic cross section of culture —it always cuts across this cross section vertically, coming from the past and departing into the future. The memory of the symbol is always older than the memory of its non-symbolical textual surrounding. 4. As an important mechanism of the memory of cul­ ture symbols transfer texts, schemes and other semiotic products from one stratum of culture to another. 5. The symbol occurs as irregular in relation to the surrounding textual space as a messenger of other cultural epochs ( = other cultures), as a reminder about the ancient ( = “eternal") foundations of culture. On the other hand, the symbol actively correlates with the cultural context, transforms itself under its impact and itself transforms it. 6. An element most essential in the case of our “text-expression”, i.e. the Palace of Culture, is indefi­ niteness in the relation between text-expression and text­ content. The latter always belongs to a more multi-dimen­ sional space of significance. This is why the expression does not fully coincide with the content, but only as if alludes to it. In a given case it is irrelevant whether the expression is merely a brief mnemonic sign of the diluted text-content or whether the former belongs to a secular, open and dem­ onstrated sphere of culture, while the latter —to sacral, esoteric and mysterious culture (...). The sources on which I am basing my analysis call for a brief commentary and are of various qual­ ity and origin. In this case, I made use of press notes from “Trybuna Luda”, “Express Wieczorny”, “Zycie Warszawy” , and “Stolica”, and to a lesser extent of weeklies and dailies issued outside Warsaw. I also benefited from the Palace Chronicle and supple­ mentary material,22 special-occasion poetry, literary works, diaries, and recollections. In press accounts one is immediately struck by ceremonial, “uplifting”, festivity stylistics as well as the fact that information is offered in certain language or propaganda schemes and clichés, copied and repeated outside the cen­ tral press; this is the reason why first texts about the Palace of Culture create a specific set of canons. A l­ ready upon the level of the language used for writing about the Palace and the creation of its tradition we may observe sui generis sacralisation. Also upon the level of sources, the central problem of ethnographic description, which today, in the opinion of Geertz, faces anthropology and demands to be solved by the latter (It is not quite clear just what “faction”, imagina­ tive writing about real people in real places at real times, exactly comes to beyond a clever coinage23), has found itself outside our range and resolved without our greater participation.24 Upon this occasion, we may note and warn the reader that in some of the cited texts the uplifting mood is accompanied by specific infantilisation, often the outcome of the pedagogi­ cal functions of a text intended for youngest readers (children, adolescents); this mixture of the lofty with the infantile is, however, also to be encountered in official texts addressed to adults. This is one of the most characteristic traits of the canon and ambiance of the period. In my analysis I try to maintain as much as possible a chronological sequence enabling bet­ ter observation of the stratification of meanings and symbolic motifs. On the other hard, I cannot assure the reader that I shall be able to maintain suitable re­ search distance and relegate my emotions. The Pal­ ace of Culture makes it feasible not only to descend to the archaic basis of symbolic and cultural memory. For a resident connected with this town since birth and I am such a resident - and looking at the Palace since childhood this is also a journey to that part of one’s personal past, which I do not encompass within living memory or awareness. Listen to the statements made by the witnesses of this world, already part of the past. Flower of stone We are introduced to the afore-mentioned unu­ sual ambiance of the Palace, stressed in all texts, by a reporter’s account. Here, we encounter other deline­ ated motifs developed also in remaining evidence - el­ ements of light (steel), splendour, brilliance, loftiness, and the Palace as a constant orientation point. The author of this book is a reporter, i.e. the sort of per­ son who jots down everything he notices and then passes on to others all that he takes down. In other words, to You. And you are members of a strange excursion who with­ out leaving their homes in Stalinogród, Gdańsk, Szczecin or Łódź, assorted small towns and villagers shall tour the Joseph Stalin Palace of Culture and Science in Warsaw. This reporter has been observing the Palace for the past three years, from the day of its birth when the first streams of concrete flowed into its foundations (...). It was 21 July, the eve of our national holiday, when members of the government of People’s Poland stood on a ramp. The ceremonious moment began: Prime Minister Premier Józef Cyrankiewicz leaned across a barrier and threw a zloty piece while workers tore caps off their heads and throwing them high into the air cried out: “N a shchastie! For good luck!” (...). The steel colossus grew. Yes, steel, because today, when we admire the glowing floors, magnificent marbles, and fine upholstery we have to keep in mind that the Palace of Culture is predominantly made of steel. Each of the 32 storeys is steel, the dome of the Congress hall is steel, and the shaft of the colossal spire is steel. (...) 88 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD On that day people stopped in the streets and lifted their heads high: will they make it or not? The globe of the spire glistened brightly in the sunlight, covered with 1 4000 colourful pieces of glass. From that day, regardless in which district of Warsaw we find ourselves - Wola, Bielany or Mokotów - we shall see the glowing spire of the Palace. (Jerzy Janicki, O Pałacu Kultury i Nauki im. Józefa Stalina, TWP, Warszawa 1955). Attention to the extraordinary nature of the Pal­ ace, and to the gift which it was intended to be for Warsaw, is drawn in another text. The Palace’s un­ usual qualities could be summed up in the formula: “it existed before it came into being” and: ’’it was still not there and yet it already was”. There also appears an oneiric motif: We glance at newspapers from Febru­ ary, March, April —there it is! All the first pages feature enormous headlines: “A great gift from the Soviet Union to Warsaw”, “The most magnificent building in Warsaw - the Palace of Culture and Science". Yes, it was 5 April 1952. A year ago no one even dreamed of a Friend­ ship Palace. On the contrary, quite a few who read the papers on 6 April could have been thinking that he was dreaming. After all, History had not accustomed us to such gifts. This is particularly true of Warsaw. Our town had been plundered by all of Europe —the Swedes, the Saxons, Rakoczy of Transylvania and Catherine of St. Petersburg, the Austrian “invader” and the Napoleonic “ally". It was looted by generations of Prussian soldiers, from Friedrich to Hitler. History certainly did not acquaint us with such gifts as a Friendship Palace. And today? At present it is probably the only edifice in W arsaw that is still uncompleted but with which were are familiar and which we love and admire25. Konstytucji Square achieved the feat of blending with Warsaw immediately after construction, but in this respect the Palace of Culture and Science outdid the MDM [Marszalkowska Residen­ tial District] by becoming an inseparable part of Warsaw already before it was erected. Are we not already famil­ iar with a panorama of Warsaw, with the lower tower of the largest Palace by this time so much a part of Warsaw, soaring above the outline of Nowy Świat and Krakowskie Przedmieście streets, the Zygmunt Column and the dome of Staszica Palace, the solid of the Party House and the angular box of Prudential? (Karol Małcużyński, Nasza Stolica, “Trybuna Ludu”, 17 January 1953). The extraordinary character of the enterprise, i.e. raising the Palace, was described by Alexander Za­ kharovich Antonov, constructor of Friendship Pal­ ace: When I read the agreement signed by our governments about the git for People’s Poland I was overcome with pride for my country, government, and Stalin. Nowhere and never has anyone built something of the sort, with walls made of friendship. It is a great honour to participate in this magnificent deed (ibidem.) A poem about the growth of the Palace of Culture also features a discernible epiphany of technology and includes a classical image of kratophany (Mighty like a rock). The Palace combines opposites and constitutes a specific coincidentia oppositorum captured in an oxy­ moron formula (“flower of stone”): On their way to Poland, boards and bars, lime and cement, glass and machines. Cars and cranes, bronze and marble to build a magnificent Palace of Culture. A long train is already travelling to Poland with powerful excavators in the front. On their way - resourceful Soviet diggers, drivers, welders. A hundred engineers, masters, masons, carpenters and fitters have already arrived. Work has started in Warsaw. They have boldly embarked upon the deed. Wheelbarrows are not needed to transport soil: the work of excavators will make things easier. These machines are veritable dragons; they instantly encompass a wide range. (...) Such work renders all problems insignificant: the earthworks are already completed! The foundations are ready, the great construction has began! Mighty walls ascend higher: the Palace of Culture emerges from its foundations! It boldly grows and rapidly rises like a flower of stone on the flowerbed of the city! Higher and higher it expands. 89 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD A pleasure for the eyes! A joy for the heart! Look, soon it will catch up with the clouds this multi-storey Palace of Culture! Beautiful like a smile! Mighty like a rock! Tall like a tower! Eternal like glory! A magnificent monument of Soviet glory: a symbol of friendship in the heart of Warsaw! (R. Piwarski, Rośnie w Warszawie Pałac Kultury) N ext to images stressing might, permanence, du­ ration, images and symbols known in the history of religious ideas from the time of megalithic civilisa­ tions, which developed a complex lithic and reli­ gious valorisation of stones and rocks (The rock, the stone slab, the granite block prove to be eter­ nally durable and resilient to damage and ultimately e x i s t independently of becoming in time, cf. M. Eliade, Historia wierzeń i idei religijnych, Warszawa 1988, vol. 1, chapter V, p. 82 sq.), next to images of a tower (tall like a tower), among images of rising, growth, and entering the sky - here we once again perceive coincidentia oppositorum, the unification of the opposites: static and durability together with dynamic becoming, motion (it will catch up with the clouds), overcoming weight, the motif of flight (it will reach the clouds/ Where birds and clouds abound), in other words, amidst imagery from the symbolic axis mundi26, there appears in descriptions of the Palace the image of the M o u n t a i n, also typical for the symbolism of the centre. Naturally, this is not a pure image of the “cos­ mic mountain” linking Earth and Heaven (although it is located in the centre: Seen from afar in the very heart of Poland). The emergent image of a mountain is tainted with another archaic motif belonging to folk­ lore and folk imagination, intertwined with fairy-tale convention and stylistic, in which the afore-mentioned oneiric ambiance returns: Just like in a fairy tale, our Palace of Culture. That what our people could only dream of They received as a gift from a nation-friend. The girl is imprisoned no more And does not recollect the bad years. Glistening with red ribbons, This girl is simply a book From which wisdom and knowledge flow, Preceding the march of culture. Seen from afar in the very heart of Poland It will last like faith in man, It will last like love for a child, It will last like Soviet friendship. (Jan Brzechwa, Pałac Kultury) This fairy-tale motif, together with reaching the sky, growth, and height (barely discernible to the human eye), was developed also in other texts: The first foundations have already risen above the ground, The spans of steel scaffolding climb upwards, The canvas of a Palace more magnificent than that of An enchanted princess is growing higher and higher. There, high up, next to that cloud, the pinnacle of the spire will glitter barely discernible to the human eye. And a thousand windows will light up And a torch shall burn endlessly A symbol of profound and sincere friendship, The most splendid ornament of a magnificent Capital. (Adam Nowak, Pałac Kultury i Nauki) Here, the most often recurring motif is that of pow­ er, radiance, an epiphany of light and lustre, as well as upward growth: (...) Trains carrying rocks travel from the Union. The engine glows like a heart. A palace is rising from the history of friendship From a joint battle for freedom! The mountain peak soared into the clouds A tall castle stood on top With a girl imprisoned therein... Everyone certainly recalls this tale. Look how it adorns heights with a lace ornament, How it climbs upward, ever slimmer! So that the victory of labour below Could merge the mason and the inspired writer! That what the peasant storyteller wrote What the people imagined We shall all soon see while awake! A fairy-tale palace is being built in Warsaw. So that the Palace could become evidence in a battle For the happiness of the people, for labour and peace, So that the sons of factories and peasants Could handle books. (Grzegorz Timofiejew, N a budowę Pałacu Kultury i Nauki w Warszawie) It will reach the clouds Where birds and clouds abound 90 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD A dialogue of two clouds resounds with a cosmic symbolic of the Palace, an image of a column of the heavens (a tower leaning on stars): I see how it glows above, sparkles among the stars and below reflects the constellations of the town. I feel the breath of Warsaw deep in slumber and hear how early in the morning it hurries to work. Beauty will reside here and joy will make itself at home and while aging it will grow younger! On the Palace spire, where only wind the wind ca­ rouses, a crystal ball predicts happiness for Warsaw. May all the radiance of the capital sparkle within it! We believe our seers: our days and nights. (Witold Degler, Kryształowa kula Pałacu Kultury) (...) The mother cloud answers: I’m not laughing I heard, after all, Boria, “zhmi bistrieye”. And it’s a good thing when Boria “zhmi bistrieye”. I know them, each smiling But determined. They will build towers, pedestals And lean them against the stars. This is what the mother-cloud Said tearfully: The poetic images and experiences of the Palace of Culture concentrate motifs so characteristic for the symbolic of the centre (a permanent, strong and con­ stant orientation point enabling transition between assorted levels of the reality of the cosmos: heaven - earth - underworld; we shall observe elements of this level also in a further part of this analysis) as well as the symbolic of the home, together with its value of the centre enabling a transition between different temporal dimensions (withdrawal and descent into the past; exit and entry into the future). The home provides an image of the past. More, ideally, the home is situated in the centre of human life and the centre (as we have seen) delineates the point of departure and the beginning (cf. Yi-Fu Tuan, Przestrzeń i mie­ jsce, Warszawa 1987, p. 164). In images of the Palace of Culture we also come across symbols of the “inte­ rior of the land”, “the source”,” the centre”, and “the heart”, connected with the mythical evaluation of space and place, all of which indicate the idea of the time of the past (cf. Yi-Fu Tuan, ibid., p. 161). In the case of the Palace of Culture if we are not to speak about a sui generis inversion of meanings (apart from the ideological premise of an architectural project), then we are certainly dealing with a much stronger accentuation of the past, and the recalled images and symbols (the home, the centre, the heart) are linked with the idea of the future tense, the new and the different, and focus predominantly on the future. Even the poem by Stanisław Ryszard Dobrowolski, setting into motion a Romantic, Mickiewicz-like to­ pos of the “home river” and in this manner inscrib­ ing the Palace into tradition and turning towards the future, appears to be new, together with its cosmic “natural-religious” symbolic (A house as enormous as Mt. Kościelec). Vistula, native river, have you ever seen Such houses? A tower soaring over the city to reach the Moon, - Flee, daughter-cloud, I don’t want to be scraped. They floated away listlessly, far beyond the Vistula, Over Warsaw The sky is clear. (Józef Prutkowski, Mówi chmura córce chmurce...) We come across cosmic symbolic also in a poem about a “crystal ball” shining from afar and topping the Palace spire, with the Sun and the Moon bending over it, an opportunity for communication and con­ tact established between Heaven and Earth. This im­ age becomes expanded in a magical (magic ball, seer, fortune-teller), romantic and fairy-tale mood. On the Palace spire, where only the wind carous­ es, a crystal ball high up shines in the Sun. And the day - like a seer - cradles it in its hands casts spells and seeks the future. Tell me, ray of Sun, kindly, what do you see in that magic Warsaw ball? I see the completed Palace, MDM growing with each building looking at its reflection in the ball with joy! I see people, vehicles, gardens, streets, the Vistula, bridges, boulevards - the whole capi­ tal! I see how it is going to look tomorrow: larger, more populous and even lovelier! On the Palace spire, where only the wind carous­ es, a crystal ball shines brightly in the moonlight. And the night - the best fortune-teller - raises its hand above it, casts starry spells and peers into it. Tell me, lovely, romantic moonlight, what do you see in that Warsaw magic ball? 91 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD A house as enormous as Mt. Kościelec. In a poem by the Hungarian Ferenc Pakozdy the Palace of Culture is not merely a fount of life but alongside the already mentioned symbols and motifs it appears to be an almost holy, miraculous site (Here is the new miracle of life). The epiphany of light, glow, and luminescence reaches its culmination. The poem acts as testimony of mystical experiences within the range of the Palace, the site of an ecstatic transforma­ tion of the author (the lyrical subject) into sheer light (Today, I bathe my soul in the glow (...) And change into sparkling radiance). (Stanisław Ryszard Dobrowolski, “Express Wie­ czorny”, 22 July 1954) This focus on the future, together with the Palace as an orientation point - once again with an epiphany of light - is to be discovered in a poem by Second Lieu­ tenant Mieczysław Michalak: O f all the Warsaw roads the best known leads to the site where the Palace is growing, where the white wall shines like a bright torch and the town’s pride glimmers with light bulb eyes. Palace of Culture and Science, Already on my way I watched it. Its steel climbing upwards above Warsaw. A foretaste! A symbol! It storms the sky... The hands of cranes send kind greetings and speak to human hearts the crane, iron but alive, speaks powerfully, and just like man stretches its arms to the future. Rubble and ruins still all around. Your foot still touches the past, But friendship already glows above all And proudly grows mightier. Gazing at the people and the walls —a fraternal gift, on the marble slab I distinctly feel the warm hand of a worker — this is the touch of Friendship — and thus I send to you, Moscow, my soldierly salute. (Z wycieczką na budowie Pałacu Kultury i Nauki) I observe the history of the expanding construction, A daily pilgrim to this site. Here, thunders constantly The pounding heart of the city. On a platform - a multitude of spectators. In their eyes I notice zeal and reflection. Words spoken in deep thought: This is Stalin’s priceless gift! The Palace of Culture also appears to be a source of truth (the Palace of Truth), together with its ex­ hilarating and rejuvenating force. Steel giraffes had been brought over, steel arms have been stretched out, steel constructions are growing upwards , Storeys are rising in steel hands. Two hundred metres! Two hundred metres! The palace is growing, And climbing upwards! Two hundred meters above the town! This is friendship stretching out its arms, it is friendship crowning the city centre! Higher, higher! Like joy! Like a bird! The storeys are growing just like frriendship did! The palace is growing just like friendship — Workers’, soldiers’, the simplest possible! Here, the worker and the peasant will meet, Here truth is as straightforward as rye growing tall. Here Moscow presents Warsaw with its ever fresh youth and beauty. This lovely palace brings such joy As if it was being built for me. Peace springs forth here, hearts are set alight: Proletarian internationalism. Here in each motion you feel The Soviet touch, thought and tempo; Here streches a vision of the world: A communist epoch of beauty. Famous communist constructions ... I owe their image to books; Today, they bathe my soul in radiance And insert the glow of the future into the present. When in the evening the sky above the construction Glimmers with sparks, A song and thrill grow in me, And I too change into sparkling brightness. Palace of Culture and Science... I greet it shedding tears of happiness. (Stanisław Czachorowski, Pałac prawdy) 92 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD I am full of joy. Here is a new miracle of life: The key to the future. I feel I am growing. (Ferenc Pakozdy, Pałac Kultury i Nauki, transl. from the Hungarian Tadeusz Fangrat) and its purpose... (...). Happy news stir the imagination of all residents of the Capital - declared the writer Leon Kruczkowski. This noble gift of one nation to another will be not only a durable monument of our eternal friendship. Already the very process of erecting it will affect us day after day more strongly than any word can do (...) (“Ex­ press Wieczorny”, 7 April 1952). Such was also the situation after the completion of work, when starting in January 1955 “Zycie Warszawy” published voices in a discussion on the edifice growing in Stalina Square: It is necessary to erect buildings, which in the man­ ner of a beautiful setting will comprise a uniform whole together with the sky-high palace. The white and slender edifice stands in all its magnificence. Its soaring outline, so inseparably and for ever connected with the image of War­ saw, visible from a distance of tens of kilometres, towers above the town and daily attracts the gazes of thousands and thousands of residents of Warsaw (“Express Wiec­ zorny”, 21 January 1954). From a 132 metres-high ter­ race the Saxon Garden resembles a lettuce leaf - reports “Express” (Jerzy Ciszewski, 28/29 July 1954, no. 205). How often while walking along the streets of Warsaw you turn your gaze towards the colossal outline of the Palace of Culture and Science. High up, the spire glistens in the sun­ light ... the enormous white stone columns of the entrance portals beckon from afar. Our Palace is beautiful, proudly declare the inhabitants of the capital and interrupt their daily strolls for a moment to enjoy its view. Resembling a priceless pearl in its setting the white palace glows amidst sprawling green lawns. The special significance of this vertical dimension of the Palace, directing all sight upwards, was stressed by architect Rozhnev already at the stage of discussing the project: The grand solid should be seen from the viewpoint of the height of a person and his raised head. People on their way to work tend to stoop; otherwise, they walk with their heads held high. Such a building is part of life —the base should be connected with man (Jak powstał projekt Pałacu Kultury, prep. M. Kledź, “Stolica”, no. 23, 9 June 1985). Fascination with height was also shared by Polish architects in the course of attempts at determining the proportions of the Palace in relation to the outline of the capital: Architects were assisted by airmen. In order to establish the highest parts of the future palace a pilot was asked to perform a number of flights 160 and 220 metres above Warsaw. Polish and Soviet architects in assorted parts of the city and along the banks of the Vistula in the district of Praga observed the plane and in this fashion de­ fined the height of the building while taking into considera­ tion the general outline of the capital’s architecture. Next, standing on roofs of houses adjoining the future construc­ tion site they made necessary measurements and finally ar­ rived at a joint conclusion, namely, that the most suitable The poem by Pakozdy is the most vivid expres­ sion of an aggressive image of the Palace envisaged as a challenge addressed to the heavens and an image containing the recognisable motif of the T o w e r o f B a b e l (It storms the sky). This image is a reference to the Biblical story of the Tower of Babel as interpreted by Marxist-communist ideology. The motif in question, conceived as an ex­ ample of the symbol’s transformation, was broached by Lotman, who with its assistance showed its essence as a copious text that in a rolled up form transfers the memory of culture. Already the formula conceived by Marx, which was (...) immensely popular - “the people storm the sky” - contained a reference to the myth of the Tower of Babel subjected to dual inversion: first, the as­ sessments of heaven and the Earth attacking it changed places, and, second, the myth about the split of the na­ tions was replaced by an image of their merger, i.e. the International (cf. Y. Lotman, Symbol w systemie kultury, op. cit., p. 154). A t this point it is worth recalling yet another interpretation of the story of the Tower of Ba­ bel, which perceives in the “punishment” consisting of mingling languages a blessing that offers protection against the temptations of totalitarianism (a single tongue, we shall resemble the gods): hampering the con­ struction of the Tower and the mixture of languages are seen as a preservation of the diversity, differences, and pluralism of identity and thus freedom offered to mankind. Features invariably stressed in all texts and evi­ dence of experiences connected with the Palace in­ clude its height, soaring shape, and skywardness. The Palace’s extraordinariness and power are summed up in its stature and dimension. The lofty Palace fasci­ nates, attracts, and exudes magnetic allure. This was the situation from the very onset, the moment of an­ nouncing news about the gift: The largest square of the capital, located in Marszałkowska Street, will become the site of a gigantic construction some 28-30 storeys tall (...). Polish creative thought will radiate from here across the whole country. Response to this piece of news could bring to mind as­ sociations with mass-scale reactions to a miracle: The whole of Warsaw immediately found out about the mag­ nificent gift of friendship, which the capital of People’s Po­ land received from the Soviet Union —the tallest building in Poland, the Palace of Culture and Science. The inhabit­ ants of the Capital made their way towards the construc­ tion site between Marszałkowska Street and Jerozolimskie Avenue, and Sosnowa and Świętokrzyska streets, discuss­ ing on the spot the assumed appearance of the colossus 93 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD would be a building about 220 meters tall (J. Dąbrowski, Podniebny pomnik przyjaźni, Warszawa 1953, pp. 7-8). Architect J. Sigalin recalled: Soviet architects, especially Rudnev, said: That’s enough: this should be just fine for the outline of Warsaw: 100-200 metres. We, the Varsovians, however (...) be­ came victims of a height frenzy and after each turnabout of the plane issued the order: “Higher!” (the side towers were to be 60 metres tall, just like the Warszawa Hotel, and quite possibly we were more or less consciously concerned with creating a new Warsaw on a scale larger than the one delineated before the war by the Prudential or Cedergren buildings (J. Sigalin, Warszawa 1944-1980. Z archiwum architekta, Warszawa 1986, vol. 2, p. 429). The sacral (quasi-sacral) reality of the Palace could be testified not only by the irrational and often mysti­ cal nature of experiences associated with it, but also the language of architecture in which it speaks to us. Wojciech Włodarczyk, author of an interesting study about socialist realism (in which, unfortunately, the Palace of Culture is treated in a rather fragmentary and marginal fashion, with the author discussing only the portal of the main entrance and focusing his at­ tention on the candelabras in Konstytucji Square), devoted much attention to the mystical dimension of this architecture (cf. W. Włodarczyk, Socrealizm. Sz­ tuka Polska w latach 1950-54, Libella, Paris 1986, in particular chapter 3 - Mysticism architektury, pp. 39­ 53). Noting that alongside military terminology ar­ chitectural vocabulary comprises the prime material of the speeches, Włodarczyk drew attention that the ideological obligations imposed upon architecture as well as socialist realistic architecture as such created a mystical communication of sorts between, and with the public. Such architecture was supposed to be a pretext for members of the public who were thus to become capable of experiencing the greatness of the epoch. The theses proposed by Włodarczyk about the mystical experience provided by the architecture of socialist realism, speaking a language characteristic for such experiences - expressed in coincidentia oppositorum, a union and combination of opposites - find their particular confirmation in the example of the Palace of Culture. One could say that the latter was one great coincidentia oppositorum, whose different dimensions on assorted levels merged contradictions and opposites. The Palace is a blend of high art and tradition with their folk counterparts, force and lightness, sound and silence, the old and the new, the local and the glo­ bal, the foreign and the native. What features had not been ascribed to the Palace? They include the voice of Ewa Bandrowska-Turska and Nike from the Louvre; naturally, it had been described as the “Warsaw Eiffel Tower”. The Palace, as we shall see, often combines the contradictory ambiance of fascination and horror, and for some it remains an example of order and har- mony while for others - of chaos; it is a foretaste of freedom: In a town closest to my heart I shall see slender towers, A fort, of which only a free man is worthy. A lantern that glows with beauty and science. (T. Kubiak, N a budowę Pałacu Kultury i Nauki), or of rude enslavement. All those a m b i g u o u s moods and meanings amassed by the Palace best demonstrate its a m b i g u i t y as a symbol. They also display the different dimensions and levels (either in the positive or the negative part of the Palace myth) in which it realises the fundamental function of the myth, i.e. an attempt at “expressing the inexpressible”. Testimonies of this mystical experience offered by the Palace, that unification of contradictions, are to be found in the following selected statements: Academician Rudnev: (...) The purpose of this project is to create a uniform image of beauty that would blend with architecture into a single architectural entity with Old Warsaw (...) The uppermost part of the building seems to dissolve in the air; just like the voice of Ewa Bandrows­ ka-Turska spans from silence to uppermost crystal clear sounds so we too, in the construction of this building, must strive towards creating a lightness of form, a magnificence of the forms of the erected edifice in a transition from the monumental lower parts... (J. Sigalin, Warszawa..., op. cit., vol. 2, p. 435).27 The Palace of Culture and Science is a work of the Soviet architectural school, exceptionally apt in its loca­ tion, dimension, and fragmentation of the solid. (...) The impression made by the building is lightness, joyfulness, nativeness, and the feeling that it almost has been a part of Warsaw (J. Minorski, O projekcie szkicowym Pałacu Kultury i Nauki, “Architektura” 1952, no. 7-8). Helena Syrkusowa spoke during a discussion held at a meeting of architects: The Palace of Culture and Science has become a part of Warsaw. It was feared that it might be a stranger but it turned into a tuning fork of New Warsaw (J. Sigalin, Warszawa..., op. cit., vol. 3, p. 83). The synthesis of high and low (folk) tradition was also considered: The Palace of Culture and Science is not supposed to be merely great - it is to be beautiful. As the central building in Warsaw, the socialist capital of Poland, it should possess the characteristic features of Polish ar­ chitecture, elements borrowed from the treasury of Polish architectural culture. Soviet designers thus went on a trip across Poland. They examined the historical monu­ ments of Cracow and the buildings of Zamość, raised in the magnificent Renaissance style. Their sketchbooks re­ corded successive fragments of the pearls of architecture in Kazimierz, Chełmno, Kielce and Toruń. They noticed 94 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD and noted all the distinctive traits of our architecture, all the most splendid fragments of buildings-remnants of the epoch of the zenith of this art in our country. Finally, they departed and once again the studios of Moscow became the site of busy work. A project was made. This work, whose outcome was the emergence of a project of the Palace, is described by Lev Rudnev, member of the Academy of A r­ chitecture of the USSR. “We spent much time examining the special features of Polish national architecture before we chose a variant of the project and definitely established the architecture of the building. We reached for Polish folk art, travelled across Polish towns, observed Warsaw rising from the ru­ ins, sought the advise of Polish architects. We discovered a common language with Polish architecture —and this proved decisive for the success of our project. The style of the Palace is synchronised with the most beautiful ex­ amples of Polish architecture and, at the same time, it is quite new. It must be stressed that the foundation of Polish architecture is —if one eliminates foreign borrowings - as­ sociated with the people, with life. It is light and airy, does not encumber man but elevates him" (...). Premises similar to those that inspired the construction of Moscow skyscrapers lie at the basis of the conceptions of the Warsaw Palace of Culture. We saw how it is pos­ sible to adapt it to the words of a resolution pertaining to Moscow skyscrapers, which are to be “original in their architectural-artistic composition and connected with the historical architecture of the town”. Just as in their case, the Palace of Culture should not be, and will not be “a rep­ etition of models of multi-storey buildings known abroad“. (J. Dąbrowski, Pałac Kultury i Nauki, Mała Biblioteka TWP, Warszawa 1953, pp. 7-8 and 25-26). This whole enormous edifice will be raised in the spirit of Polish masterpieces of architecture. (...) In the Palace of Culture and Science we see dynamics characteristic for Polish architectural models: the massive main building is topped by a boldly soaring, much nar­ rower spire. The architectural solution of the lower fragments of the Palace brings to mind somewhat the Cracow Cloth Halls, while the congress hall, a semi­ rotunda, contains elements of the Barbican, so typical for Polish architecture. The outstanding artistic assets of the building were jointly accentuated by Polish architects requested to assess the project. They declared that the building is a harmo­ nious part of the development of Warsaw and excellently composed into its panorama (J. Dąbrowski, Podniebny ... , op. cit., pp. 9-10). It was also said that the Palace of Culture is a com­ bination of the Cracow Renaissance and Warsaw Clas­ sicism. Engineer architect Skibniewski asserted that the in the stylisation of the building Soviet architects resorted to the examples of the most outstanding works of the Cracow Renaissance. The building also reflects the tranquil Clas­ sicism of Warsaw architecture. Prof. Biegański drew at­ tention to certain features of the architectural similarity of the Palace to Polish historical architecture. (...) Engineer architect Stępiński, discussing the harmonious blend of the architectural elements of Cracow Renaissance and W arsaw Classicism, declared that it is precisely this fea­ ture that grants the Palace the qualities of equanimity (...). Academician Rudnev discussed the guidelines of the work performed by the architects and accentuated that “they strove towards creating an atmosphere of warmth, love and respect for man, so that everyone, both a child and an adult, would want to come and relax here“. (J. Dąbrow­ ski, Podniebny..., op. cit., pp. 10-12). The phantom centre of the world The above-cited texts showing the Palace of Cul­ ture as a unity of contradictions outline the successive motif of our reflections and inevitably lead towards the symbolism of the centre. This involves questions about the extent to which it is a constant point ena­ bling orientation in the world, the degree to which it amasses echoes and is the reverse of traditional, archaic conceptions of the “centre of the world” described by Eliade (cf. M. Eliade, Sacrum, mit, historia, Warszawa 1978, chapter II: Element rzeczywistości mitycznej). The extent to which it is not only that constant “absolute” point of support enabling orientation but also a centre that established “our world’, the “Cosmos”, whose or­ der opposes “chaos”, the same “centre of the world” as each temple and palace that summarise the world and act as its image. These issues are directly connected with the way in which the Palace of Culture preserves and contains the structure and character of a sacred site. While responding to those questions, which can be reduced to a single query concerning the manner in which the symbolism of the centre is recorded in the Palace of Culture, we are compelled to preserve additional caution. First, we must remember about the “frame” of the Palace, the specific site in which it had been situated. Marta Zielińska wrote in Studium o Placu Defilad: At the northern and southern edge of the square, more or less at the level of Poznańska Street, the pavement fea­ tures two commemorative plaques. There used to be a third one, but I did not find it - it had vanished behind the fenc­ ing around the construction site. Probably no other city has similar tablets, which do not commemorate people or events but mark ordinary street crossings. The inscription on one of them says: “Here was the crossing of Chmielna and Wielka streets". “Was" —now these are the ghosts of crossings, symbolic gravestones —so popular here. (...) Nor do I know who came across this idea but I do know that it enabled the spirit of Warsaw to speak, the spirit of a town deprived of a sufficiently solid and unchanged material foundation that now seeks refuge in ideal be­ 95 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD ings, namely, in words and letters.28 This is expressed by the protagonist of Tadeusz Konwicki’s film How Far Away, How Near, setting out on his way home into the past or the future (he obviously finds it difficult to define the direction) from the main entrance of the Palace of Culture, against a current of a group of visi­ tors, late and dashing into the Palace interior.29 He is the protagonist of a film in which the Palace plays a considerable role, is shown from time to time, and is used as a setting for events transpiring in the course of the journey: The towering outline of the Palace of Cul­ ture conceals the setting Sun. Above it, in the memora­ ble scene opening the film, the figure of a Hassidic Jew (the Eternal Wanderer?) flies amidst clouds - an im­ age of a condemned soul cast into the void of Hell or lifted into the heavens, high above the Palace and the crossing of Jerozolimskie Avenue and Marszałkowska Street.30 The protagonist of the film turns to the ghost of a friend who had committed suicide: You see, Maks, this is our whole town. So often occupied by foreigners, tortured, and razed to the ground. Our town. Sometimes in the centre of Europe, upon other occasions East Euro­ pean.31 Keep in mind the city’s specific and unclear, phantom-like character and status, this exclusive am­ biguity of the “centre” and “heart” of Poland. Secondly, remember the principle accompanying assorted symbols, namely, that just as in the case of heretofore considered themes and symbolic motifs as­ sociated with the Palace so in this case, when we are talking about the Palace and the symbolism of the cen­ tre, the content only flickers through the expression and the latter only indicates the content by means of allusion. This phenomenal and illusory nature of the Palace and its phantom-like quality are stressed in numerous texts: It was spring, probably May, at sunrise, wrote Gus­ taw Morcinek. I leaned out of the train arriving in War­ saw and suddenly I saw the soaring, white outline of the Palace of Culture in the rising Sun. The sky was deep blue, and in it - the immersed white silhouette of the Palace of Culture. It resembled a phantom and mainly brought to my mind Nike from the Parisian Louvre. It cast a spell on me with its extraordinarily slim, towering, skyward shape, and just like the other Nike it spoke of victory and faith in man (“Trybuna Robotnicza”, 12 April 1972). Attention to this phenomenal quality and demate­ rialisation of socialist realistic architecture was drawn by Włodarczyk - the inclination to encumber archi­ tecture with ideological obligations and duties occurred parallel with a tendency towards a “dematerialisation" of the building, erecting it in a painterly fashion, concealing its geometry and tectonics underneath expanded ornaments (cf. W. Włodarczyk, Socrealizm, op. cit., p. 41). Whenever the idea of the centre of the world is being considered it is simply impossible to omit citing a poem by Tadeusz Kubiak, which alongside home motifs (a nest, a swallow nesting next to a beam) contains an outright inversion of this idea. In traditional versions, the “centre” is an orientation point and marks four parts of the world, but in the case of the Palace the diversity of parts of the world vanishes in its beauty. The pinnacle of the Palace directs our sight (in accordance with the original meaning of the word in Polish) only to the East whence one can see the Don, the Volga. and an outline of the Ural Mts. Only love for daily objects as simple as a chisel, a masonry hammer, or a trowel, and belief in works produced by the human hand can attach us in an hour of the greatest heat wave or even in the downpour rustling among leafs, will not allow us to abandon the scaffolding that con­ ceals walls. This poem passed the test, my friend, when we recently traversed the storeys of the Palace of Culture. I have often watched labour and great toil, the busy swallow carrying in its beak a lump of soil to a nest next to a beam, or human hands like swallow wings, hovering over work and love that fills your heart. Friend, recall This is what I spoke to you about when the Palace of Culture stood in front of us, like a nest. Like a monument. I know how much heart is needed to build as if for oneself in a city whose name differs so much from that of your hometown. When the night puts out the star and day lights the Sun —to submerge oneself like a deep sea diver with a diving suit and a blowtorch into the artificial stars of fire into the vertical steel construction, or to climb up­ wards along a wall as steep as a precipice. My friend. The diversity of parts of the world will vanish in the beauty of the Palace of Culture. I am familiar with longing for that wondrous moment when hands rest on a completed work. Those on the highest storey, with hands raised to their forehead, may see scrubs along the Don, green birches along the Volga and the outline of the Ural Mts. while I shall be entering interiors of marble in War­ saw. 96 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD Friend, thus each day links us with the distant and each brick of the Palace of Culture - with each other. (Tadeusz Kubiak, Rozmowa na budowie Pałacu Kul­ tury w Warszawie wiosną 1953 roku, from the cycle: Miłość prawdziwa). The Palace of Culture is also an untypical centre be­ cause it lies... to the side. This eccentricity was stressed upon numerous occasions: in Warsaw all large streets lead towards the sky. None ends with some sort of an architec­ tural accent - apart from the unfortunate candelabras in Konstytucji Square. Situating the Palace of Culture and Science eccentrically vis a vis the largest municipal arteries is yet more proof that architects do not fear draughts and are fond of endless street vistas. (...) The Palace does not close any large artery of the capital. Its outline is distinctly seen from Służewiec or Stara Miłosna, but at the crossing of Nowy Świat Street with the Avenue, or Marszałkowska Street with Wspólna Sreet it disappears, concealed by non­ descript town houses (Jerzy Putrament, O ‘elewactwie’ i innych sprawach warszawskich, “Zycie Warszawy”, 15 January 1955). This strange centre, better noticeable in the town peripheries and along its edges - expressed by the poet­ ic intuition of Adam Nowak as “the most magnificent ornament of a splendid capital” - concentrated atten­ tion and disturbed serious architects who while dis­ cussing the solution of Stalina (Defilad) Square, the centre and the East Wall, stressed the inconsistency of the Palace, which already has a place of its own in the panorama of Warsaw (...) but the accessibility of this central location of the Palace of Culture is simultaneously rather limited (cf. J. Sigalin, Warszawa, op. cit, vol. 3, p. 77). A t the same time, references were made to ex­ emplary models of such superb solutions as Place de la Concorde in Paris, where arteries connected the cen­ tral square with the whole town, rue Rapalle, Place de la Madeleine, and all the other reasons why: When in Paris, it is impossible not to cross Place de la Concorde and to ignore the obelisk brought by Napoleon I from Luxor, whilst when we observe the Palace of Culture we rarely see it, and its location in the centre of Warsaw appears to be some sort of a paradox (J. Sigalin, ibid.). In order to prevent this, other Parisian models were evoked, and the Palace of Culture was compared to the Eiffel Tower: Together with my colleagues at the studio we tried to insert the outline of the Palace of Culture into that of the Eiffel Tower because there is a certain affiliation between those two monuments (ibid.). It was also suggested to turn to the legacy left behind by Le Notre, the esplanade of the magnificent solution of the Versailles Park next to the palace (ibid., p. 85). Apparently, the Palace of Culture links opposites and assorted motifs constituting its ”absence of clarity” and ambivalence. It connected motifs of the South and the North (Cracow Renaissance and Warsaw Classi­ cism), the East and the West (scrubland along the Don and an outline of the Ural Mts.; the Eiffel Tower and the Versailles gardens), reflecting the following prin­ ciples of a town: Sometimes in the centre of Europe, upon other occasions East European. It appears to be either a non-integrated particle or a synthesis of national ar­ chitecture, according to all the rules of the Barthesian principle of the myth as its “natural centre”. (Studying the national features of Polish architecture... finally made it possible to create a project that will be completely new for the town and merge with it organically, creating a natural centre of the Capital - cf. J. Dąbrowski, Pałac..., op. cit., p. 9). Paradoxically, the Palace of Culture also blends within itself the order of the “Cosmos” and “Chaos”. We come across two competing experiences: Chaos and Order, the native “Cosmos”, in the already cited study by Marta Zielińska. First, when she wrote: Today, the square is fading more and more. The chaos of this site is astounding considering that this is the centre of, after all, a European capital and vividly negates the name it was once granted. Scarce passersby vanish in the distance, following some sort of invis­ ible trails playing the part of streets; cars circulate just as helplessly, while large trucks and buses park nearby. From the side of the Avenue one sees fences and digs, and from Świętokrzyska Street —the remnants of stalls with few haphazard traders; all this is encircled along the edges with quite young but already sickly trees. Recently, there appeared a pickled whale, probably to supplement the chaos. This text was written several years ago and today the described mayhem is increased even fur­ ther by an international, free-market “bazaar” and one of the first “ sex-shops” situated in a stall main­ tained in a camping-Mazovian-Podhale style, all am­ plified with the lowing of suffering cattle left for the night with no water in trucks parked in the square as the press and radio informed recently. Describing Defilad Square, Zielińska noticed: Strangely and even symbolically it reflects the plight of Warsaw, the entire convoluted history of the last 150 years. History (...) has made a circle: the square was once a meadow with cha­ otically scattered wooden houses and planted trees, and now, contrary to all architects’ plans, it once again comes close to this appearance. True, the Palace stands but one has to look up in or­ der to see it, because normally from the vantage point of a pedestrian only its particular wings detached from each other and not comprising a sensible whole can seen in the distance. It is much too large to be embraced, and thus has disintegrated into pieces: the bottom and the top are separate, and in addition the bottom has collapsed into several fragments. He who finds himself at the foot of the Palace gazes mainly at empty space on all three sides of the world. Alongside this Cubist experience of the Palace, enhancing the associated feeling of chaos, we find an 97 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD entirely different confession. The author, a contempo­ rary of the Palace, added: I appreciated the Palace’s height and was uninterested in the contents. Whenever I returned to Warsaw from my vacations I always waited for the moment when a tiny Pal­ ace of Culture would appear from afar. “Oh, the Palace” - we would call out and enjoy the pleasant awareness that home was near. In other words, a semblance of a light­ house effect. I cannot say that I did not experience sym­ pathy of sorts, especially towards the Palace swiderviewed from a distance, for example, from the banks of the Vistula in Świder. As long as I remained within its range I knew that I would not get lost and if anyhting should happen I would always find my way —I even tried to traverse this route in my childish imagination (p. 124). Having recorded all these paradoxes and sui generis splits in the perception of the Palace now let us go back to the original ideological premise at its basis and pay some attention to the symbolism of the centre record­ ed within. A t the same time, it is worth mentioning that the Palace constituted an essential novelty on the city plan. Situated along a former edge, on the site of former chaos, the Palace, together with the sequence of Marszałkowska Street starting from the MDM, the planned centre (today: the East Wall), and Stalina (Defilad) Square, created a parallel and simultaneous­ ly competing sequence to the Old Warsaw Route, the Royal Route running from the Old Town, the Royal Castle, Krakowskie Przedmieście Street, Nowy Świat Street, Ujazdowskie Avenue, “across” Łazienki Park and Belweder Palace all the way to Wilanów - a se­ quence marked by history and the extensive symbolics connected with the history of the town and country. Warsaw is a specific city, whose “centre”, brimming with historical symbols, stretches parallel to the Vis­ tula along the Royal Route and the North-South axis. The location of the Palace not only created a competi­ tive, new centre progressing parallel along the same axis but accentuated the East-West direction, insig­ nificant apart from the Saxon, Stanisławowska, and Ujazdowska axes. Architects and observes often complained that the town ” runs away from the Vistula”, that it does not descend towards the river and remains un­ connected with its right-bank part as if unware of cer­ tain logic in such an accentuation of the North-South axis reflecting the course of the Vistula connecting Cracow, Warsaw, and Gdańsk (since, as Piotr Skrzy­ necki repeated after Wiesław Dymny: We have friends on three sides, but the sea only on one). It is precisely along the Vistula and upon the basis of anthropologi­ cal research and measurements that Talko-Hryncewicz determined the ethnographic boundary between Asia and Europe, the East and the West. Placing the Palace of Culture in the western part of the town not only emphasised the direction towards which the city turned its back, but also realised the rule of a temple, sacral orientation. The less impor­ tant side walls of the Palace sprawled between the South and the North, while its “altar”, ritual part, if this is how we may describe the platform from which all parades and marches were to be watched, the stat­ ues in front of the façade, and the portal of the main entrance faced the East. (It is here, to the East Wall, that it was planned to transfer the “town hall” and administration offices while discussing solutions con­ cerning the new centre and the best way to display the Palace - whether to introduce arches and colonnades or leave wider open space). In order to illustrate this new valorisation in the mythical geography of the town here is a plan making it possible to better follow its symbolic-centric con­ tents: 1. Main entrance 2. Stand 3. Site of planned statue of J. Stalin 4. Odra and Vistula fountains 5. Pillar-road sign 5A. Obelisks Marszałkowska Street In 1953 the Palace of Culture and Science was granted the name of Joseph Stalin (When in distant Moscow the great heart of Comrade Stalin, friend of the Polish people, leader of the working masses all over the world, ceased to beat, the Government of People’s Poland passed a resolution... - J. Dąbrowski, Podniebny..., op. 98 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD Vistula and the Odra (cf. Grażyna Stankiewicz, Jak powstał Pałac Kultury, typescript, p. 71). 3. A granite obelisk (at the corner of Jerozolimskie Avenue and Marszałkowska Street, at present disas­ sembled for the duration of redesigning an under­ ground passage and the construction of the metro) indicating directions and distances to all European capitals and more important Polish cities - of slight usefulness for drivers but what symbolics! The heart of the matter lies in distances to Warsaw, its centre, and the central square. And from here - a window onto the world! (cf. Sigalin, op. cit., vol. 3, p. 147), that celebrated pil­ lar of laughter mentioned by L. Stomma in a fragment concerning the mythical dimension of geography (in: Z zapisków etnologa, a letter send by L. Stomma to the editors: Słoń a sprawa etnologii, “Polska Sztuka Lu­ dowa” 1982, no. 1-4). The construction of this road sign historically refers to Polish road signs - a granite road sign in Konin dating from 1511 and still extant, measuring the precise distance between Konin and Kruszwica (“Zycie Warszawy” , 18 July 1955). 4. Two colour water walls separate Defilad Square from Jerozolimskie Avenue and Świętokrzyska Street. Nine metre-high streams will be produced by fountains symbolising the Vistula and the Odra (“Express Wiec­ zorny”, 20/21 July 1955). (In other words, the Vistula and the Odra were situated along the East-West axis - sic! Z. B.). 5. A sundial without dials, in which a ray of the Sun is to measure man’s time on Earth (Jerzy Janicki, op. cit.). Actually, there were to be two such dials, one, lemniscate-type, near the Pavilions of the Śródmieście (City Centre) Train Station, and the other, analematic, in a park in Świętokrzyska Street. Or rather ... a complete explanation is offered by the Master, Docent Przyp­ kowski, in connection with the damage incurred by vandals: In 1954 I measured, and a year later outlined eight sundials next to the Palace of Culture. A large, analematic dial, in whose case man himself is the dial (so that no one may steal it again), and seven lemniscate-type ones, which were to show time from dawn to twilight. This is one of the few sundials in the world to indicate user time. Un­ fortunately, the face was executed on a frail pivot. Con­ sequently, it was supplemented already several times and alltold in the past 15 years the dial worked for perhaps half a year. I can present the documentation on a subbotnik basis (“Express Wieczorny”, 30/31 May 1970). 6. Garden, 3,6 hectares. Trees and shrubs came from all over Poland. Mag­ nificent oaks were offered by Szczecin, maples - by Śrem, spruce and rhododendrons came from Wrocław, linden trees - from the voivodeship of Lublin, with the whole of Poland contributing to arranging the Palace Park (Jerzy Janicki, op. cit.). 20 000 trees according to specially selected species: linden, hornbeam, beeches, plane trees, rowan trees, poplars, apple trees, birch, spruce, cit.). It was also decided to place in front of the main entrance a monument (on the competition for the design cf. the reminiscences of Henryk Urbanowicz: The most eccentric was a statue of Stalin by Xawery Dun­ ikowski —the Master proposed a granite sculpture made of great blocks comprising the whole figure, including the head. The direct intervention of the artist was to be lim­ ited to a minimum. Enormous legs-shoes, built of slabs, trampled the ground, and the figure, usually depicted while breathing out, this time inhaled deeply, slightly swelling the cheeks and, indifferent and menacing, appeared to be spit­ ting on the whole world - “Stolica”, 14 November 1988; cf. Grażyna Stankiewicz, Jak powstał PKiN, “Res Pub­ lica”, 1990, no. 3). The project was never implemented but the im­ portance of the undertaking is testified by a discussion held by sculptors and architects deliberating whether the remaining statues from the Palace facade should be sitting or standing. I can imagine Mickiewicz sitting. But for Kościuszko to sit?; the figures were to include men of science, artists, freedom fighters, and heroes. The pantheon was to be composed of Chopin, CurieSkłodowska, Copernicus, Mickiewicz, Lelewel, M ate­ jko, and “couples”: Bogusławski - Staszic, Kołłątaj Śniadecki, Kościuszko - Świerczewski or Marchlewski - Waryński, as well as Frycz-Modrzewski, Wit Stwosz, and Jan of Kolno, albeit the last three gave rise to doubts: There are no photographs (cf. Większego wyboru pozycji nie ma - minutes from a discussion, prep. Jacek Królak, “Res Publica” 1990, no. 3, pp. 34-40). The only remnants of those projects are two executed sculp­ tures (both of sitting figures) at the sides of the main entrance: Adam Mickiewicz (by Ludwika Nitschowa) and Copernicus (by Stanisław Horno-Popławski). Next to a synthesis and a quintessence of the masterpieces of Polish architecture (We showed then all the historical monuments of Warsaw, Cracow, Toruń, Kazimierz on the Vistula, Puławy, Płock, Czerwińsk, Nieborów, and Kielce - and they kept taking photographs... . They became ac­ quainted with the Tatra Mts., Żelazowa Wola, Nieszawa (...). We presented them with albums showing Krasiczyn, Baranów, Sandomierz, and Gdańsk. They admired paint­ ings by Canaletto - cf. J. Sigalin, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 430), elements of the symbolism of the centre and the image of the world contained in the ideological premises of the Palace and the square include: 1. The above mentioned sitting figures of Coper­ nicus and Mickiewicz, and 29 sculptures standing in semi-circular niches in the Palace walls and portraying figures from all over the world (cf. Jerzy Janicki, op. cit., p. 28). 2. The government stand with an eagle (the em­ blem of the People’s Republic of Poland); originally, it was planned to display the eagle above the platform, next to, i.a. semi-reclining figures personifying the 99 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD firs and oaks, Japanese cherry, yews, and about 10 000 shrubs and perennials representing sixty species, including rhododendrons and azaleas, were brought from all over the country (cf. J. Sigalin, op. cit., vol. 2, p. 146). 7. The Congress Hall —here future peace congresses will be held, words about peace will be spoken in all lan­ guages of the world [and addressed to the West - Z. B.]. The Palace is to become a centre of science and culture, a site radiating the wisdom and beauty of our nation (Jerzy Janicki, op. cit.). 8. One of the largest squares in Europe, the site of demonstrations held by 700 000 people (“Express Wiec­ zorny”, 18 January 1954); two vertical obelisks (see: explanation further on). 9. Tables with brass letters: “Here stood the clock tower of the Warsaw-Vienna Rail Station”, “Pańska Street”, "Złota Street”, “Wielka Street”, “Śliska Street”, “Chmielna Street”. Owing to the symbolic of the centre (next to al­ lusive traditional elements: mountains, cliffs, towers, water, trees-garden, columns - all characteristic for a holy site) just as important are calculations made by statisticians creating a sui generis tradition of the cen­ tral character of the Palace, whose reference points are Vladivostok and Madrid: Placed one next to another the bricks used for building the Palace of Culture and Science would take up space from Warsaw to Vladivostok (“Express Wieczorny”, 5 April 1955). Stretched out, the electric, water main, and air-condi­ tioning ducts would achieve a length of 2 500 000 m = 2 500 km, i.e. more or less the distance from Warsaw to Madrid (“Express Wieczorny”, 27 April 1955). If we were to remove the floor in each interior and place it on the ground we would create a square with sides 400 m = 160 000 m2 large; such a square, which does not exist in Warsaw, could accommodate four Ujazdowski Parks and serve enormous demonstrations attended by hundreds of thousands (“Express Wieczorny”, 27 April 1955). If a child were born in the Palace and without leaving it slept there every night in a different room it would exit the building at the age of 22 (ibidem). Six days are needed to tour the whole Palace, stopping only for a single minute in each interior (“Express Wiec­ zorny”, 5 April 1955). A May Day demonstration was first held in front of the Palace on 1 May 1955. Next to drawings and pho­ tographs of the Palace there also appeared a special occasion poem reflecting the ambiance of the Central Square: North, South, West and East The Pole and the equator The village and the town 100 A tiny cottage and a skyscraper A French port and the Chinese Wall The worker, the peasant, our friend and brother And the whole globe And the whole world Celebrate May Day In Spain provocateurs and spies Will go out to roam The prison will be filled With political prisoners But a piece of red fabric hangs Even from the thickest grates On the fresh grave of Belojanis Someone placed a red flower Fathers, mothers, Sons, daughters, Soldiers, six year-olds Arranged into fours Or better still into tens! Wider, wider, wider The spinners of Łódz The dockers of Gdańsk Or better still in hundreds More, more, more! Peasants and workers a hundred thousands each! More, more. More! Peasants and workers A hundred thousand each! On this day with red flags, that socialist nerve system The world makes a fraternal sign: Peace —Victory —Redness A ship, an airplane, an automobile Together with us! With us! Soldiers of peace —join the march O f millions! We shall put an end to all scoundrels. Tear off the heads of hydras. Across Asia, Europe, America We carry the colour Red Black Negroes Yellow Chinese Brown Hindus - all red The banner is raised by the Russians Red in every land Red enhancing the streets Red must win Overcome the reactionary black! (J. Prutkowski, 1 Maja, “Express Wieczorny”, 1 May 1955) Newspapers announced in connection with the emergence of the Palace of Culture and the progress of the construction work, nearing its end: In ten years �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD Warsaw will be the most beautiful city in the world (“Ex­ press Wieczorny”, 21/22 July 1954). Already in 1955 in a letter from Silesia Gustaw Morcinek, having toured the “Warsaw” cinema, the MDM, Marszałkowska Street and the Old Town, wrote: ... When I saw the Palace of Culture I thought Farona Kandego [a Silesian expletive]! Today Warsaw is already the loveliest town in the world (“Zycie Warsza­ wy”, 15 January 1955). The ceremonial opening of the Palace took place on 22 July 1955 in connection with celebrations of the state holiday of the People’s Republic of Poland. Three years ago we stood in this square with our Sovi­ et friends, builders (...) and together with the Soviet com­ rades we threw kopeks and groszy pieces into the still soft concrete for luck, according to an old builders’ custom (from a speech given by Prime Minister J. Cyrankie­ wicz, Palace Chronicle, 1955). The Fifth World Fes­ tival of Youth and Students took place in Warsaw in August 1955, thus making a specific contribution to experiencing the symbolism of the centre associated with the Palace, next to which assorted events, fes­ tivities, and the closing march-demonstration were held. Alongside information about the festival being attended by representatives of almost every nation in the world mention was also made of such symbolic accents as placing next to a clock, in the middle of a large circle with a diameter of 5,4 metres, a compass rose situated according to parts of the world (“Express Wieczorny”, 11 July 1955), while the banners of all nations were affixed on a mast at the corner of Jero­ zolimskie Avenue and Marszałkowska Street, near a granite signpost, (“Express Wieczorny”, 31 July/1 August 1955). The Palace of Culture became an es­ sential emblem of the festival - vide a special-occasion poster showing the globe and on it a map of Europe featuring in the centre the rising Palace; above, a white dove of peace soars, below - inscriptions: “Pax, Pokój, Frieden”, and underneath - three heads: pale with “European” features, yellow with slanting eyes, and black (cf. “Express Wieczorny”, 31 July/1 August 1955). The Palace of Culture seems to have been an ex­ traordinary place, the source of admiration and fas­ cination. Its descriptions and testimonies contain a conspicuous element of mirum (the marvellous). The ceremonial mood was embedded already in the ideo­ logical premises of the building, turning it into a sui generis holy site: The approach of a noisy group of citizens intending to enter the Palace of Culture and Science requires a democratic openness of forms to be fulfilled by the en­ trance porticos and portals, whose artistic message intro­ duced those entering to an elevated mood of anticipating the important experiences awaiting them (Jan Minorski, op. cit.). The visitors remained under a great impression of the Palace and faced it with admiration and fascina­ tion: During our tour it was impossible to examine every­ thing. Our heads are already spinning from an excess of impressions. We saw the enormous halls of the Museum of Technology (...). We walked on oaken stairs, touched profiled doorknobs cast in bronze, noiselessly shut behind us scores of splendid doors. We passed whole brigades of stucco masters, carpenters, and fitters. It seemed that all those people are caressing each fragment (Jerzy Ciszewski, Z tarasu..., “Express Wieczorny”, 28/29 July 1954). The microclimate is watched over by an invisible keeper protecting the interior against an influx of cold air. Special filters provide the whole building with fresh mountain air devoid of dust (“Express Wieczorny”, 1 January 1954). Fascination does not become obliterated with the passage of time; on the contrary, such experiences grew more vivid. The vulnerable adoration produced by the Palace was described by Kazimierz Koźniewski, who called the Palace the symbol of our times: When one and a half years ago I toured the interior the impression of space was not all that great. Today, its enormity simply overwhelms: I face this quantity of rooms full of helpless admiration. I have the impression that one can explore the entire Palace not more than once in a life­ time (Symbol naszego czasu, “Zycie Warszawy” , 2 May 1955). A t the same time, the Palace is a symbol of new rela­ tions between free nations (ibid.). This symbolic and sacral character intended by the authors of the Palace and its decorations was often ex­ pressed directly: (Director Motyka): I told engineer Sigalin that my res­ ervations pertain to the form of the allegories and that sym­ bols would be more appropriate. It is irrelevant whether they are to be portrayed with the help of angels or the mus­ es. For me they are all sculptures. We can depict PolishSoviet friendship as an angel bestowing a blessing, etc. (...) It is necessary to reflect whether certain abstract phenomena cannot be really expressed in any other way than only according to the conventions of the Baroque or the Renaissance. Everyone was struck by the fact that these sculptures are so old-fashioned while the Palace is thoroughly modern. (Colleague Wiśniewski): The sculptures must be dei­ fied and depict extraordinary figures. The Palace of Cul­ ture is not an ordinary residential house, but there is talk of featuring ordinary people. These must be metaphorically sanctified figures. (Director Motyka): You executed the statue Peace­ time Frontier —a girl wearing an ordinary dress, and still no one claims that she is a mere worker. This is a symbol, a synthesis of the convictions of certain people. This must be a synthesis of our times, and, simultaneously, sanctified. Otherwise, we would be forced to draw the conclusion that 101 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD we are incapable of creating new forms for sanctifying new times (Większego wyboru pozycji nie ma, “Res Publica” 1990, no. 3.) Experiences connected with the Palace interiors and symbolics also reflect its sacral dimension. The Palace tradition knows of numerous visitors behaving as if they were worshipping in church, as in the case described by Hanna Krall: (Mr. Klein, head of order-keeping services): A medical doctor is summoned, in my opinion quite incorrectly, to people kneeling, just like in church, in front of a bas-relief symbolising peace and prosperity. This enormous statue, dripping with gilt, shows a female symbolising the moth­ erland, a dove (peace), an ear of grain (good harvest), a child (motherhood), and many other symbols, and to all intents and purposes, as the Palace architect engineer Adamkiewicz says, no one really knows what it depicts be­ cause the builders did not leave any pertinent instructions. When behind the figure, further on, a door opens and a brightly lit hall is seen the mood becomes so splendid and uplifting that everyone feels the urge to kneel; why call the doctor immediately? (“Polityka”, 19 July 1975). Not only did the Palace spire draw the gazes of the local residents, fascinate, and attract but it possessed a specific magnetic force. This magnetism and sacral dimension of the Palace are evidenced by ... a portfo­ lio of “untypical correspondence” in the possession of Hanna Szczubełek, who keeps the Palace Chronicle. All sorts of letters personify the Palace, addressed as: "Dear Palace”, and make miscellaneous requests. Faith in power capable of resolving mundane needs is inter­ mixed with a sui generis symbolism of the centre - the Palace was envisaged as the seat of the government and the residence of Party first secretaries (probably due to associations produced by the Congress Hall). Here, all local and world issues converge and the cor­ respondence constitutes a unique votive body. Natu­ rally, the letters are full of symptoms of sheer pathol­ ogy (also in the more profound meaning of the word, i.e. suffering) and madness, which so often adjoins the sacrum. Apparently, the Palace, in the manner of eve­ ry sacrum, attracted also insanity. The correspondence comes from different periods; note that the last letter was written in 1989. Whenever possible, I add dates in parentheses. The best example of the sacral can be the convic­ tion that the Palace is the residence of Santa Claus; Ania from Sokółka wrote: Dear Santa, I know that you live in Warsaw on the uppermost storey of the Palace of Culture. Pay me a visit this Christmas and bring me an inflatable mattress. 2. Authors of the letters turned to the Palace for assistance in resolving property disputes: Dear Palace, help me: a neighbour has seized my balk.32 3. The omnipotence of the Palace of Culture was also connected with a conviction that it contained some sort of a special archive, a thesaurus of infor­ mation, as indicated by the address on one of the letters: Fortified Archive at the Palace of Culture, whose author, an owner of an old model of a Sona­ tina radio set, sought bulb wire unavailable on the market. 4. Belief in the demonic power of the Palace is re­ flected in a letter addressed to: The State Palace of Culture. Department of employment and destruction: Please destroy (...) and her three children, named (...). These superfluous people are condemned to be annihilated. Starve them as soon as possible. 5. The letters also include offers, with one of the authors proposing (1980): To the Director of the Palace of Culture. I, the above mentioned, inform that I am in the possession of items worth about half a million zlotys, all for sale, including a palace, a church and museum exhibits. (The letter also requests transport facilities since the objects do not fit into a passenger car). 6. The Palace of Culture was the addressee of an artist wishing to open a Museum of Matchstick Art, the only of its sort in Poland; the author, a winner of numerous prizes and with many accomplishments, includ­ ing, naturally, international ones, would like to win a world record in vertical construction and proposed to make a model of the Palace. 7. Here is Wanda TL, ready to work as: 1. A personal office boy of the Secretary General. 2. a flat-rate fee employee. 3. Chief of the Security Service of Poland. 4. a Polish TV collaborator (independent office boy) offering the following services: electronic protection of diplomatic outposts accredited in Poland and their resi­ dences..., electronic protection of foreign guests —heads od state, protection of international congresses and meetings in the so-called antipodes. 8. The author of a letter from Ząbkowice Śląskie asked for help concerning a lack of response to a pre­ vious letter on the same topic, which must have been seized by a mentally ill civil servant. I am not surprised that You keep such workers. Socialist youth as a whole suffers from mental disorders. 9. One of the letters is addressed to: First Secretary Comrade Edward Gierek —Congress Hall (and contains an invitation to the 1978 Poznań Fair). 10. The healing powers of the Palace or its special climatic properties were indicated in 1982 in a request for temporary accommodation. The author, on his way to Szczyrk to a Fund of Workers Vacation cen­ tre, asked whether for health reasons he could obtain accommodation for several years: I was at the Stalin Palace some ten years ago, but could not find out any­ thing since everyone was queuing up for food, “Trojka” was closed, all were hungry and drank scalding tea —quite unacceptable. I was, therefore, forced to send a letter to my son from the Palace post office telling him “what is happen­ ing at the Palace“. 102 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD 11. The Palace was also perceived as a centre of power, as in a letter addressed to: The Ideological President of the All-Russia Communist Party Bolshe­ viks of the Republic of Poland (1989), and containing sheer gibberish, starting with: On the eve of the third five-year plan ... 12. The letters also reflect an eschatological di­ mension and ambiance: To the Kind Government of the Palace of Culture I, Leo, Son of the First Creator, Write to You, the genuine Government, The great troublemaker will overturn the globe Since it is high time To send me part of my dues through a postman (...). 13. We also come across a complaint full of con­ cern and addressed to the Central Council of Trade Unions Congress Hall (1974), informing: Young people go coatless, and postulating to create a 5% unemployment Fund for citizens aged from 16 to 70. A negative response will cause war or an atom bomb raid against Warsaw, against which the ‘’Residents of Warsaw”, signed below, protest. 14. The file contains requests and selfless letters about scientific research, written by a retired profes­ sor from Gdańsk involved in conducting studies on the verge of physics and electrodynamics, particularly about lightning and the electrodynamics of the electron: since I would like to initiate a register of lightning strik­ ing the Palace of Culture and Science I ask for permission to install on the Palace an insulated spire, from which a concentric cable would be connected with a measurement apparatus on the highest storey of the Palace. A flat next to the observatory would be required due to night shifts and two full time employees. A female author of a letter addressed to: The P al­ ace of the Culture the Indian Sepulchre at the corners of Zielna, Wielka, Złota, Chmielna, and Śliska streets and Jerozolimskie Avenue (1976) sent a poem to an African tune, a song dedicated to the Warsaw Month: From Warsaw to Szprotawa One heart beats about our Warsaw Lovely Warsaw with its panorama! Here the picturesque Vistula flows by And the thirty-storey Palace of Culture stands. Our symbol and source of joy. A letter written in 1971 includes a poem about Lenin, with an obstinately recurring refrain: Although I am a Pole And precisely for this reason I worship and love the Great Lenin. The cited texts and evidence comprise predomi­ nantly a positive myth of the Palace of Culture and Science. Up to now, we omitted antithetical moods and experiences linked with the Palace, which create its sui generis anti-myth. On the other hand, the el­ 103 ements and contents of the positive myth extracted from the quoted texts do not correspond to antith­ eses according to the principle of a simple game of binary oppositions. If we were to make a list of val­ ues associated with the Palace and belonging to the positive myth, such as power, might, force, duration, luminescence, glow, light, truth, nativeness, harmony, life-giving force, friendship, love, youth, freedom, life, etc., it would be impossible to deduce from it, and arrange according to the principle of contrariness, a suitable anti-list composed exclusively of anti-theses. The same holds true for the anti-myth of the Palace, in which the dominating experience is horror accom­ panied by specific fascination. Only after taking into consideration both parts of the tradition can we see just how deeply the Palace combined both those in­ separable feelings of horror and fascination, charac­ teristic for the primeval experience of the sacrum. The Palace may be perceived as a profound unity of contra­ dictions: coincidentia tremendum et fascinosum. The above mentioned “bright” values of the Pal­ ace are closely connected with its ideological-propa­ ganda official message and only upon this level is it possible to observe the game played by those simple reverses and antitheses. The beauty of the Palace and its height were contrasted with the ugliness of “old tenement houses” or the ghastliness of capitalist sky­ scrapers. Owing to insufficient space I shall not delve deeper into this motif, but concentrate only on several synthetic examples. According to the propaganda-ide­ ological interpretation, the construction of the Palace delineated and established a new time, a new epoch, contrasted with the old. Just as Leszek Mech wrote in his poem: Once, history shared a national/ Gamut of dates stretched across fires/ Or love was stirred in the hearts of those longing for peace by an anaemic saint. / Today, it is not history or winged saints (...) Today, the people proudly / erect for the people (...) a construction of attained friendship. The same motif of new times and values offered by the Palace is to be encountered in a poem by Adam Ważyk: The walls of our architecture did not belong to us, palaces bonded by blood, the work of the poor, the Gothic of our toil the Renaissance accomplishment of the people, the Baroque erected for the lords, deformed tenement houses of a merchants’ democracy calculated to last a year, the house-phantom of the speculator, an inhuman style straight from a failed venture, without heart and beauty. �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD Now, from the ruins there grows to become part of socialism, for day centres and libraries our Old Town Gothic, our Renaissance and Baroque, our unadorned monument, a fronton out of lace, as if just completed by embroiderers, above them, roof tiles dear to our heart shine differently... The construction and growth of the new, socialist Palace were contrasted not only with wartime devas­ tation but also with the downfall produced by capi­ talism. It has to be kept in mind, Edmund Goldzamt stressed, that: The creation of the Palace of Culture and Science started at a time when the nations of Western Europe ex­ perienced all the “blessings" of so-called American aid, and when after five years of the Marshal Plan they have already become acquainted with the outcome of such help: the liq­ uidation of entire branches of industry, a further rapid rise of unemployment, a pauperisation of the masses, stagnation and torpor affecting construction, the elimination of the po­ litical and economic independence of their countries (cf. E. Goldzamt, Wieżowce Radzieckie, Warszawa 1953). The socialist Palace connected with “pacific con­ struction”, peace, freedom, and life was juxtaposed against capitalism, imperialism, fascism, war, destruc­ tion, and death. Summing up these reflections let us turn to another poem by Tadeusz Kubiak, which not only contains this motif but also the probably most apt characteristic of the Palace enhanced with scarce plant hierophanies and allusive references to the sym­ bolic motif of the tree of life in the tradition linked with the Palace: It is socialism that builds despite death and crime. It is the nation that gives to a nation and man to man, what they had won during that October night. Like the hardworking gardener offering his son fruit grown in the Michurin manner. O n the side o f the anti-m yth. A growth..., and I would agree to forget all about Suvorov Embarking upon testimonies and documents com­ prising the negative myth of the Palace it is simply im­ possible to omit accounts in the diary of Leopold Tyr­ mand. On 1 February 1954 this first antagonist and determined oppositionist, an outsider highly sensitive to the rhythm of the social life of Warsaw, recorded: Merciless cold weather and people wandering across Warsaw absurdly wrapped against the cold, so that even the shapeliest female resembles a parcel. The sheer martyr­ dom of waiting for city transport: I suspect that an armed revolt against the regime, if it ever takes place, will start on tram stops in weather such as this. (...) The press drips with lackey tones writing about the "magnificent gift of the Soviet Union for Warsaw”. A skyscraper totally useless to anyone. If they had really wanted to send a gift they would have supplied several hundred tramcars. But then their intention is to make an impression and not to offer gifts, and for that particular purpose a skyscraper is just perfect. (Dziennik 1954, Warszawa 1989, p. 167). The unemotional and architectural interpretation proposed by Tyrmand once again accentuated the fas­ cination and horror merged in the Palace: Some see in it a Russian fist, others stammer with delight; the author also registered an attempt at taming (ridicul­ ing) this appalling gift: 13 February. Another exhibition of projects for the town planning and architectural solu­ tions of Stalina Square, the centre of future Warsaw. In the middle: the Palace of Culture and Science - this is its name —a gift from Russia for Warsaw. Some see in it a Russian fist, others stammer with delight. The people have named it “Peking” - which apart from an anagram contains a subtext: this was the name of a large tenement house thus described with scathing contempt in pre-war Warsaw, at the corner of Złota and Żelazna streets, the seat of backstreet brothels. It is easy to guess that from the moment when the construction was announced I was one of its most fervent opponents. As a would-be expert I skilfully criticised its size, anti-Warsaw scale, and bom­ bastic style. But. (...) The Soviet skyscraper with its lofty steel construction would have been passable as a power­ ful solid which, if it had been left alone and covered with glass, would have been of use and I would agree to forget all about Suvorov. When it received a ready-made facing the colour of beige sand I was not pleased, but the facade, colour, and texture looked good and acceptable. Then they started to add: a pseudo-Renaissance helmet tower topped with a spire, confectionary attics and crowning, motifs straight from Kazimierz on the Vistula, and pedes­ tals. This socialist realistic horror emerged in the very centre of the town in the manner of a growth on the nose of a drunkard. And now plans are made for a Polish show of socialist realistic imagination surrounding this Russian architectural dissolution (ibid., p. 210). Hence, even such an unruffled and decisive critic as the author of Dziennik and Zły experienced am­ bivalent and competing feelings and doubts produced by the Palace. Despite his categorical opinion: Where is the nationality of this architecture, why is it supposed to be Polish considering that its elements are at home both in Cadix and Helsinki? (ibid., p. 215), and despite the deep conviction about the madness of the whole idea: 104 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD The leitmotif of socialist realism in architecture —that, which is being built today is supposed to look, for the sake of the wellbeing of man, like something built yesterday, the day before yesterday, and four centuries ago - contains some sort of unconcealed madness (ibid., p. 211) Tyr­ mand shared qualms whether the Palace might actu­ ally become part of the city’s tradition: A town is a culmination. That which ages in it properly ages nicely. After centuries of serving ugly buildings be­ come inevitably beautiful and surrounded with something that we are accustomed to call an ambiance, a climate, a mood, a style; they gather strata of events and experi­ ences, individual and collective, which in time blend the decorations and details of the façade with contents of exist­ ence to yield inimitable monuments and symbols. (...) The creation of something new, which is supposed to look old, is domed to parody and kitsch. (...) Quite possibly, in a hundred years, communist gigantomachy, pathos "close to each man”, as they put it, the tawdriness of artificial orna­ ments, the medley of decorations, and thus nouveau riche and trivial wastefulness will become patinated with time, just like neo-Gothic skyscrapers in fin de siècle Manhat­ tan. We shall have to wait long for this to happen, and, furthermore, the outcome is by no means certain (ibid., p. 212). The notes in Dziennik are accompanied by an im­ age of the Place in Zły, in which Tyrmand, contrary to the “new” centre - Why are a pedestal and gravity to become the emblems and ambiance of Warsaw? (Dzien­ nik, p. 215) - attempted to conduct a remythicisation of urban space in which the largest square in Europe emerges from the chaos of conflagration and the bat­ tlefield of the construction site of a new skyscraper. The resultant Palace enlivens and stirs the memory of a city of the past. Since remythicisation is the topic of the above-cited study by Marta Zielińska we shall only note this function of the new and undomesticated Palace evoking the past, as well as yet another ironic name to be placed in its onomastic alongside the al­ ready mentioned “tuning fork”, i.e. “little finger”. It is simply impossible to walk around this town. The capital is being turned into a quarry. (...) Not to mention that little finger (...) - who needs such large houses?” (L. Tyrmand, Zły, Warszawa 1965, p. 165; cf. M. Zielińska, op. cit.) Playground of Satan The Palace of Culture appears occasionally in novels by Stefan Kisielewski (Przygoda w Warszawie, Podróż w czasie —the cover of the 1989 edition pub­ lished by Iskry features the Palace together with a red flag affixed to it as if to a mast), but the most complete interpretation is to be found in this author’s Cienie w pieczarze. Here, the Palace and the surrounding enormous and strange Defilad Square are the meeting place of lovers - the chief protagonist, Roman, who remembers the town and the world prior to their anni­ hilation, and Bluzeczka, a representative of an already new epoch - a place where (at the foot of the enormous thirty-storeys tall building) love turned into hatred, and which is compared to a tree: Each side of this square is different, since it originates from a different epoch of Warsaw; Roman deciphered in this variety history, just like the past of a tree is read from the cross-section of its rings, but for Bluzeczka this interpretation was totally un­ attainable (p. 123). Next to this micro-cosmic scale of the Palace inscribed into the love story, alongside the local history of the town, the Palace and the square reflect each other and the micro-history of this stretch of no man’s land, where borders, assuming that some sort actually existed, shifted in one way or another, stretched and shrunk as if they were made of rubber. Neither the West nor the East (p. 134). Kisielewski, as no one be­ fore, embarked upon a historiosophic interpretation of the Palace, seeking a specific logic of Chaos for the indefinite and chaotic moods creating and moulding the character of the site: It is here that this palace, a mixture of styles, a monster of naïve monumentality and tasteless ornamentality devoid of the instinct of exaggera­ tion, managed to defend itself quite successfully and even attained the significance and rank of a symbol. After all, if all sorts of things took place in this city since 1939, if all the madness and ordinary kinks of the East and the West ar­ ranged to meet here, if life became excessively strange and intends to preserve that state and in all respects grew even more embedded in it, then why should a G O D KNOWS WHAT, a symbol of eccentricity so curiously attached to assorted psychic and chronological worlds that it is impos­ sible to express it in brief or long worlds, not dominate in the centre of a sprawling square emptied in all directions (p. 181). For Roman the Square surrounding the Palace evokes, to an extent greater than for the protagonists of Zly, the memory of a town once crushed, and stirs and produces increasingly profound introspections: This place, which he, after all, had known for the past fifty years, now spoke to him suddenly because it became the site of his secretive walks with Bluzeczka. (...) It is impossible to deduce when the past or the present spoke to him, or which particular past since there were so many, ar­ ranged in strata and gathered vertically and horizontally, because Defilad Square was simultaneously a junk room and a synthesis, the old and the new, a mixture of vari­ ous sorts of the past and curious proposals formulated by the present. A tangle of traces and ciphers as well as the emptiness of whole districts razed to the ground. A peculiar place, the largest square in Europe and, at the same time, quite underrated! (p. 177). Each side of the square was different, and this dissimi­ larity grew across the decades and contained the curious and unique history of the town (p. 208). In Kisielewski’s historiosophic perspective W ar­ saw appears to be a special city, an under-appreciated 105 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD centre of the world, a genuine centre. It is in this un­ known (provincial) Warsaw that the cruel and the in­ sane dilemmas of the world were always understood more rapidly than the whole world was capable of doing, here Stalin, Hitler, and other great and merciless magi of the world were deciphered ahead of time (...). The Western world never understood that it is here, in Warsaw, that everything is known ahead of time, and thus it never ben­ efitted from this knowledge. Now, this was the scene of a historical comedy of totalitarianism, which the world treated quite seriously thinking that it is some sort of a peo­ ple’s revolution (...). Due to mistakes, one’s own or those committed by others, by the world, this was the scene of things that had never transpired elsewhere. After all, con­ trary to logic, Warsaw resisted all alone, and upon quite a few occasions, the surging tides of the East and the West (a turnstile antemurale!) (...) with a demonstration of si­ lent absence it greeted the parade of the victorious armies of Hitler; here, the largest number of Jews was murdered in history, here, the Germans set up a horribly crowded ghetto for 600 000 residents, here, in the autumn of 1944 a solitary battle was waged along two fronts: political with Russia and face to face with the foolish Germans fighting for their greater defeat, here, after the fall of the Uprising the whole population was driven out, the first such case in world history, and the town was left alone to itself and conflagrations (p. 209). The whole square, the streets, and the pavements wrote Józef Sigalin - all are built on a “tombstone” placed on the foundations of old basements, former houses inhab­ ited by thousands. This is a truth that we, the older gen­ eration, cannot forget (J. Sigalin, op. cit., p. 146). The awareness of this truth, however, was shared also by the younger generations. An English-language fanzine issued by a rock group in 1981 and displaying a graphic motif of the Palace declares: they all live in Warsaw, a city of lunatic Surrealism, a dead city, a city-cemetery, a city built anew but never revived. For the protagonist of Cienie w pieczarze the Pal­ ace and this strange square, that “sorcerer’s retort”, in which a frenzied history of art is mixed up with the past and the present, stirred memory and became the reason why in this strange square the old regained its youth and the new disclosed is hopeless barren old age. This is the Palace that chased the world of dreams to the other side of Marszałkowska Street, and this is the Square, which once and for all banished the world of old movie theatres: the “Apollo” and the “Stylowy” , those genu­ ine illusion cinemas together with their asylum of in­ ternational dreams, living side by side in the memory and interior of the protagonist together with images of Mae West, Jean Harlow, Franchot Tone or Gary Cooper, who existed and performed for all, accessible for a paltry fifty or eighty groszy, proof that in their dreams are not controlled or rationed. The Palace adjoins, and merg­ es with, images of unassuming Jewish shops, unkempt but full of commodities, an likeness of the Russian Or­ thodox church in Saski Square, and a scene, recalled from childhood, of the latter’s demolition, when several score men pulled a cable tied around one of the domes (...) the poor onion-shaped dome - so inadequately installed in its base, which cannot be said about the present-day Marx­ ist temple in Warsaw: sacrosanct and undeconstructable; it will stand and tower over the city for centuries to come. The Palace and the Square are located next to the church of All Souls in Grzybów, which during the Nazi occupation found itself within the closed ghetto, with images of empty gates and basements, where in the courtyards and on wooden stairs there lurks and sleeps the echo of old voices, the breath of murdered and forgotten Jews. The protagonist now sees this strange Square as a “Land of Wandering Love” (just like Spain, which in the imagination of Don Quixote appeared to be a land of knights errant, or rather erring) , and with time assumed a new name borrowed from the title of an old film: A Roundabout of Torment. No other book, with the possible exception of Mała Apokalipsa, had amassed so many epithets, invectives and derisive words addressed to the Palace. In Cienie w pieczarze the Palace of Culture is portrayed as con­ fectionary white, with jagged stalactites of ornaments (...) an artificial growth originating from nowhere, outside life, evolution, development and normalcy, similarly to two meaningless, nonsensical, and pretentious obelisks thrusting in front of the Palace in honour of an unknown victory; an enormously expensive whole, of little use; sup­ posed modernity, or a superfluous miracle; each column of outright elephantine thickness; simply "Russian Greece”; the nightmare of a pastry chef, as it was universally teased in Warsaw; a shiny spire straight out of Leningrad or, in other words, St. Petersburg; pure madness, and in addi­ tion free of charge to all, with fountains recalling a feudal folly imitated by the tsars of the North; socialist opium for the masses; a Marxist church of Warsaw; a gigantic piece of ugliness; a soulless Moloch devouring the town and covering half of the sky; a 300 meters-tall town hall, conspicuously devoid of all style; a symbol of a gigantic fracas; intentionally indifferent, whose primitive mixture and enormous lack of contents will continue to cry out for centuries in this largest square in Europe; surrounded with niches featuring sculptures depicting heroic workers (as a certain reactionary said: one really has to be a hero to work here); a Rhodes colossus of our times; a magic edifice raised by magi from the East, between whose glass and thus ostensibly invisible walls the old and the new will continue to hang around for centuries to come. Do those exclamations and strong words not reflect, as in curs­ es, the domain of the sacrum and, at the same time, an attempt at profanisation and desacralisation com­ mitted so as to tame the terrifying and inexplicable element of tremendum, an attempt opposing (and in this way revealing) its demonic might. On the other 106 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD extreme, this process of taming encountered derision, a spontaneously flourishing tradition of more or less scornful jokes about the Palace of Culture: "Small but in good taste", “The old Warsaw-Vienna railway sta­ tion in a state of erection" (cf. Z. Raszewski, Wstęp do teorii kawału, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa", no. 2/1990), “Little Polish architecture", “What is the most beau­ tiful place in Warsaw? - The thirtieth storey of the Palace of Culture. - Why? - Because the Palace of Culture cannot be seen from there". To the strains of the national anthem local jokers sang: What the alien power has given us, we shałł pułł down at night. A t the same time, it is characteristic that in the case of a such a critically inclined author we come across also contrary testimony of positive experiences and even specific beauty veiling the ambivalence of the Palace and the ambiance amassed therein; this is testimony of taming the Palace and its growing enrootment in the city: It no łonger annoys anyone, visitors like it, the panorama from the top storey is magnificent, the ground-floor stateły interiors are spatial and comfortable (....) On the upper storeys everything seemed to be mis­ conceived but the ground-floor halls featured representa­ tive grandeur and excellent acoustics. It became apparent that the enormous naivete of the very notion deprives it of all demonic features and renders it possible to make its close acquaintance on a daily basis. Finally, it is here that the protagonists find their asylum: The Palace was sur­ rounded by idyllic green lanes (...) why should Roman not drink beer at a stand in his favourite windswept and sunwarmed West Side - that, which is part of the landscape cannot be ugly and must discover its concealed beauty. By means of such a mental operation connecting com­ mon sense with imagination Roman removed from Defilad Square that unfortunate palace, whose stairs, balustrades, projections, and colonnade pavilions he pleasantly albeit unselfishly used. In Kisielewski’s book we find a con­ firmation of an already familiar phenomenon, a prac­ tice characteristic for numerous Varsovians screwing up their eyes and ignoring the Palace: How different it looked close-up —the square without the palace remained curiously beautiful (...) a real square and yet altered by efforts of the imagination. The same phenomenon of ignoring the Palace was scrupulously recorded by the oft-mentioned Marta Zielińska, who noticed that the Palace appears only six times in the works of an au­ thor strongly connected with Warsaw, namely, Miron Białoszewski: (...) In all of Bialoszewski’s prose the Palace together with the square are present upon six occasions, including three in passing: during a Sun eclipse, while getting into a bus at the square, and in a description of the sky, which as­ sumed an interesting hue exactly on the side of the Palace. The other three times are mere mentions albeit significant. Actually, they contain the whole quintessence of the Palace. We first come across it in a description of a certain Satur­ day in Marszałkowska Street: "(...) The Lord God rests in heaven, the Mother of God dries diapers on the Palace of Culture...". —At first glance, nothing of importance and yet such copious contents - Zielińska commented. - Or­ dinary white clouds near the spire bring to mind a home, perhaps somewhat largeish but suitable for Our Lady (M. Zielińska op. cit., p. 126). The other two important images are those of the Palace seen in a dream: Tadzio flying around the spire with Ania and someone else, and mention of fires breaking out in Warsaw: The Cedet shop, a bridge. What next? The Palace of Culture? Once again, the Palace considered against a back­ drop of the symbolism of the centre appears in a spe­ cial way as strong, permanent, and conspicuous - it is difficult to ignore it - but also as an unnoticed and strange centre around which there emerge not Order and Cosmos but Chaos or, more precisely, Order and Cosmos that is Chaos: Because it constituted, after all, an organic component of the town, that transit Warsaw for red armies on the move between Moscow and Berlin. Here one lives as if on a volcano, in a passage, on the eve; it is simply impos­ sible to exist outside history. Defilad Square was proof —a complex, style-less, periphery opened to four parts of the world, unprotected against the roar of trains and lorries, against menacingly chaotic motion, ostensibly urban but possessing something affiliated with Nature and spontane­ ous (...). Perhaps the alienness of the square, so vividly accentuated, is the outcome of a chaotic and haphazard process of someone putting things together (or rather no one or a coincidence of “fate", as working-class Warsaw was in the habit of saying), assorted elements of the past and the present, thus becoming a strangely monumental reference point for collective premonitions, hypotheses, and fears about the future? (S. Kisielewski, Cienie w piecza­ rze, p. 221, 223). 107 Axis M undi , the Valley of Josaphat, Golgotha Just as there is no Wyspiański without Wawel Castle so there is no Konwicki without the Palace of Culture, wrote Marta Fik (cf. J. Lerska /M. Fik/, Bardzo mala apoka­ lipsa, “Kultura niezależna", April 1990, no. 60, p. 53). A writer whom the palace hypnotises as if it were a basilisk - claims another opinion about Tadeusz Konwicki (cf. M. Zielińska, op. cit., p. 126). The Palace of Culture appears in Konwicki’s last film: Lava, a screen version of Mickiewicz’s Forefathers’ Eve, seen from Konrad’s prison cell and behind the Angel (played by Grażyna Szapołowska) walking among a crowd of pedestrians along the main passageway next to the Centrum shop­ ping centre, on the “’other" side of Marszałkowska Street. I am well aware of the fact that in view of the exist­ ence of assorted interpretation perspectives proposed by numerous scholars examining the writings of Kon- �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD wicki, such as Maria Janion, Jan Walc, Tadeusz Lubel­ ski, Marta Zielińska, and Anna Sobolewska, speaking about the Palace of Culture, or about any other motif without an opportunity for a more thorough consid­ eration of its inner-textual references and place within the entire oeuvre must result in an incomplete image. Even in the latter, however, and in a restricted ap­ proach to the symbolism of the centre, a problem of interest to us, the Palace still displays a multitude of meanings. Among their variability and evolution, ob­ served starting with Wniebowstąpienie, Jak daleko stąd, jak blisko and Mała Apokalipsa to Rzeka podziemna, podziemne ptaki, the classical structures of the symbol­ ics of the centre come to the fore in the most distinc­ tive and evident fashion. Upon numerous occasions emphasis had been placed on the oneiric or outright magical dimensions and ambiance of Konwicki’s writ­ ings and simultaneous immersion in concrete daily re­ ality, the author’s sensitivity to the concrete and the pulse and rhythm of daily life. Works by the author of Sennik współczesny are a combination of several cur­ rents and dimensions: absolute realism, oneirism, and magical qualities, and this is the reason why we may perceive in them an outright reflection and example of Lotman’s principle governing the tension between expression and the contents of the symbol, a situation in which the former belongs to a secular, open and dem­ onstrated sphere of culture, while the latter —to sacral, esoteric and mysterious culture (cf. Y. Lotman, Symbol..., op. cit., p. 152). The secular, profane, mundane exist­ ence of realistically depicted contemporaneity, in the case of Konwicki with an extraordinary underpinning of the sacrum, does not lose any of its cosmic and sac­ ral dimensions. The same holds true for the Palace of Culture. The mentioned duality, so frequently record­ ed by the interpreters and exegetes of Konwicki, is still decisive for difficulties with the “classification” of his works. The author frequently complained about their reduction to a purely political dimension: One cannot look at literature exclusively through a prism of the poeti­ cal here and now. I am of the opinion that in my books it is possible to come across more permanent and universal strata (cf. M. Fik, op. cit., p. 53; cf. also Stanisław N o­ wicki, Pół wieku czyśćca. Rozmowy z Tadeuszem Kon­ wickim, London 1986). On the other hand, Konwicki kept a distance towards attempts at enclosing his writ­ ings within the “’magical realism” formula. [This brings to my mind Marquez and South America, which I do not understand, cannot bear, and find totally foreign. I am a “Catholic Protestant’ for whom all is true and palpable (cf. S. Nowicki, op. cit., p. 101)]. This is why while observing the presence of the structures of the symbolics of the centre we should al­ ways keep in mind the character of this literature with its Janus-like face, evading all classification. A t the same time, we have to remember the original testimo­ ny of its time, evidence of the contemporaneity con­ tained in Konwicki‘s works (I have in mind the already mentioned titles, spanning from Wniebowstąpienie to Rzeka podziemna) that could be described analogously to rejected “magical realism” as some sort of specific realism - HyperPRLrealism (PRL = People’s Po­ land), or more precisely, and not merely for the sake of easier pronunciation but also to capture the meaning of the described reality of People’s Poland - HyperPRLSurrealism . In all those works the Palace appears surrounded with an aura of festivity, an unusual time, a time of special tension, a time with eschatological dimension and ambiance, which for all the protagonists is simul­ taneously a time-rite of passage. In Wniebowstąpienie it is a desacralized holiday (the official harvest festivity) and a time of unrest caused by a new world crisis: The shops were emptied of all commodities already by noon, the army is in a state of battle readiness - something is in the air, perhaps they had already dropped the atom sausage, the town is full of pageants of "faux peasants” dressed in folk costumes: A huge group of Cracovians and Kaszubians poured down the main avenue to the accompani­ ment of the hoarse glissandos of an accordion. Many had the pale, bloated faces of city dwellers-civil servants. I was somewhat surprised that they were not ashamed of this masquerade (T. Konwicki, Wniebowstąpienie, Warszawa 1967, p. 13, further on: pages from this edition). The main protagonist awakens under a bridge with a bleed­ ing puncture in his head and suffering from amnesia; he cannot recall even his name and later his acciden­ tally newly met friends call him Charon. The first thing he sees is two inhabitants of Kurpie or Fishermen spitting across a rusty balustrade into the river. The Palace of Culture is an orientation point, a place where the protagonist has a date with an unfamiliar girl dressed up as a native of Łowicz-Opoczno; the whole plot takes place around the Palace, which is almost the lead protagonist of the novel. In Wniebowstąpienie (whose title is literally evoked by its German transla­ tion: Auf der Spitze des Kulturpalastes) the Palace of Culture is a central point, the axis and centre of the world, making possible a passage and a transition be­ tween three levels of reality: the underworld, the Earth, and Heaven. Above them hung a constellation of blood-red lights from the palace tower. Higher, there were only stars, a void of sparklers, the glimmer of an unknown, eternal campsite (p. 54). The “pyramid” towering over the city or the “red Christmas tree of the Palace of Culture” seen from afar in the manner of a cosmic tree is an axis encircled by ghosts and the dead. The author complained that apart from the political tissue no one seemed to notice that the plot takes place amidst the dead (cf. S. Nowicki, op. cit., p. 101). Here, next to the axis, in this centre of the world, there is a passageway and an entrance to the innermost recesses of a subter­ 108 �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD ranean inferno. Here begins a voyage to Hell under­ taken by protagonists with an unclear ontological sta­ tus (ghouls, ghosts, and vampires, like the lead pro­ tagonist with his numerous life histories, a potential writer feeding on the blood of someone else’s life and sucking out of reality as much as he possibly can): Be­ hind us the terrible trembling of the walls increased and resembled an earthquake. Mr Lilek tugged at something that resounded like a cast iron cover of a tomb. We set off into stifling darkness... (p. 40). The entrance to those subterranean labyrinths of the Palace resembles a se­ pulchral niche in monastic crypts. The journey to the netherworld, the land of death, the descent into the underworld, and the ascent to heaven along the verti­ cal axis of the Palace of Culture are accompanied by wanderings undertaken by the protagonists along the horizontal level of the town and the afore-mentioned East-West axis, a plunge into the inferno of the shady joints of Warsaw, a trip to the other bank of the Vis­ tula along the following route: the Poniatowski Bridge - the St. Vincent cemetery in the Bródno district - the two-level bridge - back via Krakowskie Przedmieście Street to the Palace of Culture, accompanied by a vigil next to the coffin of a deceased man, a stay in a speakeasy, and a night spent at a militia station. The motif of the labyrinth expanded by Konwicki in Wniebowstąpienie is closely intertwined with the All Souls’ Day and sepulchral motif. Descending into the Palace basement and making his way in the darkness, the protagonist seeks support and stretches out his hand to touch the wall: It’s a waste of time —he said. — We’re walking inside a long pipe. - What sort of a pipe? — God knows, even those who built it had no idea. You know, Misiu, how it is. Some guys dug a ditch, others brought the building material, still others poured the concrete and cov­ ered it with soil, while the designer vanished somewhere, like a stone cast into water, in other words, like a true in­ dividual among the collective masses. Only the deceased probably knew something. —What deceased? In the enor­ mous silence something resounded in the distance, resem­ bling bells stifled by a strong wind. —You know, Joseph Vissarionovich. This is a passageway from his times. Eve­ ryone already forgot about it because this detail is absent on city maps (p. 40). Konwicki introduced into Wniebowstąpienie a motif (subsequently expanded in Mala Apokalipsa and Rzeka podziemna) kept alive in the folklore and tradition of post-war Warsaw and re­ lating to underground corridors and passages between the Party Central Committee and the Palace of Cul­ ture, a system of nuclear bomb shelters. Just how deep­ ly was this motif embedded in reality and not merely a theme of the folklore tradition of legends and stories belonging to the backdrop of the symbolism of the centre of the world was evidenced by the dramatic events of the Romanian ’89 revolution, disclosing a whole subterranean town in the centre of Bucharest. 109 In Poland too, the presence of underground interiors under the Government Stand in Defilad Square was not mentioned until after 1989, when it was proposed to open there an underground café; up to that time it was a strict secret kept by censorship. I’ll interrupt you because I want to say —confessed the writer —that my tragedy consists of the fact that I am simply a realist. After the publication of Mała Apokalipsa for eight months the route from café “Melodia” (before: “Paradis”) to the Central Committee was out of bounds. Everything was dug up. When Wniebowstąpienie appeared I received a phone call from someone who I suspect worked for the se­ curity service, pretending to be a Polish philologist wanting to know whether I possessed a plan of the underground part of the Palace of Culture. In other words, my emotion­ alism contains some sort of a rational core. (...) There is something real and genuine in what I write. I describe Warsaw the way it really looks like. This is a town of dead­ end streets, a town-cripple full of dumps, passageways, and dens teeming with drunks and drug addicts. Below my house there is a fifteen-storey bomb shelter. And you tell me that this is an abstract vision of a labyrinth (cf. S. N o­ wicki, op. cit., p. 142). The protagonists making their way in the dark subterranean interiors of the Palace finally reach a sanctuary cum junk room from an ep­ och described in Tyrmand’s diaries and rapidly becom­ ing part of a past doomed to oblivion: We found our­ selves in an interior as high as a church and windowless. Old ladders, buckets, broken banners, some sort of fabric stretched on frames facing the wall. Lilek opened a white door and I saw an enormous, magnificent toilet. (...) Full of sophisticated columns and almost Baroque stucco, it was neglected and on the washbasin I noticed a thick layer of black dust (p. 41). In the closing sequence of Wniebowstąpienie the protagonist, in the wake of all his adventures and mishaps, after working in a cold stor­ age room resembling a morgue where he carried enor­ mous slabs of meat; after a visit to a church while holding a parcel full of animal hearts received as pay­ ment for his work; after an almost ritual purifying bath in the fountain in front of the Palace, takes the eleva­ tor just before the break of dawn and rides to the top storey where all the ghosts, phantoms, and the dead encountered that night had already gathered. Once again, the Palace discloses its concealed, indistinct, and sacral nature and ambiance: Misiu, you’re depart­ ing through purgatory. Tomorrow you’ll see God... I don’t know why I went to the hall where enormous figures made of stone stood (...) Three brightly lit lifts invited me in the manner of cathedral confession stalls (p. 233, 235). The space stretching around this cosmic axis of the Palace, that murky centre of the world, that aged obelisk dam­ aged by the passage of time - featuring blackened brass names of distant capitals, with many letters missing; only the numbers of kilometres separating us from those towns were untouched; the collectors honoured the brass num- �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD bers - is the site of final accounts and Judgement Day. The Palace resembled the Valley of Josaphat. A curious light, extremely dense and amber-coloured, illuminated the Palace pedestal. The structure of the Palace outlined in Wniebowstąpienie and envisaged as the centre of the world, was developed in successive Konwicki stories and close-ups. The Palace changes, its portrayal is dynamic, but the basic core of the structure remains invariable. An amazing construction, a source of mul­ tiple associations, Charon, ghosts seeking a passage to the other side: We have to go back. —Go back where? —What do you mean: where? To return there or there? Marta Zielińska interpreted the edifice according to the Romantic tradition: Around it soars a spirit before departure to the unknown, here is the station between this world and the other, a caricature of a chapel of sorts, where the Seer celebrated his rituals. Here, the Palace plays a part totally unforeseen by its builders: a cross between a man-eating monster and a haunted Gothic castle. The Palace deciphered by Anna Sobolewska in the light of the initiation rite, that grotesque axis of the world, appears to be a place of incomplete initiation into death and suffering, where transcendence is cheap and full of holes, just like the whole reality of People’s Po­ land. This reality cannot be redeemed in any way (W. Sobolewska, Współczesna powieść inicjacyjna: Tadeusz Konwicki, Hugh Walpole, Tarjei Vesas, “Twórczość” 1991). Even in such an interpretation and reality, im­ ages from this range of the profanum mysteriously touch the sacrum and demonstrate their concealed purification force. In Mała Apokalipsa the crumbling Palace is not only desacralized but cursed by almost all sides, a statue of pride, a statue of servitude, a stone cake of warning, for­ merly a source of fear, hatred, and magic horror, a cosmic shed erected vertically, an old outhouse devoured by fungi and mould, forgotten in the middle of a Central European crossroad, a terrifying tumulus, a wilderness, and turns into an artificial altar, a site for self-immolation: I was preceded along this path by Buddhist monks, a certain Czech, some Lithuanians, all on their way to the pyre. I was preceded by people of assorted races and religions walking along this fiery route. The Palace turns into Golgotha: I have a terrible urge to tempt fate. So much that I can feel the flesh on my back crawl. And then we shall meet, right? I‘ll be waiting for you some fifty kilometres directly above the spire of the Palace of Culture, there where our atmosphere, our pleasant earthly existence, comes to an end. But you will not do this, because 2 000 years ago a certain Aramean said to his cruel contemporaries: “In­ stead of slaughtering a lamb, a neighbour or your brother, make a sacrifice of yourself”. I contain seven atoms of the Antichrist but you —at least 77. - He took a brick from my hand and weighed it in his hand. —I shall take this as a souvenir. (...) Perhaps you’re hungry, I have two lumps of sugar. —What are you talking about? —I should wipe your face with a piece of cloth, but I don’t have one. —Was this the last station of our passion? —Yes, we’re facing the sac­ rificial altar. - He pointed to the iconostasis of the palace reaching the sky and white in the snow flurry. In Rzeka podziemna the image of the Palace-Golgotha appears briefly before the suicide committed by Siódmy with the assistance of natural death: The great Square opened up before him. In the centre stood that famous Palace, a souvenir of Joseph Vissari­ onovich. It stood immersed almost halfway in clouds or ac­ tually in a single huge cloud... Siódmy suddenly experienced absurd relief. This enormous amount of air, free space, the grey sky, which before evening will split above the horizon showing a red glow, and those black jagged clouds halted in their wild rush, the same as those that appeared above the horizon when Christ was crucified. 110 Endnotes 1 Owing to insufficient space I have not included a com­ plete bibliography, which I managed to establish in the course of surveys, and present bibliographic information about used sources in the text. I would like to express my thanks to Ms Hanna Szczubełek, who rendered availa­ ble material in the Administrative Head Office of the Palace of Culture and Science and made it possible to for me to work for several days in her office. Using the Chronicle I was able to reach in the course of further surveys less known sources (cf. n. 22). 2 Mention is due predominantly to the film by Tadeusz Konwicki: How Far Away, How Near. The Palace also appears in this director's Lava and plays a considerable part in Grand Picnic, directed by Krzysztof Rogulski (cf. Bożena Sycówna, Raj odnaleziony, (in:) Film i kontekst, Warszawa 1988, pp. 55-83); cf also: Labirynth, a film directed by Andrzej S. Kałuszko (“Filmowy Serwis Prasowy” 1-31 December 1988); the film by Piotr Łazarkiewicz: Soc, shot on the margin of an exhibition of socialist realistic art, contains a special effects scene showing the Palace of Culture being blown up. Great joy for the eyes, wrote Tadeusz Szyma (cf. “Tygodnik Powszechny” no. 22, 28 May 1989). 3 Cf. sprayed-on graffito showing a foot wearing a large “punk-style” shoe and kicking the Palace of Culture, which I saw on the wall of the “Iluzjon” cinema in October 1990, and which was used as an emblem and graphic motif in the fanzine of the ”Brygada Kryzys” band, no. 0, Warsaw, August 1981 - I owe the latter information to Ryszard Ciarka. 4 Cf. Dom we współczesnej Polsce. Szkice, ed. Andrzej Siciński and Piotr Lukasiewicz (in print) - the outcome of a years-long research programme and a conversatorium conducted by the authors in the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology at the Polish Academy of Sciences (IFIS PAN); the publication contains, i.a. Andrzej Siciński, O idei domu i jego roli w Polsce; Anna Zadrożyńska, Ludzie / przestrzeń domowa. Przyczynek do antropologii schronienia; Jan Prokop, Dom polski; Piotr Łukasiewicz, Dom jako społeczne minimum. Spojrzenie na okres okupacji niemieckiej w Polsce; Michał Boni, Funkcje życia domowo-rodzinnego w doktrynie komunistów polskich (1945-1950); Danuta Markowska, Dom - twierdza tożsa­ �Zbigniew Benedyktowicz • A PHANTOM OF THE CENTRE OF THE WORLD 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 mości; cf. material from the I international conference: “Home: Its Contemporary Material, Social and Value Aspects”, Zaborów, Poland, 11-13 October 1990, orga­ nised by A. Siciński and P Lukasiewicz, in the Department of Lifestyle Studies IFiS PAN. Witold Rybczyński, Home. A Short History of an Idea, Viking Penguin Inc., New York 1986. Initially, Rybczyński intended to build only a shed for a boat, but then in order to be able to spend the night there it was necessary to make some sort of sleeping arrangement, add a kitchen, a work room, etc. and in this way instead of a hangar he erected a home; this process of a gradual construction of a home became the source of meditation, reflection, and subsequently stu­ dies on the idea of the home. Clifford Geertz, Być tam, pisać tu, “Ameryka”, winter 1989, p. 60. James Clifford, The Predicament of Culture. TwentiethCentury Ethnography. Literature and Art, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, Mass. and London, 1988. Ibid., p. 9, 13-14. Jadwiga Siemaszko, Barbara Fatyga, Po co jechać na Trobriandy, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1989, no. 3, pp. 177-181. Clifford Geertz, op. cit., p. 62. Jacek Olędzki, „Skuś baba na dziada". Przyczynek do powinności przemyśleń perypatetycznych, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1987, no. 1-4, pp. 142-149. Ibid., p. 142. Clifford Geertz, op. cit., p. 63. On this differentiation, derived from Dilthey, between comprehension and explanation cf. James Clifford, op. cit., p. 22, 36 sqq., where the author, accepting the gene­ ral stand claiming that ethnography is an art of interpre­ tation, an interpretation process and not an explanation, presented the pertinent discussion conducted in con­ temporary anthropology; cf. also on this differentiation: Gerardus van der Leeuw, Sacred and Profane Beauty. The Holy in Art, London 1963, pp. 5-6; idem, Fenomenologia religii, Warszawa 1978, pp. 717-719; cf. comments by Y. Lotman about the symbolising and desymbolising reading of texts: the former makes it possible to read texts or their particles as symbols, which in their natural context were not intended for this sort of reception. The latter transforms symbols into commonplace communiqués; Y. Lotman, Symbol w systemie kultury, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1988, no. 3, p. 152. Stanisław Cichowicz, Skąd ten kanon?, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1990, no. 1, p. 50. Cf. M. Eliade, Doświadczenie Labiryntu, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1988, no. 3. Cf. M. Eliade, Sacrum, mit, historia. Warszawa 1970; idem,Traktat o historii religii, Warszawa 1966, pp. 361­ 379. M. Eliade, Sacrum... , op. cit., p. 78. On the polysemantic and multi-dimensional nature of the symbol cf. “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1988, no. 3; here, an extensive bibliography. Y. Lotman, Symbol w systemie kultury, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1988, no. 3, pp. 151-154. Apart from a source survey I made use of the Palace Chronicle arranged by Ms Hanna Szczubełek and a col­ lection of untypical correspondence and poems, compri­ sing an appendix to the Chronicle; not in all cases was it possible to establish the place of the publication of 111 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 particular texts. The absence of more exact bibliographi­ cal data denotes that the given text originates from the above collections. Clifford Geertz, op. cit., p. 62. The situation is rendered even more complicated by a philosophical statement made by the former Prime Minister of People's Poland at a reception held at the “Holiday Inn” upon the occasion of a promotion of a book written by the former First Secretary of the Polish United Worker's Party Edward Gierek. The quotation comes from Polish TV: “Sometimes reality becomes fic­ tion, and fiction - reality”. This and subseqent emphasis - Z. B. On the symbolic of axis mundi cf. M. Eliade, Brancusi i mitologia, “Polska Sztuka Ludowa” 1988, no. 3, pp. 181­ 182. This comparison reflects Rudnev's European stance and greater sensitivity in contrast to the remaining members of the Soviet team: ...These people were in the West for the first time! Only old Rudnev had been in his youth in Warsaw in 1913. He recalled this fact (cf. J. Sigalin, Warszawa..., op. cit., vol. 2, p. 428). Marta Zielińska, Największy Plac w Europie, “Kronika Warszawy”, no. 4/1989. On the significance of this film in the cinematic oeuvre of T. Konwicki and a more detailed analysis against the background of the motif of the home in the Polish cine­ ma cf. Z. Benedyktowicz, Przestrzenie Pamięci, in: Film i kontekst, Warszawa 1988, pp. 151-203. Cf. scenario of How Far Away, How Near, in: T Konwicki, Ostatni dzień lata. Scenariusze filmowe. Warszawa 1973: I do not know why I remembered this for the first time in my life, the memory of a person carried to Hell. Now I think that he could have been slowly ascending to Heaven. T Konwicki, Ostatni..., op. cit., p. 250. During my survey I did not come acrosss this note and thus cite it after: Mariusz Szczygieł, Kochany Pałacu, “Na Przełaj”, 10 September 1989. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/76225c5fe9fd238a8264562b19f58639.pdf 7dba41ddd670d62931e2d929a7bd7278 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2455 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2279 Title A name given to the resource Reklamowy smak raju: między archetypem a historią / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.73-77 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Czaja, Dariusz Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Reklamowy smak raju: między archetypem a historią Dariusz Czaja Reklama telewizyjna już na dobre zadomowiła się w naszym życiu codziennym. Tworzy ona istotny fragment otaczającego nas „pejzażu semiotycznego". Staje się coraz bardziej agresywną częścią wciąż zmieniającej się ikonosfery codzienności. Pojedyn­ cze kadry, jak i rozwinięte historyjki reklamowe tkwią już mocno w magazynach naszej pamięci. Reklamowe hasła funk­ cjonują powszechnie w języku potocznym: bądź to jako dosłow­ ne cytaty, bądź jako ich prześmiewcze trawestacje i parodie. Reklama, jak wiadomo, chętnie odwołuje się do gotowych, już istniejących wzorców, konwencji, obrazów, symboli, stereoty­ pów. Toteż dziwić może, że etnolodzy tak bardzo uwrażliwieni i wyczuleni na ich obecność w różnych sferach kultury, w nikłym jak d o t ą d stopniu zwracali swoją uwagę na twórczość re­ klamową. A przecież nawet niewinnie brzmiący slogan, jak choćby ten, reklamujący pewną m a r k ę kawy, który przekonuje nas, że zawiera ona „wszystkie tajemnice A r a b i i " , to gotowy temat antropologicznego studium. Mówiąc o reklamie z reguły podkreśla się najmocniej jej perswazyjny charakter. Wskazuje się na to, że cynicznie żeruje ona na odbiorcach, wykorzystując utrwalone w ich głowach skojarzenia oraz językowe i wizualne klisze. To prawda. Ale reklama reklamie nierówna. Badacze zajmujący się profesjonal­ nie reklamą dostrzegają to wewnętrzne zróżnicowanie komuni­ k a t ó w reklamowych. Zastanawiają się nawet, czy w niektórych przypadkach mamy do czynienia z perswazją czy ze sztuką. Ściślej: jeszcze z perswazją czy już ze s z t u k ą . Etnologowi, przypatrującemu się reklamowym obrazkom nieuzbrojonym okiem dyletanta, obce jest tego rodzaju hamletyczne rozdarcie. Nie musi interesować go artystyczny wymiar reklamy, nie musi też ubolewać nad jej niskim nierzadko poziomem intelektual­ nym. Sfera wartościowania i estetycznej oceny, powiedzmy to wyraźnie, nie powinna interesować go wcale. T y m natomiast, co winno zajmować go przede wszystkim jest reklama rozumiana jako „ t e k s t " kultury. Jako obszar znaczeń. Jako przestrzeń kreowanych i sugerowanych sensów. Jako drobny fragment znacznie większej całości historii kultury. Tak właśnie, z o g r o m n ą intuicją etnologiczną, postąpił Leo Spitzer w błyskotliwym studium poświęconym amerykańskiej reklamie. Dostrzegł w niej realizację tego, co w obszarze niemieckojęzycznym określane jest jako Gebrauchkunst, sztuka stosowana, użytkowa, należąca do ustalonego p o r z ą d k u co­ dzienności. T y m , co przede wszystkim zaskakuje w artykule Spitzera, jest przyjęta przezeń postawa. Oto bowiem uznany filolog, wykorzystujący z powodzeniem swoją metodę exp­ lication de texte przy interpretacji wielkiej sztuki, tym razem zastosował ją do analizy banalnego plakatu reklamowego. Tak tłumaczy powody swojej decyzji: „Będę się starał analizować tę reklamę tak, jak poemat św. Jana od Krzyża albo list Woltera, to znaczy w s p o s ó b nieuprzedzony. Wierzę bowiem, iż ten typ sztuki, choć jego ranga jest bez p o r ó w n a n i a niższa niż ranga tekstów zazwyczaj analizowanych przez badaczy, także tworzy 'tekst', w którego słowach, chwytach literackich i rozwiązaniach graficznych kryje się duch naszego czasu i narodu - a więc sens, który jest niewątpliwie unmittelbar zu Gott. K t o chce zrozumieć współczesność, musi zrezygnować z niechętnej lub wyniosłej 1 2 wobec niej postawy. Współczesność zaś zasługuje na refleksję w nie mniejszym stopniu niż przeszłość." Św. Jan od Krzyża i reklamowy obrazek - oto miara mentalnego przełomu! Przedmiotem zainteresowań Spitzera stał się plakat reklamu­ jący kalifornijskie p o m a r a ń c z e marki „Sunkist". Z wirtuozerią analizuje on chwyty poetyckie (tak - poetyckie!) zastosowane w towarzyszącym wizji plastycznej sloganie reklamowym ( „ F r o m the sunkist groves o f California. Fresh for you"), umieszczając je na tle nie stroniącego od przesady języka poezji barokowej. Odkrywcze uwagi poświęca znaczeniu zaimka „yo u " („choć znaczenie takie może się k o m u ś wydać urojeniem, a p r ó b a jego uchwycenia zajęciem j a ł o w y m " ) , który tak często pojawia się w tekstach reklam, wiążąc go, między innymi, z językiem kazań w kościele protestanckim, z formą bezpośred­ niego, personalnego i zarazem bezosobowego - angielski wyko­ rzystuje tu znakomicie dwuznaczność zaimka „ y o u " - zwracanie się do wiernych. Wykazuje podobieństwo szczególnego sposobu eksponowania głównego obiektu reklamy (w analizowanym plakacie była to gigantyczna, umieszczona na pierwszym planie, szklanka z sokiem p o m a r a ń c z o w y m na tle gór - układ rażący brakiem proporcji) do techniki średniowiecznego obrazowania, z właściwą jej perspektywą ideową, a nie linearną - zgodną z prawami widzenia. D o sztuki średniowiecznej odnosi również chwyt opierający się na powtarzaniu w celach dydaktycznych podstawowego motywu (w plakacie był to motyw pomarańczy, którego wizualnym wyrazem stał się pojawiający się czterokrot­ nie kolor pomarańczowy). 3 4 W ostatniej odsłonie artykułu, znakomity filolog pokazuje zakorzenienie analizowanego plakatu reklamowego, ale i re­ klamy jako zjawiska, w kulturze amerykańskiej: „ R e k l a m a jest bowiem dziełem Ameryki; tu się ukształtowała, tu rozwinęła i osiągnęła nie znaną gdzie indziej intensywność." W istocie; reklama jest ubocznym produktem kapitalizmu pojmowanego nie tylko jak struktura ekonomiczna, ale przede wszystkim jako formacja ideowa. Odwołując się do klasycznych prac Webera i Troeltscha, odsłania Spitzer kalwińsko-deistyczny podkład działalności reklamowej. Wskazuje na istotny dla niej kom­ ponent protestanckiej proweniencji: „mentalność kaznodziejs­ k ą " , z jej przekonaniem o tlącej się w każdym iskrze rozumu, którą wystarczy jedynie pobudzić, aby pouczona jednostka pięła się k u coraz wyższym piętrom doskonałości. Dysponent reklamy przywdziewając szaty kaznodziei wskazuje drogę. Konsument zaś, przyjmując rolę napominanego wiernego, zmierza w stronę regularnie obiecywanego szczęścia. 5 Pełną erudycyjnych uwag analizę Spitzera, przypominam na wstępie tych rozważań z trzech p o w o d ó w . 1° - filologiczna w punkcie wyjścia metoda znakomitego uczonego, w trakcie drobiazgowych analiz niepostrzeżenie przechodzi w lekturę znaczeń do złudzenia przypominającą postulaty przypisane wcześniej podejściu etnologa, m o ż n a by nawet p o t r a k t o w a ć ją jako modelową ich realizację. 2° - wskazuje ona dowodnie, że za pozbawionym większego sensu „ t e k s t e m " reklamowego plaka­ tu, tkwią wcale poważne treści. 3° - temat główny analizy Spitzera - plastyczna, ale i retoryczna wizja ziemskiej szczęśliwo- 73 t �ści - będzie również motywem centralnym analizowanych dalej reklam. Stwierdzenie, że reklama kreuje świat szczęścia nie jest zapewne tezą przesadnie odkrywczą ani nazbyt kontrowersyjną. Interesujące jest natomiast to w jaki sposób reklamowy komuni­ kat tego dokonuje, jakich środków używa, do jakich obrazów i skojarzeń odwołuje się w dziele stworzenia wizji doskonałości. Sięgnijmy zatem do paru przykładów wybranych ze standar­ dowej telewizyjnej oferty, tych, które realizują - każdy na swoją modłę - podstawowy imperatyw reklamowej twórczości. Oto soczyście zielona trawa. W tle, zraszany deszczem leśny zagajnik miękko zlewający się z kolorem podłoża. W takiej scenerii znalazły się. zastygłe w pozycji „ p o m n i k o w e j " , dwie marmurowe figury. Postać kobieca i męska. Na razie nic o sobie nie wiedzą. Po chwili na wyciągniętą k a m i e n n ą dłoń kobiety zaczyna łagodnie spływać zielonkawy płyn. Ręka ożywa, a w ślad za nią cały posąg, jakby na prośbę niewidocznego na ekranie Pigmaliona. Marmurowe ciało posągu przechodzi pra­ wie niepostrzeżenie w lśniące kroplami wody ciało kobiety. Po k r ó t k o trwających ablucjach wręcza ona kuszącym ruchem opakowanie płynu, nieświadomemu swej roli w tej scenie uwodzenia, kamiennemu mężczyźnie. (Czyżby Galatea i Ewa w jednym?) K o ń c o w y napis: „ N o w y Palmolive - balsam pod prysznic". I tu suspens: nie wiemy bowiem co stało się dalej. Możemy jedynie domyślać się finału tej niedopowiedzianej do końca historii. Zaklęty w kamień mężczyzna powtórzył zapewne wyczyn swej posągowej towarzyszki i ożywszy, obmył swe ciało w ożywczym balsamie. Po czym żyli długo i szczęśliwie... Otoczenie w jakim pojawia się kamienna para przypomina pejzaże Poussina. Jeden z jego obrazów Wiosna albo Raj ziemski przedstawia nagą parę zatopioną w zielonych zaroślach. To klasycystyczny pejzaż idealny. Obrazy Poussina - to ciekawy przykład przenikania idei pomiędzy różnymi dziedzinami sztuki - zalecane były jako wzorcowe dla powstającego w X V I I I wieku ogrodu angielskiego. Pojawił się on jako reakcja na sfor­ malizowany, rażący przesadną geometryzacją przestrzeni i wizu­ alnym wyrachowaniem ogród francuski. Ogród angielski starał się możliwie wiernie naśladować naturę. Jego projektodawcy starali się połączyć „sztukę Boga" j a k ą była dla nich natura z ingerencją człowieka. Jeden z entuzjastów tego stylu ogrodo­ wego, francuski poeta Delille zalecał - co dla nas interesujące - by nie przeładowywać ogrodu budowlami, doradzał nato­ miast, aby eksponować posągi antyczne. Trudno się dziwić: klasycyzm z nabożeństwem odnosił się do wszelkich starożytno­ ści. Nie przypadkiem wskrzeszono wówczas jedno z ważniej­ szych antycznych wyobrażeń: mit złotego wieku. Poussin malu­ jąc swoje płótna miał w pamięci Wergiliuszową Arkadię, krainę obfitej roślinności, wiecznej wiosny i nieustającego czasu miło­ ści. Oto fragment I V eklogi - apostrofa do boskiego dziecka, które jest obietnicą mającego ponownie nadejść złotego wieku: 6 „Bluszcz pełzający swobodnie, nard rozkwitły, radosne Akanty i nenufary - to będą pierwsze podarki, Które, c h ł o p c z y k u , przyniesie ci ziemia, pługiem nietknięta. I nieco dalej: ... K w i a t ó w ł a g o d n o ś ć otuli twoją kołyskę, A w ą ż zdradziecki przepadnie i uschną zioła trujące, I wszystkie łąki napełni w o ń asyryjskich b a l s a m ó w . " 7 W naszym obrazku reklamowym, będącym połączeniem fragmentu angielskiego ogrodu z poussinowskiem pejzażem arkadyjskim, nie odnajdziemy nawet cienia melancholii, tej elegijnej zadumy, która stała się udziałem pasterzy ze słynnego obrazu Poussina, pochylających się nad grobowcem z inskryp­ cją, tak wnikliwie zinterpretowaną przez Panofskiego. Cóż, kiedy ciało wchodzi pod prysznic, nie ma czasu na myśli o przemijaniu; jego świadomości nie dosięga, najzupełniej niestosowne w tym miejscu - „et in Arcadia ego". 8 74 To jednak nie natura jest głównym obiektem reklamy „Palmolive", ale właśnie ciało. Ciało zmienione w posąg, aby unaocznić dokładniej cel przebywania pod prysznicem z konser­ wującym balsamem w dłoni. Po umyciu w balsamicznym płynie nasze ciało pełne wad i niedostatków stanie się gładkie, lśniące, proporcjonalnie zbudowane jak antyczna rzeźba. Powiedzmy mocniej: zmieni się w dzieło sztuki, w obiekt odporny na destrukcyjne działanie czasu. Interesujące, że rzeźba antyczna (lub ściślej: przedmiot, który j ą imituje) bądź jej fragment stają się w reklamie wręcz synonimem sztuki ucieleśniającej nie­ przemijającą i dotykalną doskonałość. R e k l a m ó w k a jednej z firm elektronicznych informuje, że „Finlux to więcej niż telewizor, to dzieło sztuki", a w ekranie jednego z pokazywanych odbiorników pojawia się głowa bliżej nieokreślonego, greckiego (?) posągu. Użycie w reklamie sławiącej powaby ciała rzeź­ bionych postaci daje i ten efekt, że przywołuje na mocy mechanicznych skojarzeń cały zestaw zgranych, pseudopoetyckich p o r ó w n a ń i metafor - „alabastrowa s k ó r a " , „posągowa piękność" itp. - co pozwala wzmocnić jeszcze od strony językowej siłę rażenia obrazowego komunikatu. Reklama balsamu „Palmolive" przypada na moment w his­ torii ciała szczególny. Oto bowiem współczesne ciało stało się obiektem, niespotykanych na tak o g r o m n ą skalę w ubiegłych wiekach, zabiegów odmładzających, konserwujących, pobudza­ jących jego witalność. Ciało zmieniło się w przedmiot kultu. Z niezliczonych salonów piękności, gabinetów chirurgii plas­ tycznej, sal masażu rozlega się, zwielokrotnione o g r o m n ą liczbą poddawanych zabiegom ciał, wołanie: „Verweile doch! D u bist so Schón!" Współczesne ciało Faustem podszyte już wie, że starzenie się nie musi być frustrującą koniecznością, ale że zdając się na osiągnięcia medycyny i przemysłu chemicznego można skutecznie o tym, wydawać by się mogło nieuchronnym, proce­ sie zapomnieć. Starość została usunięta z wyobraźni zbiorowej. Nie przystające do faustycznych aksjomatów współczesności zwiotczałe ciała straszą już tylko w domach spokojnej starości. W świecie kultury masowej króluje młode, najlepiej nagie i jędrne ciało: „Młodości wiecznie naga! Nagości wiecznie młoda!". Posągowe ciało z reklamowego obrazka staje się obiektem pożądania. Reklama dowodzi przy tym, że odległość między ciałem rzeczywistym a ciałem idealnym rozciąga się co najwyżej na wyciągnięcie ręki. Tej ręki, która w naszej reklamie skrapia ciało balsamem. Wystarczy tylko chcieć a ciało poddane nacis­ kowi woli zmieni się w marmurowe bóstwo wiecznie kwitnące i młode jak arkadyjska roślinność. Interesujące, że tę jedną z głównych obsesji współczesności, reklama „Palmolive" umie­ szcza w starych, antyczno-klasycystycznych dekoracjach. Przejdźmy do kolejnego przykładu. Naga para skryta w gałę­ ziach drzew. Kobieta sięga po rosnące na jednej z nich jabłko. Nagle blask oślepia jej oczy i kieruje wzrok w stronę zwiniętego na dachu samochodu, mieniącego się kolorami, węża. I wówczas spostrzegli oboje, że pojazd, który stał przed nimi był lśniący i piękny. I nie ociągając się podążyli w jego kierunku. I z pro­ miennym wzrokiem, zdumieni nagłym ciała odzianiem, pewnie ruszyli przed siebie. W chwilę później m k n ą już szosą na tle surowej nadmorskiej przyrody. K o ń c o w y napis: „ R e n a u l t Clio - prosto z raju". Tym razem identyfikacja otoczenia, w którym pojawiają się nagie postacie nie nastręcza większych trudności. Obecność takich rekwizytów jak jabłko i wąż nie pozwala wątpić, że znaleźliśmy się w rajskim ogrodzie - Edenie, zaś pozbawione zrazu tożsamości nagie stadło, okazuje się p a r ą biblijnych prarodziców. Tekst sloganu, jakby niedowierzając naszej kom­ petencji, z łopatologiczną precyzją komentuje oglądany obraz. Na tle licznych reklam samochodów, ta odróżnia się niekonwencjonalnością. Bo zauważmy: gdy inne roztkliwiają się nad �zaletami pojazdu - „piękno i wewnętrzna siła" (Ford Mondeo), „młoda, zgrabna, p i ę k n a " (Ford Fiesta), „trwały, silny, bez­ pieczny" (Volkswagen Golf), „ n o w e poczucie swobody" (Ford Escort) - to reklama Renault Clio kładzie kres temu wielosłowiu. Nie mnoży się tu przymiotników, nie korzysta z per­ swazyjnej mocy superlatywu, ale jednocząc słowo z obrazem powiada się po prostu: ten samochód został stworzony na obraz i podobieństwo boskiego prototypu. W tej sytuacji wszelkie epitety stają się zbędne, p r o w a d z ą bowiem do tautologii. Gdzie pojawia się doskonałość, tam milknie słowo. Samochód, który wyjechał prosto z raju, na mocy definicji - rajski być musi. K a ż d a inna możliwość jest wewnętrznie sprzeczna. Renault Clio spadł na ziemię wprost z nieba idei i to nie on ma dorównywać innym pojazdom, ale sam jest miarą doskonałości i wzorcem do naśladowania. Wychwalanie zalet kolejnego modelu Renault, zamiast zjednywać nabywcę, mogłoby go jedynie zniechęcić: któż bowiem i po co zachwala ideał (czyżby nie był taki idealny?). Ideał wystarczająco reklamuje się sam. Powróćmy do naszego obrazka. Historia w nim opowiedziana jest skrótowym, sprowadzonym do niezbędnego minimum powtórzeniem biblijnego dramatu kuszenia. Skrótowym, ale równocześnie strawestowanym i zubożonym, a w dodatku z całkowicie zmienioną w epilogu wymową. Przede wszystkim nie jest to żaden dramat, ale raczej komedia z happy endem. Piknikową zgoła atmosferę reklamowej opowieści podkreśla obecność węża, rodem z disneyowskich animacji. Stracił on całkowicie swoje cechy demoniczne. Przeciwnie: filuternie mru­ ga okiem i ociągając się niczym niesforny pies, w ostatniej chwili wślizguje się na tylne siedzenie samochodu. „ A d a m " i „ E w a " , co prawda dają się skusić (czyż reklama nie jest współczesną formą kuszenia?), jednak nie krągłym jabłkiem, ale połyskującym karoserią samochodem. Dalej następuje zdumiewająca, zwłasz­ cza na tle późniejszego odwrócenia, analogia z biblijnym mitem. Wchodząc bowiem do samochodu, uległszy pokusie, reklamowi „ p r a r o d z i c e " zostają ku swemu zaskoczeniu ubrani w szykowne stroje. Przejście od naturalnej niewinności do stechnicyzowanej kultury znalazło swój obrazowy ekwiwalent. U b i ó r uwydatnia tę radykalną przemianę. W tym punkcie reklama w miarę wiernie odtwarza biblijny wzorzec. Nie m o ż n a tego powiedzieć o scenie końcowej. O ile biblijna sekwencja kończy się nieod­ wołalnym i bezpowrotnym wygnaniem z rajskiego ogrodu, o tyle reklama dokonuje w t y m miejscu znaczącej inwersji. Wyjazd z raju nie jest tu karą za chwilę słabości, ale wydaje się raczej nagrodą, czymś w rodzaju „medalu za o d w a g ę " . Ubrana para z wdziękiem i radością, bez skruchy opuszcza Eden, by tuż za jego rogatkami docisnąć pedał gazu „ d o dechy". Ż a d e n też miecz ognisty nie zagradza i m drogi powrotnej. Ale po cóż wracać? Świat jest piękny i szeroki, a samochód został dany po to, aby tę nowo p o d a r o w a n ą przestrzeń uczynić sobie p o d d a n ą . Jak rozumieć bliżej relację pomiędzy biblijną opowieścią a reklamową historyjką? Na czym polegałyby dokładniej ich niebezpieczne związki, co je łączy, a co dzieli? Ricoeur, w zna­ nym studium poświęconym charakterystyce symbolu, oddziela tę strukturę znaczącą od znaku, następnie od alegorii a w końcu pokazuje jej związek z mitem. Co dla nas interesujące, w tym ostatnim przypadku sięga po znaną nam już biblijną opowieść: „ M i t będę traktował jako rodzaj symbolu, Symbol rozwinięty w formie opowieści artykułującej się w czasie i przestrzeni, które nie dadzą się przyporządkować czasom i przestrzeniom znanym z geografii i historii wedle wymogów metody krytycznej; na przykład 'wygnanie' jest pierwotnym symbolem ludzkiego wy­ obcowania, lecz historia wypędzenia Adama i Ewy z Raju jest mityczną opowieścią drugiego stopnia, wprowadzającą osoby, czas, miejsce, bajeczne epizody" . Zbigniew Benedyktowicz w artykule prezentującym nową, oryginalną perspektywę spoj­ rzenia na stereotyp, odwołuje się do analiz Ricoeura, do 9 10 poczynionych przez niego r o z r ó ż n i e ń . Proponuje by roz­ ważane zwykle osobno zjawiska: symbol i mit z jednej strony oraz stereotyp z drugiej, p o t r a k t o w a ć w jednej płaszczyźnie, zbliżyć je do siebie, nie zacierając przy tym różnic między nimi. Stereotyp byłby w jego rozumieniu „ o d w r ó c o n y m symbolem", „mitem o odwróconych i uproszczonych proporcjach", wyob­ rażeniem płaskim i nieskomplikowanym, zachowującym jednak więź z symbolem i opowieścią mityczną. Byłby symbolem, tyle że wtórnie zracjonalizowanym. To, co w micie i symbolu jest tajem­ nicze, irracjonalne, głębokie, w stereotypie zostaje wyjaśnione, przełożone na pojęcia, zracjonalizowane. By obrazowo unaocz­ nić podobieństwa i różnice między symbolem i mitem a stereoty­ pem, sięga Benedyktowicz do Historii Jakubowych Manna, do sceny, w której Józef opowiada przed faraonem historię swego ojca. Wskazuje przy t y m na dwa równolegle stosowane przez Manna sposoby narracji, w których dominuje albo „czas przeżywania" albo „czas opowiadania". „I oto dzieje, pełne dramatyzmu, którego przed chwilą byliśmy świadkami (dzieje składające się na tradycję plemienną Józefa, opowiedziane w 'czasie przeżywania' w pierwszej części tej opowieści), historia podstępnego uzyskania błogosławieństwa przez Jakuba, jego ucieczki przed gniewem Ezawa, pierworodnego brata, któremu to błogosławieństwo przysługiwało, ulega tu skróceniu do anegdoty o tym 'jak to gładki oszukał kosmatego'. W tym uproszczającym stereotypie odwróceniu uległy proporcje. To, co mit przedstawiał jako pełne grozy, napięcia, dramatyzmu i po­ wagi, przedstawia się tu jako żart, facecję, b a j k ę . " Podobnie rzecz się ma w przypadku naszej historyjki re­ klamowej. Zamiast pełnej napięcia i powagi opowieści biblijnej, widzimy „rozmienioną na drobne", o b r ó c o n ą w obrazkowy żart, zracjonalizowaną i łatwo czytelną anegdotę. W miejsce tajemniczej i niejasnej sceny kuszenia ,mamy jej oleodrukową replikę. Następuje również, wspomniane wcześniej istotne od­ wrócenie: biblijny upadek, wygnanie z Raju, przyjmują postać radosnego happy endu. Trudno o lepszy przykład obrazujący nazwanie stereotypu „mitem o odwróconych i uproszczonych proporcjach". Ten obrazowy stereotyp, mimo banalizacji i uproszczeń zachowuje więź z archetypowym wzorcem, który usiłuje imitować. I trzeci przykład. Zdjęta z lotu ptaka turkusowa plama lekko falującego morza. W jej środku zielono kwitnąca wyspa. Spoś­ ród traw wyrastają wysmukłe palmy. Promieniejący tężyzną fizyczną młodzieniec (domyślamy się: krajowiec) nurkuje w wo­ dny przestwór. Po czym wynurza się za moment ze zdobytą muszlą, którą ofiarowuje młodej ciemnoskórej kobiecie. W za­ mian za to otrzymuje na liściu batonik „ B o u n t y " . Najwyraźniej, w tej mało może wyrafinowanej, bezpośredniej wymianie towa­ rowej, zadzierzgnięta zostaje przyjaźń. Kolejny kadr: odcięta z drzewa kokosowa kula spadająca na ziemię rozpada się na dwie lśniące miąższem połowy. W chwilę później Piękność o ciemnej karnacji w półuśmiechu pogryza czekoladowy baton. Napis-pointa: „Bounty - smak Raju". The End. Ta egzotyczna historyjka jest może najciekawsza z analizowa­ nych reklam. Operuje bowiem nie tylko warstwą wizualną, ale również szczególnie d o b r a n ą nazwą, a nawet niesie z sobą, co zobaczymy zą chwilę, historyczną anegdotę. Najistotniejszym elementem ikonograficznym tej filmowej opowiastki jest zjawiająca się na samym początku, już w pierw­ szym kadrze - wyspa. Wyspa zajmuje ważne miejsce w naszej wyobraźni symbolicznej. „Pewne przedmioty - odnotowuje Czesław Miłosz - dzięki ich 'podziemnym' związkom z cechami ludzkiej natury, zyskują nad człowiekiem władzę niemal magicz­ ną, wchodzą jako wyrazy do potocznego słownika, służąc do nazywania zatajonych pragnień. Powiedzieć: 'wyspa' - to rów­ nocześnie powiedzieć: oddzielenie od reszty ziemi t r u d n ą do przebycia przeszkodę, ale przeszkodą, która jest przezroczysta, 11 12 75 �błękitna i nie stanowi zapory dla wzroku. Wyspa oznacza bezpieczeństwo jej mieszkańców od walk, sporów i wojen pozostałej ludzkości. Ten brak zagrożenia, tak właściwy wszel­ kiej legendzie o szczęściu, czy to będzie 'raj' biblijny, czy 'złoty wiek' przeniesiony poza historię, rozpoczynający 'Metamor­ fozy' - jest istotną cechą wyspy, tak jak przedstawia się ona wyobraźni dziecka (nauczyciel ani rodzice nie zdołają nas j u ż dosięgnąć - ulubione marzenia w czasie lekcji), tak, jak przed­ stawiała się w wyobraźni różnych epok ('wyspy szczęśliwe', wyspa Utopia). M o ż n a też przypuścić, że wyspa wprowadza w inne pojęcie czasu, niż czas w jakim normalnie żyjemy. Człowiek ujmuje czas za p o m o c ą obrazów przestrzeni (czas płynie, 'odcinek' czasu, duży 'obszar' czasu), widzi czas jako pewien płynny fluid, unoszący się nad ziemią. Wykrawając wyspę z lądu, otaczając ją błękitem morza, jest skłonny, drogą wielu dziwnych i pięk­ nych błędów, odciąć jej czas od lądowego czasu, n a d a ć jej inny czas, jak nadaje jej inne od lądowych prawa i przywi­ leje." Niezwykle precyzyjnie wydobywa Miłosz odruchowe skoja­ rzenia i obrazy związane ze słowem wyspa. W wyobraźni zbiorowej funkcjonuje ono jako metafora rajskiej rzeczywisto­ ści. Przez długie stulecia od antyku po Kolumba mit wysp, na których lokalizowano raj ziemski był jednym z bardziej żywych i kulturotwórczych wyobrażeń Europejczyków. Ale, co ciekawe mit ten przeżył w licznych przebraniach nawet demistyfikujący okres odkryć geograficznych. „Wyspy i nowe ziemie długo jeszcze zachowały charakter mityczny, nawet wtedy gdy geo­ grafia rozwinęła się jako nauka. 'Wyspa szczęśliwych' przeżyła Camoesa, przetrwała wiek oświecenia, romantyzm i nie straciła swej roli również w naszych czasach. Ale wyspa mityczna nie oznacza już raju na ziemi; jest ona wyspą miłości (Camoes), wyspą 'dobrego dzikusa' (Daniel Defoe). Wyspą Euthanasiusa (Eminescu) lub wyspą 'egzotyczną', krainą snów, pełną ukryte­ go piękna, wyspą wolności, jazzu, doskonałego wypoczynku, idealnych wakacji, wycieczek luksusowymi statkami, do których człowiek nowoczesny wzdycha pod wpływem mirażu literatury, filmu lub po prostu własnej fantazji. Funkcja krainy rajskiej, uprzywilejowanej, pozostała ta sama: zmieniła się i przesunęła jedynie jej semantyczna waloryzacja począwszy od raju ziems­ kiego (w znaczeniu biblijnym) aż do raju egzotycznego, o któ­ rym marzą w s p ó ł c z e ś n i . " By się o tym przekonać nie trzeba zaglądać do reklamowych prospektów biur podróży, wystarczy sięgnąć do pierwszego z brzegu popularnego tygodnika. Oto wyniki uzyskane na podstawie wyrywkowej lektury pisma „Twój weekend": „Kiedy słyszysz wzywający cię głos natury, szukasz rajskiej wyspy, masz w kieszeni pieniądze to bezzwłocznie wyruszaj na Antiguę. Przez cały rok świeci tu słońce. To prawdziwy raj na ziemi!" (nr 8:1992) „Określana jest mianem najpiękniejszej wyspy Azji. Phuket - tropikalny eden na Morzu A n d a m a ń s k i m . " (nr 11:1992) „ D l a wielu Barbados, najbardziej na wschód wysunięta wysepka archipelagu Małych A n t y l i , jest prawdziwym rajem: Karaiby najczystszej jakości (...) Sezon na Barbados trwa nieprzerwanie przez cały r o k . " (nr 10:1992) Dołączone do reportaży zdjęcia unaoczniają, że słowo nie kłamie: lazurowe morze, piaszczyste plaże, „ d y ż u r n e " palmy i słońce nigdy-nie-zachodzące... Nawet te m a ł o znane wyspy (nie wspomnieliśmy bowiem słowem o Bermudach, Seszelach, Majo­ rce, Hawajach, Wyspach Kanaryjskich) okazują się o d m i a n ą jakiejś jednej, istniejącej na kształt platońskiej idei, rajskiej Pra-wyspy obejmującej stały zestaw elementów. Zmieniają się jedynie ich nazwy, istota pozostaje ta sama. M o ż n a odnieść wrażenie jak gdyby autorzy cytowanych artykułów odpisywali od siebie. Ale prawdopodobniejsza wydaje się inna ewentual­ 13 14 76 ność: to nie oni mówią słowami, ale słowa nimi mówią. I może zamiast dopatrywać się w tych tekstach realizacji jednego ze strukturalistycznych aksjomatów, warto dostrzec jak funkc­ jonuje w nich, zdeterminowana kulturowo sztanca wyobraże­ niowa, której wyrazem jest językowa klisza. Istotnym składnikiem reklamowanego produktu jest jego nazwa. I m bardziej wypakowana znaczeniami, tym ma większą nośność. Toteż autorzy reklam uciekają od pojęć-abstraktów, sięgają natomiast po słowa obciążone tradycją religijną, materią historyczną, literaturą, do słów nasyconych sensem symbolicz­ nym. Oto wypowiedź Petera Carlberga, dyrektora marketingu w jednej z zachodnioniemieckich agencji reklamowych: „Dla fachowca od reklamy komunikacja symboliczna jest ważna, bo mówi wiele przy pomocy niewielu znaków. Ponieważ wiele symboli religijnych spełnia ten warunek, chętnie do nich sięga­ my. (...) Dlaczego proszek do prania nazywa się Ariel? Właściwie tego nie wiemy. Gdybyśmy dzisiaj przeprowadzili odpowiednie badania, dowiedzielibyśmy się, że Ariel to nazwa proszku do prania. Przed dwudziestu laty p o w a ż n a większość ludzi wy­ kształconych powiedziałaby, że chodzi o szekspirowskiego elfa, być może byliby wśród nich i tacy, którzy potrafiliby powiedzieć: to jest starotestamentalne imię i oznacza Lwa Bożego. To jest działanie dwustronne: taka nazwa jest n a ł a d o w a n a często wcale nie uświadomionym znaczeniem, następnie znajduje zastosowa­ nie w reklamie i staje się (na pozór) już tylko tym, czym jest w reklamie. Symbole (...) przekształcają się wtedy i działają także w odwrotnym k i e r u n k u . " Słodki nasz batonik z rajskiej wyspy nosi gęstą od znaczeń nazwę - „ B o u n t y " . W angielskim, pole znaczeniowe tego słowa rozciąga się od szczodrości, hojności przez zasiłek, dodatek do daru. Znakomicie podkreśla ono i dopowiada obecną już w sferze wizualnej ideologię produktu. Oto prawdziwy dar hojnej i szczodrej natury, która nie szczędząc swych sił ofiarowu­ je nam to, co ma najlepsze: kokosowy baton. Istotny jest tu akcent położony na tej „samodzielnej" pracy natury, która bez pomocy przemysłu przetwórczego sama przemienia kokosowe kule w otulony warstwą czekolady kokosowy farsz. Oczywiście 0 czekoladzie, którą oblany jest przetworzony kokos producent reklamy taktownie zmilczał. To zrozumiałe: czekolady nie rosną przecież na drzewach. Ale „ B o u n t y " to również nazwa słynnego statku dowodzone­ go przez kapitana Williama Bligh, który wraz z załogą podjął w roku 1788 wyprawę na Ocean Spokojny. N a południowy wschód od Nowej Zelandii odkrył on grupę wysp (ok. 180°), którym n a d a ł nazwę swego statku. Wyprawa ta zapisała się w historii podróży dwoma przede wszystkim faktami: buntem załogi przeciwko surowej dyscyplinie narzuconej przez kapitana oraz swawolnymi poczynaniami marynarzy na wyspie Tahiti podczas jednego z postojów statku. W 1823 wychodzi poemat Byrona Island osnuty wokół opowieści sławiących rajsko-idylliczną atmosferę T a h i t i . Od tego momentu Tahiti rozpoczyna swoje istnienie w historii i zaczyna oznaczać to, co w wyobrażeniach potocznych znaczy do dzisiaj: kobiety, wino, cytrusy i śpiew, łagodny powiew bryzy o skacowanym poranku oraz tajemniczy urok bujnej natury. Kilkadziesiąt lat później Gauguin wybierze się na Tahiti w poszukiwaniu krainy nie­ tkniętej przez czas i cywilizację. Jedna z popularnych biografii Gauguina (pióra Francoise Cachin) nosi tytuł Gauguin. Quest for Paradise, który dobrze oddaje cel jego poszukiwań. I to nic, że już dla francuskiego malarza Tahiti okazało się cieniem rajskiej krainy. M i t y i wyobrażenia zbiorowe żyją swoim życiem, odporne na empiryczną weryfikację. A zatem i od tej strony nazwa batonika spełnia swoją funkcję, wskazując na istotne 1 przysługujące mu „ n a t u r a l n i e " właściwości. „Geniess ein Stiick vom Paradies" - zachęca napis na opakowaniu, które powtarza elementy ikonograficzne telewizyjnego obrazka. Z każdym 15 16 �kęsem „ B o u n t y " , rozcierając smak raju na podniebieniu, zbliża­ my się do czystej, niewinnej, nietkniętej ręką człowieka, szczod­ rej natury. Analizowane przykłady, każdy na swój sposób, p r o w a d z ą nas do królestwa superlatywu i krainy szczęścia. Raz będzie to Arkadia, innym razem Eden, jeszcze innym razem jedna z Wysp Szczęśliwych. Charakterystyczna jest łatwość z j a k ą m o ż n a osiągnąć rajską przestrzeń. Anioł z ognistym mieczem nie stoi już na straży ogrodu, nie trzeba p o k o n y w a ć drogi najeżonej niebezpieczeństwami ani też zwyciężać potwora strzegącego świętego miejsca. Wystarczy tylko kupić balsam pod prysznic lub czekoladowy batonik z kokosem (wersja dla gawiedzi) albo nabyć s a m o c h ó d (wersja dla krezusów) by cieszyć się wiekuis­ tym szczęściem. Marzenia o ziemskim raju nie zniknęły nagle z ludzkiej wyobraźni. Zmieniły jedynie medium i odrodziły się w miejscu j a k najbardziej stosownym dla stechnicyzowanej, nasyconej telewizyjnym obrazem współczesności. Paradoksem jest przy tym, że kultura współczesna używa matryc wyob­ rażeniowych o prastarej metryce by zachwalać jedne z najbar­ dziej emblematycznych dla niej zjawisk: ciało, s a m o c h ó d i natu­ rę. Te trzy ultranowoczesne „ o d k r y c i a " prezentowane są przy użyciu archaicznych form i obrazów. Oleodrukowe obrazki reklamowe zachowały przy tym pamięć swoich odległych wzo­ rów, nawet wtedy gdy ich autorzy sami o t y m nie wiedzą. Nietrudno dostrzec j a k spod grubej warstwy werniksu po­ krywającej obrazowy stereo-typ, przeziera głębsza warstwa archetypu. „ N a wszystkich poziomach ludzkiego doświadcze­ nia, nawet tych najbardziej prostych, archetyp nadal nadaje wartość egzystencji i tworzy wartości k u l t u r o w e . " Tak, Eliade ma rację. M a słuszność również wtedy gdy powiada, paradoksalnie, że przejście od archetypowej sakralnej głębi do zdesakralizowanego, płaskiego stereotypu to niewątp­ liwie „ u p a d e k " , ale upadek zapładniający. Świadczy bowiem o wciąż żywych, obojętnych na upływ czasu treściach archetypu. Typos to po grecku: odbicie, odcisk, utrwalony ślad. Ów rajski archetyp przejawiający się tak wyraźnie w analizowanych re­ klamach, wydaje się trwale obecny, „odciśnięty" w naszej wyobraźni. I nie kłóćmy się już tak bardzo o to, czy jest on wrodzony czy n a b y t y . W a ż n e , że jest. „Zostaliśmy wygnani z Raju, ale Raj nie został zniszczony" - powiada celnie Franz Kafka. I chociaż miał na myśli rzeczy niewątpliwie głębsze niż te, o których była mowa, zdziwiłby się może, że ów aforyzm tak trafnie oddaje zasadniczą myśl t u wyłożoną. 17 18 PRZYPISY 1 E. Szczęsna, Reklama - sztuka czy perswazja?, „Dialog" nr 11, 1992, s. 70-81; Sztuka reklamy? Dyskusja, tamże s. 81-89 L. Spitzer, Amerykańska reklama jako sztuka popularna, w: Język 2 i społeczeństwo, red. M . Głowiński, Warszawa 1980, s. 338-382 Tamże, s. 339 Tamże, s. 354 Tamże, s. 355-356 R. Przybylski, Ogrody romantyków, Kraków 1978, s. 7-14 Wergiliusz, Ekloga 4, 18-20, 23-25, przekład Z. Kubiaka, (w:) 3 1 0 12 1 3 5 1 4 7 Muza Rzymska, Warszawa 1963, s. 50-51 E. Panofsky, Et in Arcadia ego. Poussin i tradycja elegijna, (w:) tenże, Studia z historii sztuki, Warszawa 1971, s. 324-342 P. Ricoeur, Egzystencja i hermeneutyka. Rozprawy o metodzie. 8 9 możliwościach 11 4 6 Z. Benedyktowicz, Stereotyp - obraz - symbol. O nowego spojrzenia na stereotyp, „Prace etnograficzne" (Zeszyty Nau­ kowe UJ), z. 24, s. 7-35 Tamże, s. 33 Por. P. Ricoeur, Symbolika zla, Warszawa 1986, s. 219-246 1 5 Cz. Miłosz, Prywatne obowiązki, Paryż 1972, s. 220-221 M . Eliade, Traktat o historii religii, Warszawa 1966, s. 426-427 Cyt. za: T. Węcławski, Czy dusza moż być jeszcze bielsza?, „Tygodnik Powszechny", nr 3, 1993, s. 6 1 6 Por. W. Kopaliński, Słownik mitów i tradycji kultury, Warszawa 1988, s.v. Bounty, Wyspa 17 18 Eliade, op.cit., s. 427 Por. M . Porębski, Interregnum, Warszawa 1975, s. 126-127 Warszawa 1985, s. 65 77 I � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/6aaf2223294d963b6f6da8afe11e2554.pdf b6d81ca9ee5503cb204a8e8564b6d736 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2454 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2278 Title A name given to the resource "Piwnica pod Baranami" - antropologiczna interpretacja formuły kabaretu / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.61-72 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Robotycki, Czesław Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Raut w Teatrze S ł o w a c k i e g o 15 maja 1993 r. Loża cesarska: Franciszek Józef (Tadeusz Huk) i cesarzowa „Sisi" (Beata Rybotycka) „Piwnica pod Baranami" - antropologiczna interpretacja formuły kabaretu Czesław Robotycki Trzy argumenty p r z e m a w i a j ą za tym, by działalnością t y t u ł o w e g o kabaretu m ó g ł zająć się antropolog kultury (umyślnie piszę „ d z i a ł a l n o ś ć " - bo nie tylko o spektakle tu chodzi). Po pierwsze, kabaret „ P i w n i c a pod B a r a n a m i " istnieje i działa w K r a k o w i e j u ż trzydzieści pięć lat, ciągle w t y m samym miejscu - z p r z e r w ą w latach 1962-1964. „ P i w n i c ę " przez wszystkie jej lata tworzyli nie tylko zmieniający się z czasem „ a r t y ś c i " , ale też k r ą g przyjaciół - r ó ż n e g o rodzaju t w ó r c ó w - oraz bliżej n i e o k r e ś l o n a grupa stałej publiczności. T o p ł y n n e , ale zawsze w s p ó l n e , ś r o d o w i s k o o b r o s ł o swoistą h i s t o r i ą i n a r a s t a j ą c ą legendą p o d t r z y m y w a n ą przez nieza­ leżny styl bycia prezentowany przez piwniczan w trakcie rozmaitych z d a r z e ń a r a n ż o w a n y c h przez kabaret. Po drugie, w potocznym odbiorze, ale też i wśród znaw­ c ó w , „ P i w n i c a " u w a ż a n a jest za autonomiczne ś r o d o w i s k o t w ó r c z e , w k t ó r y m treści ideowe i artystyczne w y r a ż a się inaczej niż w uznanych stylach wykonawczych. Powiada się wręcz o rozpoznawalnym, tak zwanym, „stylu piwnicznym". Po trzecie, w przekazywaniu samoistnych s e n s ó w jakie niesie w swoich p r z e s ł a n i a c h k a ż d y program „ P i w n i c y " , kabaret wykorzystuje r ó ż n e matryce kulturowe, figury m y ś ­ lenia, struktury o różnej proweniencji i r ó ż n y c h pierwotnych funkcjach. Tworzy to w sumie stylistyczny m e l a n ż - atrak­ cyjny dla widza oraz interesujący dla badacza k u l t u r y . Biorąc p o w y ż s z e pod u w a g ę , ł a t w o przychodzi u z n a ć istnienie i d z i a ł a l n o ś ć kabaretu za zjawisko kulturowe sui generis. P o t w i e r d z a j ą to liczne p r ó b y zdefiniowania, opisa­ nia i zdokumentowania tego fenomenu. K i l k a n a ś c i e lat temu napisano o „ P i w n i c y " p r a c ę magis­ t e r s k ą ( H . Cyganik). Z r o k u 1968 pochodzi utrzymany w „ d u c h u p i w n i c z n y m " album fotograficzny zawierający r ó w n i e ż teksty z kabaretu ( Ł a g o c k i 1968). D o k u m e n t a l n y wymiar ma też najnowszy album z portretami w s p ó ł c z e s n y c h 61 �artystów „Piwnicy" zaopatrzony w krótkie, jednozdaniowe ich charakterystyki (Bobek R „ Gardulski M . 1992). Od lat osiemdziesiątych ukazywały się liczne wywiady z Piotrem Skrzyneckim - jednym z twórców kabaretu - w których tenże wiele m ó w i ł o założeniach artystycznych i koncepcjach kabaretu. R ó w n i e ż inni artyści kabaretu i dawni współtwórcy „Piwnicy" coraz częściej wypowiadają się publicznie. Joanna Ronikerowa ogłasza fragmenty włas­ nych w s p o m n i e ń o początkach kabaretu oraz zanotowane przez N i ą wypowiedzi innych o s ó b związanych z „Piwnicą". Niektórzy z „piwniczan" od lat gromadzą ciekawe ar­ chiwalia (J. Garycka, J . Ronikerowa, P. Ferster, M . Pacuła). D o k u m e n t a c j ę filmową prowadzi W. Morek. O „Piwnicy" p o w s t a ł o kilka filmów dokumentalnych i jeden pełnometrażowy utrzymany w konwencji paradokumentalnej (Przewodnik reż. T. Zygadło). Piotr Skrzynecki był scenarzystą i reżyserem wspomnieniowego filmu Dwa pawie na sznurku. Obecnie powstaje Jego film O Groblach na Groblach (fragment scenariusza drukowała „ P S L - Kontek­ sty", nr 3/4, 1992). O d 1991 roku także Telewizja Polska przedstawia co pewien czas zarejestrowane recitale artystów „Piwnicy", zdarzenia parateatralne, bale, rauty itp. A więc i sama „Piwnica" dbała i dba o swój obraz. Podtrzymuje w ten s p o s ó b potoczne przekonanie o istnieniu niezwykłej „zbiorowej o s o b o w o ś c i " kabaretu. Przez wiele lat Piotr Skrzynecki współpracując z krakowską prasą („Prze­ krój", „ E c h o Krakowa", „Dziennik Polski", „Czas K r a ­ kowski") oraz z eleganckim miesięcznikiem „ K r a k ó w " prowadził w nich rubryki informujące w quasi-dadaistycznej formie o życiu „Piwnicy". Podobnie rzecz miała się z K r a ­ kowskim Polskim Radiem, z którym współpracowało wielu „piwniczan". O d trzech lat jest w jego programie stała audycja „Piwnica pod Baranami" - redagowana przez J . Drużyńską przy współudziale P. Skrzyneckiego i tak zwa­ nych „ludzi piwnicy". W „Polskiej Sztuce Ludowej" wypo­ wiedział się P. Skrzynecki na temat istoty święta oraz przygotowanego filmu „ O Groblach na groblach" (Benedyktowicz 1988 i 1992). Wielostronność zjawiska jakim jest „Piwnica pod Barana­ mi" wymaga częstego wykraczania poza antropologię kul­ tury i poszukiwania interpretacyjnej pomocy w literaturo­ znawstwie i historii sztuki. W tym bowiem przypadku nie m o ż n a z a m k n ą ć się w jednej formule opisowej, a pogranicz­ na z zasady interpretacja antropologiczna jest najskutecz­ niejszą strategią, jaką należy z a s t o s o w a ć wobec „Piwnicy". T y m bardziej, że na równi ze źródłami przyjdzie korzystać w analizie z ludzkiej pamięci, krążących plotek, anegdot i zbiorowych przekonań o „piwnicznych" artystach i tak zwanym środowisku - ergo - posługiwać się trzeba materia­ łem czysto etnograficznym. Istota interpretacji antropologicznej w k a ż d y m przypadku - a więc również i w odniesieniu do kabaretu „Piwnica pod Baranami" - polega na umieszczeniu interpretowanego zjawiska w kontekście kulturowym, na jego wyjaśnieniu przez inne fakty kulturowe (Łotman, Uspienski 1975, s. 117). Kabaret to forma artystyczna p o c h o d z ą c a dopiero z k o ń ­ ca X I X wieku. Wywodzi się z rozwiniętej kultury dużych europejskich miast - przede wszystkim Paryża, Berlina, Monachium - i właściwie od początku służyła wyrażaniu alternatywnych idei, krytycznych, nieuznawanych lub awan­ gardowych treści. Kabaret był miejscem wolnej ekspresji i często krzywym zwierciadłem politycznej lub społecznej rzeczywistości. T a k było w pierwszym paryskim kabarecie „Le Chat Noir" Rodolphe Salisa, podobnie w „Le Mirliton", gdzie królował Aristide Bruant - jeden z twórców 62 kabaretowego stylu wykonawczego (Maziere 1926, s. 209). Podobnie później w Berlinie Ernst Wolzogen (w „Buntes Theater") i Max Reinhardt (w „Schałł und Rauch") stworzy­ li sceny (Brettle) kabaretowe pełne politycznych aluzji, satyry i parodii, gdzie występowali aktorzy literaci, malarze (Weiss 1987). Kabarety to co innego niż rozwijające się równolegle z nimi rewie i variettes. Niestety w latach dwudziestych dawne paryskie kabarety były już raczej legendą. Natomiast rewie, jak pisze znawca paryskiego obyczaju, rozkwitły przy rue Pigalle. Otwierane o p ó ł n o c y , do świtu mamiły koloro­ wymi świetlistymi reklamami. Przyciągały prowincjuszy i eg­ zotycznych c u d z o z i e m c ó w już samymi nazwami: „Paler­ mo", „ R o y a l " , „Harem", „Paradise" (Maziere 1926, s. 216-217). Jak widać, mimo upływu lat, w Paryżu nic się nie zmienia. Współczesny kabaret jako fenomen mieści się w zbiorze historycznych wariantów kulturowych, które modelowane są przez głębokie kategorie kultury, takie jak komizm i śmiech, zabawa, karnawał, ironia. Jako taki ma więc swoje dalekie kulturowe parantele w literaturze sowizdrzalskiej, w postaci błazna oraz w k a r n a w a ł o w y m odwracaniu świata (Słotwiński 1990, Bachtin 1975, Huizinga 1967). Łatwiej byłoby zapewne dociec, czym jest komizm i śmiech, gdyby Arystoteles napisał drugą księgę swojej poetyki - lub, jak niektórzy powiadają - gdyby część drugą udało się odnaleźć. M ó w i się bowiem, że została ona napisana, ale zaginęła (Podbielski 1989). Fakty te z paradok­ salnego punktu widzenia są wielce znaczące dla rozpatrywa­ nych tu kwestii. Tajemniczy los tej księgi uczestniczy bowiem w ambiwalentnym stosunku jaki ż y w i o n o do komizmu i śmiechu w kulturze europejskiej od c z a s ó w jej greckich początków. Jak wiadomo, istniejąca księga Poetyki wprowadza klu­ czowe dla istoty tragedii i teatru pojęcie katharsis. Katharsis to podstawowa funkcja dramatu. Psychiczne oczyszczenie jakiego doznaje widz w y w o ł y w a n e jest uczuciem „litości i trwogi", które opanowuje obserwatora wobec bohaterów tragedii w trakcie spektaklu (Arystoteles 1989, s. 19-21, 33). Wiemy z n a p o m k n i e ń w Poetyce oraz z innych tekstów Stagiryty, że druga jej księga miała być poświęcona satyrze, komedii i sztukom naśladowczym. Nie wiemy natomiast, czy gatunkom tym przysługiwałaby funkcja katharsis. Autor Poetyki wiódł spór ze swoim nauczycielem Platonem o to, czy śmiech m o ż e oczyszczać poprzez stosunek do rzeczy, z których śmiejemy się. C z y m jest komedia? C o to jest śmiech, czy uwalnia od namiętności, czy też jest czymś niskim? Platon wykluczał p o e t ó w z państwa za to, że swoją sztuką skierowują uczucia i myśli obywateli na sprawy błahe (Gawroński 1984, s. 39-64). Ten spór został przeniesiony w wieki średnie. Znana jest humoralna teoria temperamentów, rozwinięta ze starożytnej przez św. Hildegardę. Powiada się tam, że śmiech pochodzi od śledziony, od organu wytwarzającego w człowieku złe soki. Skrajnym przykładem śledziennika jest melancholik, który w swych stanach psychicznych łatwo przechodzi od głupiego śmiechu do rozpaczy. Nie ma więc w śmiechu niczego dobrego. Sumę średniowiecznych, kontradyktorycznych p o g l ą d ó w na śmiech przypomniał Umberto E c o w swojej postmoder­ nistycznej powieści Imię Róży. Ten świetny znawca kultury tamtych czasów beletrystyczną formą nie zubożył istoty jednego z ważniejszych sporów epoki. Powieściowa dyskusja klasztornego bibliotekarza Jorgego i brata Wilhelma po­ wtarza ówczesne argumenty. �- Jorge posługuje się Platonem. Jest więc przeciwny śmiechowi, który wstrząsa ciałem, zniekształca rysy twarzy, czyni człowieka podobnym do małpy. - Wilhelm replikuje, że małpy nie śmieją się, że śmiech to właściwy ludziom znak rozumności. - Jorge odpowiada, że to znak głupoty. K t o śmieje się ten nie wierzy w to, co jest powodem śmiechu, ale też nie czuje do tego czegoś nienawiści. Jeśli więc śmiejemy się z czegoś złego, oznacza to, że nie zamierzamy owego zła zwalczać, jeżeli śmiejemy się z czegoś dobrego, oznacza to, że nie cenimy siły, przez którą dobro szerzy się samo z siebie. T a k więc głupiec śmiejąc się powiada w domyśle: Deus non est. - Wilhelm znowu: śmiechem m o ż n a p o d w a ż y ć fałszywy autorytet lub niedorzeczność co budzi odrazę rozumu (Eco 1987, s. 152-155). Gdzie więc racja ostateczna. T a s k r ó t o w o zreferowana kontrowersja - mająca w powieści swoją funk­ cję - jest równocześnie wyrazem ogólniejszej myśli. Jest przedstawieniem teologicznego sporu, który - pisał Jacques le Goff - w X I I I wieku był przedmiotem uniwersyteckich dysput na Sorbonie, w których roztrząsano, czy Pan Jezus się śmiał. Jak p o g o d z i ć bowiem przeciwstawne sobie teologię śmiechu z społeczną praktyką. Śmiech, powiada tenże autor, był funkcją zbiorową - był więc kategorią kulturową. W ciągu średniowiecza był on p o c z ą t k o w o potępiany i wstrzymywany, następnie rozróżniano jego dobre i złe wersje, a w p ó ź n y m okresie wybuchł on groteską i formą nieokiełznaną, karnawałową (Le Goff 1993). T a średnio­ wieczna tradycja trwa nadal w europejskiej kulturze. Pozo­ stajemy do dzisiaj w przeświadczeniu o ambiwalentnym charakterze śmiechu jako kategorii kulturowej. Potwierdzają tezę powyższą inne jeszcze funkcje śmiechu w kulturze. Oto K a r o l Ćapek przekonywał, że poprzez śmiech oswaja się o b c o ś ć , że śmiech idzie zawsze od dołu (w sensie metaforycznym). Wywołuje skojarzenia pozwalające przybliżyć rzeczywistość w y s o k ą lub niepojętą. Bliski jest postaci Marsjasza - nieszczęsnego konkurenta Apollina (Ćapek 1981, s. 41-47). Fascynująco społeczną rolę śmiechu opisał Michał Bachtin. Śmiech towarzyszy ustanawianiu relacji społecznych powiada tenże autor prowadząc w swoich pracach na­ stępujące rozumowanie. Socjologicznie rzecz biorąc w ist­ nienie społeczeństwa z r ó ż n i c o w a n e g o stanowo wpisany jest konflikt ról i statusów. Trwałość społeczną osiąga się przez cykliczne, rytualne odnawianie istniejących struktur. K u l ­ turowym wyrazem tego procesu był karnawał rozumiany jako rytualne odwracanie społecznego świata. Towarzyszył temu śmiech, p o w o ł y w a n i e k a r n a w a ł o w e g o króla - postaci sprzecznej samej w sobie: pochodzącej z dołu a zajmującej na czas karnawału w y s o k ą pozycję. K a r n a w a ł o w ą wykładnię m o ż n a z a s t o s o w a ć do analizy każdego czasu przełomu, uważa Bachtin. M a argumenty - na przykład - menippeja, czyli powstająca w takich czasach literatura powagi i śmie­ chu, literatura pomieszanych g a t u n k ó w (Bachtin 1970, s. 175-184). Pokrewną śmiechowi jako kategorii kulturowej jest zaba­ wa. Jej różne postacie i formy oraz jej rola w kulturze zostały wielokrotnie i wnikliwie opisane. N a użytek niniejszych rozważań wystarczy przypomnieć, że etnologowie podkreś­ lają p o w a ż n e reguły zabawy, trwa ona tak d ł u g o , d o p ó k i respektuje się jej zasady. Naruszenie reguł przerywa zabawę, kończy się jej kulturowa siła (Huizinga 1967, s. 12-48). W tradycji europejskiej przez wieki występowały dwa porządki kulturowe jako swoiste lustrzane odbicia. Ł a d społeczny - powaga - sztuka akademicka versus anarchia (karnawałowy chaos) - zabawa - sztuka niska (kontrkultura). Tendencje w sztuce i kulturze z przełomu lat dwudzie­ stych i trzydziestych naszego stulecia - mam na myśli ruch Dada i surrealizm - p o d w a ż y ł y ostatecznie kulturową wagę tego podziału. Wieloraka kulturowa funkcja śmiechu i zabawy powołała do życia groteskową sztukę oraz związaną z nią postać błazna. W kulturze europejskiej natrafiamy już w gotyku na wspaniałe przykłady groteski a różne przekształcenia, wa­ rianty i tradycje postaci błazna przewijają się w typach króla karnawału, jokera, pierrota i cyrkowego clowna. Błazen, groteskowo przerysowany, jest postacią ze zbioru kulturo­ wych przekształceń opozycji: głupie/mądre, niskie/wysokie, śmiech/powaga, ludowe/elitarne. Błazen i groteska znikają gdzieś w historii pod koniec X V I I wieku, by pojawić się ponownie na przełomie X I X i X X wieku. Jako szczególnie n o ś n a forma wyrazu groteska trwa w sztukach naszego stulecia: w plastyce, literaturze i właśnie w kabarecie (Gryglewicz 1984). Forma kabaretowa nie m o ż e istnieć bez ironii. T a też pochodzi ze starożytności. Jest to specyficzny punkt widze­ nia, ale też postawa kulturowa. Postawa ironiczna podkreśla i wywołuje poczucie sprzeczności, skłania do dystansu wobec tego, czym się zajmuje. Poprzez ironiczny dystans m o ż n a p o r z ą d k o w a ć rzeczywistość w s p o s ó b pełny, pokazując, że ma ona antynomiczny charakter, że każda strona jasna ma swoją stronę ciemną, że śmiechowi towarzyszy tragizm. Ironia bywa też rodzajem intelektualnej samoobrony przed światem, z którym się nie zgadzamy. Zajmując p o s t a w ę ironiczną nie uznajemy rzeczywistości (Laguna 1984, s. 28-46). Kabaret „Piwnica pod Baranami" od swoich p o c z ą t k ó w był i pozostaje do dzisiaj formą hybrydyczną. Jego twórcy świadomie, lub też mimowolnie posługują się różnymi sposobami ekspresji, odwołują się do rozmaitych przypom­ nianych wyżej tradycji. Najmniej wykorzystywano przy tym formy satyry. Ich działania szły w stronę w y w o ł y w a n i a nastrojów refleksji lub groteskowego zdziwienia i oszołomienia. Intuicyjnie wy­ czuwali, że między groteską a satyrą zachodzi istotna różnica. Jak pisze Michał Głowiński: „...Groteska to swobodna gra zastanymi elementami wyobrażeń, poglądów, ideologii, to uchylanie praw rządzących oficjalnym światem - satyra zaś, to przemawianie w imię pewnych racji... Groteska kwestionuje obowiązujące wartości, satyra poucza - czę­ sto w imię tych wartości... Groteska stanowiła zawsze votum nieufności wobec usankcjonowanych poglądów i obyczajów, była sprzeciwem, z natury rzeczy odznaczała się więc nonkonformizmem..." (Głowiński 1992, s. 81-82). W takim kontekście m o ż n a snuć myśli o oryginalności „Piwnicy" przypominając i to, że od lat toczą się spory 0 granice sztuki. Dyskutuje się wszak o jej końcu, o stylu wysokim, o dziele unikatowym, o zagrażającym im kiczu, pastiszu, cytacie, formie mieszanej. Problemem do rozstrzyg­ nięcia stały się relacje sztuka - twórczość, co jest w nich bardziej autentyczne: stylistyczna p o p r a w n o ś ć czy szczerość ekspresji (Brach-Czaina 1984, s. 135-213). T w ó r c y i aktorzy „Piwnicy" swoją p o s t a w ą już wiele lat temu opowiedzieli się za ekspresją bliską formule Dada, którą interesowali się na przykład Wiesław Dymny i Piotr Skrzynecki. A więc również 1 stąd to pomieszanie w „Piwnicy" stylów, g a t u n k ó w i po­ etyk. Kabaret „Piwnica pod Baranami" jest przestrzenią i „cza­ sem" dla gry znaczeń, s y m b o l ó w , stereotypów, figur, tro­ p ó w , z n a k ó w plastycznych i teatralnych. Sposobem prezen­ tacji rządzi zasada kalejdoskopu i kontaminacji. Teksty, gesty, akcje pojawiają się w zmiennych kontekstach, innych funkcjach i poziomach użycia. Widz czerpie satysfakcję z odkrywania nowych sensów, z poczucia ironicznego dys­ tansu, z własnych interpretacji i znaczeń nadanych spektak- 63 �Program i bal na cześć ustępującego prezydenta m. K r a k o w a - prof. Jacka W o ź n i a k o w s k i e g o w ..Piwnicy" łowi. Spektakl istnieje przecież p o m i ę d z y widzem i aktorem. W tej grze czasem widz, czasem aktor bywa mądrzejszy. Razem p o s z u k u j ą miejsc w s p ó l n y c h dla poezji, plastyki, groteski, ś m i e c h u , b a n a ł u , f o l k l o r u i kiczu. Tak b y ł o od p o c z ą t k ó w kabaretu. Z p e w n ą c h r o n o l o g i c z n ą tolerancją - esej niniejszy nie jest k r o n i k ą ani h i s t o r y c z n ą r e k o n s t r u k c j ą - m o ż n a , t n ą c z gru­ ba, w y r ó ż n i ć w działalności „ P i w n i c y " trzy okresy. Lata 1956-1959 to p o c z ą t k i kabaretu bez specjalnej jeszcze linii programowej. Lata 1960 do ok. 1970 to okres „starej Piwnicy" tak nazwany przez „ p i w n i c z a n " czas, gdy wykrys­ talizował się trzon zespołu, k t ó r y stanowili E. Demarczyk, J. Garycka, K . Zachwatowicz, M . Z a j ą c ó w n a oraz L . D ł u ­ gosz, W . D y m n y , Z . Konieczny, T. K w i n t a , K . L i t w i n , M . O b ł o ń s k i , M . Święcicki, P. Skrzynecki ( Ł a g o c k i 1968). Po czasie kryzysu - większość zespołu odeszła - P i o t r o w i Skrzyneckiemu u d a ł o się p o w o l i s k o m p l e t o w a ć nowy zespół, k t ó r y o k r z e p ł pod koniec lat 70-tych i znowu w pewnym podstawowym składzie istnieje do dzisiaj j a k o „ n o w a Piwni­ ca". Przez cały czas istnienia „ p i w n i c y " przewinęły się przez jej scenkę dziesiątki „ a r t y s t ó w " r ó ż n y c h specjalności, z a w o d ó w i r ó ż n e g o stopnia amatorstwa. M i m o to nie zatraciła ona nigdy swojego charakterystycznego stylu, kształtując raczej tych co do „ P i w n i c y " przychodzili. D z i a ł o się tak, p o n i e w a ż przy t y m ciągłym k r ą ż e n i u ludzi - a r t y s t ó w , kibiców, w s p ó ł p r a c o w n i k ó w - p o z o s t a ł y w niej trzy osoby, k t ó r e kabaret w s p ó ł t w o r z y ł y : Piotr Skrzynecki, Janina Garycka i Z y g m u n t Konieczny. T o trzy filary, k t ó r y m i stoi obecny kabaret. W „starej Piwnicy" ciężar istnienia kabaretu inaczej się r o z k ł a d a ł . O p r ó c z wymienionych, silnymi o s o b o w o ś ­ ciami t w ó r c z y m i byli Krystyna Zachwatowicz, W i e s ł a w D y m n y i Leszek D ł u g o s z , a pozostali mieli n i e c o d z i e n n ą vis comica lub niezwykły talent wykonawczy, j a k na p r z y k ł a d Ewa Demarczyk. Piotr Skrzynecki, Janina Garycka i Z y g m u n t Konieczny nadal w p ł y w a j ą na rodzaj aktorskiej wrażliwości i ekspresji. N i e k t ó r z y z a k t o r ó w nie zdają sobie sprawy z tego, że ulegają ich o s o b o w o ś c i o m , inni zwracają się wprost do nich po r a d ę , p o m y s ł , chwyt, k o r e k t ę zamierzenia. W „ n o w e j Piwnicy" niepomiernie wzrosła kreacyjna rola Piotra Skrzyneckiego, k t ó r y w s p o s ó b z pozoru b a ł a g a n i a r ski, m o ż n a rzec en passant - a przecież z o g r o m n ą w y o b r a ź ­ nią i wyczuciem - reżyseruje, by nie p o w i e d z i e ć s k ł a d a kabaretowe „ n u m e r y " w spektakle. O Zygmuncie Koniecznym Piotr Skrzynecki m ó w i , że dla „ P i w n i c y był najważniejszy z tych co b y l i " . Stojący obecnie t r o c h ę z b o k u ma wciąż ogromne p o w a ż a n i e . Powiada dalej 64 Piotr S., że „ K o n i e c z n y potrafi z r e a l i z o w a ć d ź w i ę k o w o to co dzieje się w poezji. P r z y k ł a d e m m o ż e być w s p a n i a ł y collage z wierszy wojennych B a c z y ń s k i e g o (śpiewała Demarczyk). Z s ł a b e g o wiersza - Ta nasza młodość - uczynił j a k i ś świetlisty h y m n " (śpiewa Halina Wyrodek). T o O n w s p ó ł ­ tworzył interpretacje Ewy Demarczyk (Skrzynecki 1993). Obecnie wiele pisze dla A n n y S z a ł a p a k nie o b n i ż a j ą c progu wymagań. Janina Garycka - historyk teatru z w y k s z t a ł c e n i a - w „ s t a ­ rej i nowej Piwnicy" wyszukuje opracowuje i podrzuca a k t o r o m teksty. N i e g d y ś bardziej b e z p o ś r e d n i o uczestniczy­ ła w k s z t a ł t o w a n i u p r o g r a m ó w , gdy miały one p e w n ą p r z e w o d n i ą ideę - na p r z y k ł a d - programy „starej Piwnicy": Siedem dziewcząt pod bronią lub Łaska Imperatora albo pamiętnik Mary z Reguł albo koncert ambitnych samouków ( Ł a g o c k i 1968). Janina Garycka z intuicją p o d o b n ą etnolo­ gom, ze z m y s ł e m paradoksu albo też wyczuciem stylu epoki wyszukuje stare teksty i u k ł a d a z nich słowa pieśni, skecze lub pastisze form dramatycznych j a k na p r z y k ł a d ostatnie Niedole życia Wazów. W kabarecie „ P i w n i c a pod B a r a n a m i " tworzywem bywały teksty o r ó ż n y m charakterze: p a m i ę t n i k i , opisy p o d r ó ż y , listy, instrukcje, opisy etnograficzne, stare encyklopedie, dawna prasa, książki kucharskie, d r u k i ulotne różnej treści, traktaty filozoficzne, Biblia, ludowe apokryfy. Wyliczenie to ł a t w o kojarzy się z indeksem ź r ó d e ł i m a t e r i a ł ó w jakie wykorzystuje współczesny antropolog k u l t u r y . W „ P i w n i c y " j a k o r ó w n o w a ż n e wyrazowo i dramatycznie t r a k t o w a n o o g ł o s z o n e w 1981 r o k u przepisy stanu wojennego, sentencję w y r o k u na Piotra S. z kolegium o r z e k a j ą c e g o oraz literaturę surrealistyczną, w y s o k ą poezję i dramaty. ABOLICJA (muz. Zbigniew Raj) Kolegium Rejonowe do Spraw Wykroczeń przy Naczelniku Dzielnicy Kraków-Śródmieście - pieczęć Kolegium numer rejestru: 3692 przez 82 3692 - dotyczy obywatela Piotr Skrzynecki syn Mariana postanowienie, postanowienie, postanowienie Kolegium w składzie: mgr Jan Kozioł - przewodniczący członkowie: Zbigniew Puczek Irena Michalska działając na podstawie artykułu ósmego Ustawy z dnia 21 lipca 0 amnestii postanowiło na posiedzeniu dnia 28 lipca 1983 przebaczyć i puścić w niepamięć przebaczyć i puścić wykroczenie z artykułu 50 o to, że w Rynku Głównym nie opuścił zbiegowiska publicznego, pomimo wezwania uprawnio­ nych organów M O . Popełniono 31 sierpnia 82. Na niniejsze postanowienie przysługuje obwinionemu zażalenie do Kolegium. Do Kolegium zażalenie wnosi się w terminie siedmiu dni. Wszystko to jest ś p i e w a n e , wypowiadane w r ó ż n y c h manierach, odgrywane w scenkach lub wykrzykiwane. Przy­ chodzi więc skojarzenie n a s t ę p n e : p o c z ą t e k wieku i Kabaret Voltaire i ruch Dada i tylekroć cytowane wspomnienie H u g o Balia o p o c z ą t k a c h zuryskiej scenki: „...W ten sposób mieliśmy kabaret. Pani Hennings i pani Leconte śpiewały po francusku i duńsku. Pan Tristan Tzara czytał swoje rumuńskie poezje. Zespół bałałajek grał rosyjskie ludowe piosenki 1 tańce..." Hans A r p p o s t a r a ł się o obrazy, były akwaforty Picassa, na scenie w y s t ę p o w a ł też Marcel Janco i M a x Oppenheimer, recytowano Apollinaire'a, Jarry'ego, Rimbauda i innych - pisze M i e c z y s ł a w P o r ę b s k i r e k o n s t r u u j ą c p o c z ą t k i ruchu Dada. W y s t ę p y w kabarecie Voltaire nie były przy t y m z a b a w ą grzecznych dzieci. Pełni życia d a d a i ś c i u r z ą d z a l i na scenie t a ń c e , hałasy, bywali manifestacyjnie pijani, używali masek, dziwnych k o s t i u m ó w , rzucali w p u b l i c z n o ś ć j a k i m i ś �kulkami (Porębski 1989, s. 260-277). kabaretu Hans Richter w s p o m i n a ł po Były członek latach: „...Każdy grał tu na swoim w ł a s n y m instrumencie, czyli grał samym sobą, i to grat z całą namiętnością, z całej duszy. K a ż d y tak niepodobny do pozostałych, był sobie własną melodią, własnym tekstem, własnym rytmem. K a ż d y ze wszystkich sił w y ś p i e w y w a ł swoją własną pieśń... a przecież o k a z y w a ł o się wreszcie, że j a k i m ś cudem stanowią jedność, że pasują do siebie i potrzebują siebie nawzajem..." (Richter 1983, s. 38). I tu z n o w u p r z y p o m i n a j ą się obrazy z „ P i w n i c y " . Pierw­ sze, t o przebrania sceniczne - bo nie k o s t i u m y - aktorów k o m p o n o w a n e z części zdekompletowanych s t r o j ó w , n a k r y ć g ł o w y , peruk, p i ó r , bielizny i t p . D r u g i e , to ulubione przez „piwniczan" do dziś rzucanie w p u b l i c z n o ś ć szmatami, p o s i e k a n ą w trakcie skeczu k a p u s t ą , niewiele w a r t y m i bank­ n o t a m i i t d . Trzecie, to surrealistyczne scenografie a r a n ż o w a ­ ne przede wszystkim z m a r t w y c h p r z e d m i o t ó w - D u c h a m p Fragment występu (1991): śpiewa Aleksandra Maurer, grają Mary­ na Barfus, Robert Chobrzyk i Michał Półtorak p o w i e d z i a ł b y z rzeczy g o t o w y c h . Po czwarte wreszcie, to w y s t ę p u j ą c y w „ P i w n i c y " goście. O d zawsze pojawiali się w niej Cyganie, k a r ł y , baletnice, iluzjoniści, p o ł y k a c z e ognia. Przychodzili do niej nienajlepsi krakowscy a k t o r z y opowia­ d a j ą c y stare d o w c i p y i anegdoty, p r z y c h o d z i ł a m a t o r ś p i e w a ­ j ą c y arie operetkowe w stylu fryzjerskiego belcanto. Czasem by w y s t ą p i ć w postaci. T a k ą przykład - „Piwnicy" wystarczała osobą z nadmiarem niezapomniana K i k a sama ekspresji wyrazistość była Szaszkiewiczowa, - na która z a u t o i r o n i c z n y m dystansem ś p i e w a ł a w pierwszym okresie „ P i w n i c y " francuskie piosenki. Treść wykorzystywanych tekstów p o c h o d z ą c a z odległych c z a s ó w usytuowana w k o n t e k ś c i e w s p ó ł c z e s n e g o kabaretu w y w o ł u j e u wszystkich u c z e s t n i k ó w s p e k t a k l ó w (aktorów i w i d z ó w ) w r a ż e n i e fascynującej egzotyki i o b c o ś c i . N a p r z y k ł a d w „ s t a r e j P i w n i c y " m o g ł a to b y ć ś p i e w a n a przez K r y s t y n ę Zachwatowicz piosenka Straszne dziecię ( s ł o w a X I X - w i e c z n e g o poety Franciszka M o r a w s k i e g o ) : M ó w i ą , że gdzieś chodzi w świecie jakieś dziwne, ciche dziecię dziewczyneczka to jest mała twarz jej śniada, suknia biała, wzrok jej dziwny i uroczy, jakieś martwe, trupie oczy, w polne maczki się przebiera, po cmentarzach kostki zbiera, krwawą chustą g ł o w ę słoni, czarny pręcik nosi w dłoni, a gdzie przejdzie tam jej ramię wszystkie kwiatki niszczy, łamie, a gdzie przejdzie tam o wiośnie trawka nawet nie porośnie... R a z j ą chłopek jakiś trącił zaraz mu się m ó z g pomącił, ręka w krótkiej uschła porze i powiesił się gdzieś w borze... Tak po świecie jak po grobie drobna mara chodzi sobie. Słucha miłych sobie d ź w i ę k ó w , pogrzebnego dzwonu j ę k ó w a po miejscach, gdzie przemija cień jej krwawo się przewija i nikt nie wie skąd przybywa patrząc na nią dreszcz przeszywa zimno g r o b ó w od niej leci M ó w i ą , że to m ó r na dzieci. - lub polecane ze starych o g ł o s z e ń przez Tadeusza K w i n ­ tę k o s m e t y k i do twarzy z C K apteki Schwartza: Ogłoszenia prasowe z XlX-wiecznej prasy austriackiej. C K . obwodowa apteka M . Schwarza poleca następujące środki kosmetyczne do pielęgnowania i upiększania twarzy: Schwarza K r e m Wschodnich Piękności - nader szczęśliwe połączenia do wydelikacania naskórka, wygubienia piegów, przeciw opalaniu słonecznemu, pryszczykom, trądzikom itp. nieczystościom skóry, cena 80 halerzy. (...) Schwarza Mleko Wschodnich Piękności - do odświeżania i o d m ł a d z a n i a twarzy, usuwa w zdumiewający s p o s ó b zmarsz­ czki, piegi i opalenia słoneczne, cena I korona i 60 halerzy. - albo a n o n i m o w y Wiesława Dymnego: tekst o gorzałce mówiony przez GORZAŁKA (znaleziony przez Janinę Garycka) Bądź co bądź gorzałka była i jest zabójczynią życia ludzkiego, bo sama w sobie jest trucizną. Jakże często bowiem słyszy się: umarł na ropienie się w r z o d ó w na nogach umarł na zatwardzenie wątroby umarł na puchlinę w o d n ą umarł na wstrzymanie moczu umarł, bo się w nim w ó d k a zapaliła - korona pijaństwa. O, bo to ż n i w o dla suchej śmiortki w okolicach tych, gdzie gorzałka panuje. Przypatrzmy się teraz jak ta nieboga sucha śmiortka za­ wczasu pieczętuje tych, którzy mają b y ć wybrani: nogi mu się trzęsą i g ł o w a białko mu się w oczach czerwono skrzy kuprowata ma twarz stracił apetyt jedzenie mu nie smakuje. C h o ć są czasami i inne tego przyczyny. - czy też s p o s ó b na t a n i ą p o d r ó ż przedstawiany przez Krzysztofa L i t w i n a : PODRÓŻ (fragmenty - autor nieznany) Kto chce tanio p o d r ó ż o w a ć , musi uprościć swój bagaż. Wystarczy tornister nieprzemakalny, jedna zmiana bielizny, pantofle, szlafrok, szlafmyca oraz kajecik m a ł e g o formatu do zapisywania wrażeń. D o tornistra należy przytroczyć siatkę na motyle, lunetę oraz łopatkę do kopania d o ł k ó w . . . I tutaj śmiałość i odwaga bywa nagradzaną. K t o słabości ulega i leży bezczynnie, cierpi daleko więcej od tego, kto wbrew tej słabości z a ż y w a przechadzki po pokładzie, jeżdżąc sobie do Rygi. T a k a p o d r ó ż dziwnie o d m ł a d z a i osładza. Bon voyage! W „ n o w e j P i w n i c y " podobne w r a ż e n i e ogarnia widza, gdy s ł u c h a Duchów polskich (wykonuje M a ł g o r z a t a G ó r n i s i e wicz): C Z A R O W N I C E , S T R Z Y G I . M A M O N Y itp. Czarownicami - są stare baby n a p i ę t n o w a n e jaką u ł o m n o ś ­ cią lub bardzo brzydkie. (...) - t e k s t ó w C z e s ł a w a W o j t a ł y Co jest w Polszczę (zredago­ wane z c y t a t ó w z Nowych Aten Benedykta Chmielowskiego), czy też z ł o ż o n e j z d w ó c h r ó ż n y c h t e k s t ó w pieśni o A n n i e Csillag (wykonuje A n n a S z a ł a p a k ) : ANNA CSILLAG (słowa: Bolesław Leśmian, Bruno Schulz muzyka: Zygmunt Konieczny) 65 r �Wkosmacona w kwiat płytki, łeb ująłwszy w dwie chwytki, pszczoła, nim ją porwie lot, w słońcu myje się jak kot. Niech się dłuży cień ławy, niech wypoczną w nim trawy, z łbem na łapie chudy pies śpi po łapy owej kres. Porośnięta szła przez ziemię, porastało ludzkie plemię, porastało pod niebiosy, rozwłoszone włosząc włosy. (...) Ja, Anna Csillag urodzona w Karłowicach na Morawach, miałam słaby porost włosów. Byłam nim dotknięta z dopustu Bożego. Na skutek długotrwałych modłów zostałam wysłuchana. Otrzymałam znaki i wskazówki. Sporządziłam specyfik, lek cudowny. Zaczęłam porastać we włosy, a także mój mąż, szwagrzy i bratankowie. (...) A więc świat przedstawiony w kabarecie to pozornie nie nasz współczesny świat. Jedną z wielu różnych reakcji na program kabaretu m o ż e być refleksja bliska spojrzeniu antropologa na rzeczywistość. Kabaretowe teksty w y w o ł a ć m o g ą zdziwienie i chwilę zastanowienia się nad dawnymi ludzkimi wysiłkami i sposobami opanowywania codzienno­ ści, nadawania jej kulturowego sensu. Ironicznie przywołany w kabarecie krąg dawnych znaczeń w mimowolnym p o r ó w n a n i u z naszym światem daje efekt paradoksu lub olśnienia surrealistyczną logiką każdej rze­ czywistości. Oczywiste, że kabaret nie jest uniwersytecką katedrą antropologii kultury. Jego celem i sposobem wyrazu nie jest naukowy dyskurs, lecz śmiech i komizm. Ale przecież i śmiech ma głębokie kulturowe funkcje. Kabaretowy śmiech również bywa formą poznania, oswajania rzeczywistości, lub odwrotnie, dystansowania się wobec niej (Bystroń 1968, Bachtin 1975, Ć a p e k 1981). Wykładnia wizji świata jaka dominuje w „Piwnicy" należy do tradycji ruchu Dada i surrealizmu. Stwierdzenie to nie oddala wcale od tezy o antropologicznej interpretacji w ka­ barecie, ponieważ surrealizm i współczesna antropologia mają wiele w s p ó l n e g o . Przy odpowiednio szerokiej definicji surrealizm to nie tylko prąd w sztuce, ale rodzaj światopoglądu, program na odczytywanie realności świata. W takim rozumieniu w sur­ realizmie spotkali się w Francji w latach 1920-1930 artyści i antropolodzy. N a przykład Michel Leiris i George Bataille to surrealiści, którzy z czasem zajęli się antropologią. N a wykłady znanego antropologa Marcela Maussa p o w o ł y w a l i się artyści. Związki takie z a o w o c o w a ł y nowym programem dla sztuki i dla nauki (Kaniowska 1991). W sztuce dzięki surrealistom i ich fascynacjom etno­ graficznym z r ó w n a n o wszystkie możliwe formy wyrazu. Maska „afrykańska" okazała się równie piękna co dzieło „europejskiego" artysty (Janicka 1985, Porębski 1989). W nauce surrealizm przywrócił znaczenie wyobraźni, obudził postawy paradoksalne i wskazał, że relatywnie wszystko powinno nas dziwić. Egzotyka jest wśród nas - wystarczy przyjąć odpowiedni punkt widzenia. Czymże bowiem, różni się w X X wieku biret i kryza w stroju rektora europejskiego uniwersytetu od metalowych obręczy na szyi egzotycznej piękności, czym makijaż żony tegoż rektora od rytualnych barw na twarzach uczestników obrzędu (Kaniow­ ska 1991). Dziwni jesteśmy sami dla siebie podpowiada surrealistyczna formuła w antropologii i w kabarecie. Teza p o w y ż s z a była i pozostaje siłą kabaretu „Piwnica pod Baranami". Większości tekstów w „Piwnicy" nie trzeba 66 było tworzyć na potrzeby spektaklów, wystarczyło wykorzy­ stać okruchy historii i współczesności. Forma „piwniczna" jest wehikułem znaczeń. W tekstach zaadaptowanych przez artystów „Piwnicy" dawne fakty, wzorce obyczajowe, wyobrażenia, stereotypy, przeniesione w inny kontekst, ozdobione kontrastową lub wystylizowaną muzyką, kostiumem i n o w ą formą wyrazu są nowymi znakami i sensami. Wywołują efekty komiczne lub niosą refleksyjne przesłanie. Bywa też, że wiele z dawnych tekstów niespodziewanie aktualizuje się, nabiera antropologicznego wymiaru a pierwotne intencje autorów i w y k o n a w c ó w są na nowo interpretowane. Oto kilka ilustracji. Wspomniana już piosenka Straszne dziecię (muzyka Zbi­ gniew Paleta) śpiewana przez Krystynę Zachwatowicz p ó ź ­ niej przez Małgorzatę Górnisiewicz, opowiadającą o moro­ wym powietrzu nabrała nowych znaczeń w kontekście inwazji A I D S . Scena Seans u państwa Siemiradzkich (tekst Janina Garyc­ ka, muzyka Grzegorz Turnau) opowiadająca o wyczynach Eusapii - dziwnego medium z rzymskiej willi malarza - koresponduje z współczesną m o d ą na parapsychologię, okultyzm, erę wodnika i związany z nim ruch New Age: U Siemiradzkiego w styczniu tysiąc osiemset dziewięćdziesiąt trzy w willi rzymskiej na via Gaetta ukazała się Eusapia Palladino dama z prostej sfery - i dość pełnoletnia w drodze z Neapolu do Mediolanu dała pokaz magii. A ujrzeli go: państwo Siemiradzcy państwo Bakałowiczowie państwo Azzurri hrabina Bremla - osoba z wyższego towarzystwa, znajoma królowej... W okresie stanu wojennego i w latach po nim następnych w „Piwnicy" wiele tekstów miało patriotyczny wydźwięk. Zaktualizował się bowiem romantyczny wzorzec przeżywa­ nia, według Marii Janion, obecny w polskiej „zbiorowej p o d ś w i a d o m o ś c i " (Janion 1981). Pojawiła się w ó w c z a s zno­ wu czarna biżuteria, orzełki z koroną, kotwice i inne drobiazgi będące znakami społecznych nastrojów. W tym czasie w „Piwnicy" Anna Szałapak śpiewała pieśń Czarna sukienka (słowa Seweryn Goszczyński, muzyka Zbigniew Preisner) p o c h o d z ą c a z c z a s ó w powstania styczniowego: Schowaj matko suknie moje, perły, wieńce z róż, jasne szaty, świetne stroje to nie dla mnie już. Niegdyś jam stroje, róże lubiła gdy nam nadzieji wytryskał zdrój, lecz gdy do grobu Polska zstąpiła jeden mi tylko przystoi strój Czarna sukienka. (...) Lecz gdy nas zdrady wrogom przedały, gdy zaległ Polskę najeźdźców rój, gdy w pętach jęczy nasz naród cały jeden mi tylko przystoi strój Czarna sukienka. Nastrój w kabarecie tworzyły wtedy właśnie zwierzenia co „kobiecie przystoi gdy na wojnie kochanek lub brat" modlitwa Jana Lechonia Matko Boska Częstochowska (mu­ zyka Zbigniew Raj) śpiewana przez Aleksandrę Maurer: Matka Boska Częstochowska ubrana perłami cała w złocie i w brylantach modli się za nami. Aniołowie podtrzymują jej ciężką koronę i jej szaty, co jak noc są gwiazdami znaczone. Ona klęczy i swe lice, gdzie są rany krwawe �obracając, gdzie my wszyscy patrzy na Warszawę. 0 Ty, której obraz widać w każdej polskiej chacie 1 w kościele i w sklepiku i w pysznej komnacie, w ręku tego co umiera, nad kołyską dzieci i przed którą dniem i nocą wciąż się światło świeci. (...) Nieraz potop nas zalewał, krew się strugą lała, a wciąż klasztor w Częstochowie stoi jako skała. I tyś była też mieczami pogańskimi ranną, a wciąż świecisz ponad nami Przenajświętsza Panno. I wstajemy wciąż z popiołu, z pożarów co płoną i Ty wszystkich nas powrócisz na Ojczyzny łono. Podniesiemy to co legło w wojennej kurzawie, zbudujemy zamek większy, piękniejszy w Warszawie. I jak w złotych dniach dzieciństwa będziemy słuchali tego dzwonka sygnaturki co Cię wiecznie chwali. - wiersz Adama Asnyka wykonywany przez Jacka Wójcic­ kiego i Tamarę K a l i n o w s k ą (muzyka Zbigniew Preisner). MIEJCIE NADZIEJE Miejcie nadzieję! ... Nie tę lichą, marną co rdzeń spróchniały w wątły kwiat ubiera, lecz tę niezłomną, która tkwi jak ziarno przyszłych poświęceń w duszy bohatera. Miejcie odwagę! ... Nie tę jednodniową, co w rozpaczliwym przedsięwzięciu pryska, lecz tę, co wiecznie z podniesioną głową nie da się zepchnąć ze swego stanowiska. Miejcie odwagę... Nie tę tchnącą szałem, która na oślep leci bez oręża, lecz tę, co sama niezdobytym wałem przeciwne losy stałością zwycięża. Przestańmy własną pieścić boleścią, przestańmy ciągłym lamentem się poić kochać się w skargach jest rzeczą niewieścią, mężom przystoi w milczeniu się zbroić... Lecz nie przestajmy czcić świętości swoje i przechowywać ideałów czystość, do nas należy dać im moc i zbroję, by z kraju marzeń przeszły w rzeczywistość. Po roku 1989 niespodziewanie powróciła część dawnego kontekstu jednej z licznych piosenek organizacji strzelców śpiewanej przez Małgorzatę Górnisiewicz Szabla i karabin (muzyka Paweł Orkisz, słowa Henryk Zbierzchowski). K o ­ mizm anachronizmu zlał się tu z reaktualizowaną mitologią okresu przed „złotym czasem niepodległości" (Romanowski 1990). Wszak znowu mamy drużyny strzeleckie, legionistów (w Krakowie nawet dwa zarządy), piłsudczyków i kłótnie o to, kto jest prawowitym spadkobiercą idei Marszałka. Niech w Księgach wiedzy szpera rabin Nauka to jest wymysł diabli Mądrością moją jest karabin i klinga ukochanej szabli. Nie tęsknię do kawiarni gwaru, gdzie mieszka banda dziwolągów gardzę zapachem buduaru gdzie amor psoci na szezlągu. Nie nęcą mnie zalety babin kobieta zdradną, bierz ją diabli. Kochankiem moim jest karabin i klinga ukochanej szabli. (...) Przez pewien czas niespodziewaną n o w ą siłę komiczną uzyskał jeszcze jeden stary tekst „piwniczny" odgrywany ponownie w parodystycznej scenie przez Kazimierza Made­ ja. Oto gdy w roku 1990 minister Jacek K u r o ń rozpoczął akcję pomocy społecznej od spektakularnego rozdawania darmowej zupy, piwniczny artysta, parodiujący też inne postaci, sięgnął po XIX-wieczne przepisy na zupy w kuch­ niach dla ubogich. Kiedyś w „starej Piwnicy" tonem żałos­ nego nabożeństwa czytała je Krystyna Zachwatowicz, a te­ raz jak u g o t o w a ć zupę Jacka Kuronia tłumaczy Kazimierz Madej. I wreszcie „piwniczny" hymn Dezyderata (muzyka Piotr Walewski). Jest to jedna z późnych wersji (1692) średnio­ wiecznego apokryfu tzw. „listu z nieba". W tym przypadku zawiera on zbiór protestanckich zaleceń moralnych. Piotr Skrzynecki powiada, że jest autentyczny, ale co znaczy autentyczny w odniesieniu do apokryfu. Listy z nieba są znane w folklorze religijnym kultury europejskiej od c z a s ó w wczesnego średniowiecza. Były formą ówczesnej agitacji lub przestrogą. „ M o r a l n e dezyderata" przeniesione w piwniczny kontekst nie tracą wagi i mocy etycznego przesłania. DEZYDERATA Przechodź spokojnie przez hałas i pośpiech, pamiętaj jaki spokój można znaleźć w ciszy. O ile to możliwe bez wyrzekania się siebie bądź na dobrej stopie ze wszystkimi. Wypowiadaj swą prawdę jasno i spokojnie wysłuchując innych, nawet tępych i nieświadomych, oni też mają swoją opowieść. Unikaj głośnych i napastliwych, są udręką ducha. Niech twoje plany będą dla ciebie źródłem radości. Bądź ostrożny w interesach, na świecie bowiem pełno oszustwa. Bądź sobą, zwłaszcza nie udawaj uczucia, nie podchodź cynicznie do miłości, albowiem wobec oschłości i rozczarowań ona jest wieczna jak trawa. Przyjmij spokojnie co ci lata doradzają z wdziękiem wy­ rzekając się spraw młodości. Jesteś dzieckiem wszechświata nie mniej niż drzewa i gwiazdy masz prawo być tutaj. Tak więc żyj w zgodzie z Bogiem, czymkolwiek On ci się wydaje, czymkolwiek się trudnisz i jakiekolwiek są twoje pragnienia, w zgiełkliwym pomieszaniu życia zachowuj spokój ze swą duszą. Przy całej swej złudności, znoju i rozwianych marzeniach jest to piękny świat. (Znalezione w starym kościele Świętego Pawła w Baltimore, datowane 1692 rok) r 0 kabarecie powiada się czasem lekceważąco - błazenada. Błazenada, to działanie błazna. Ten trop j ę z y k o w y kieruje uwagę na inny aspekt antropologii „Piwnicy". Kabaret to krzywe zwierciadło rzeczywistości, to m o ż l i w o ś ć stosowania odwrotnej optyki wobec faktów i ludzi. W „Piwnicy" mimo stałego nadzoru cenzury i szykan dyrekcji Krakowskiego D o m u Kultury m o ż n a było powie­ dzieć to co nieoficjalne i ośmieszyć to co oficjalne. Schizo­ freniczna i pompatyczna rzeczywistość P R L była dobrą p o ż y w k ą dla kabaretu. Bunt przeciw niej, gry z cenzorem, aluzje i śmiech przeciw nudzie były istotą „Piwnicy". Ale oto i życie społeczne w trzeciej Rzeczpospolitej pozostato wielce zrytualizowane i jest aż do przesytu „święcone". Śmiech, który idzie od dołu, oswaja i czyni niegroźną nieprzychylną rzeczywistość albo degraduje zbyt patetyczne i wysokie tony, w jakie tak ł a t w o popadają Polacy. W „starej Piwnicy" wśród innych, szczególne wyczucie formy błazeńskiej miał Wiesław Dymny. Często występował w kostiumie cyrkowego clowna: wypchanym, za obszernym, z dużymi guzikami, w meloniku. Wykorzystywał go do kreowania swojej scenicznej o s o b o w o ś c i . Pisał teksty utrzy­ mane w poetyce sowizdrzalskiej, na przykład Łazik z Tormesu, a jego prześmiewcze monologi wygłaszane w kabare­ cie, ze słynnymi Na przykład Majewski: Rodacy i Rodaczki! Czworacy i Czworaczki! Dość tych kabaretów politycznych, tych kawałów abstrakcyjnych, tych sztuczek podejrzanych, tych absurdalnych kojarzeń i całego tego memłania. Weźmy przykład z Majewskiego: ten nie memła, ale za to jak coś powie, to boki zrywać. Precz z fałszywą ułudą sceniczną, pozostawiającą wiele do życzenia. Nie zaciem­ niajmy horyzontu myśli współczesnej. Na przykład Majewski. Nie zaciemnia. Zerwijmy z tym chwiejnym balansowaniem na krawędzi egzystencjalizmu i wegeterianizmu. Skończmy, skory­ gujmy i skonfrontujmy. Na przykład Majewski. Skończył, skorygował, a teraz konfrontuje. Nie oglądajmy się na różne prądy, prądziki, arabeski, frytki i frykasy. Na przykład Majew­ ski. Ten się nie ogląda... (fragment) 1 Zadania obywatelskie należą do klasyki gatunku. Obywatele! Obywatelki! I ty, młodzieży najmilsza! Niewątp- 67 i �I liwie nikt z was nie poda w wątpliwość tego, co powiem, że jasne jest, że musimy się rozwijać. Rozwijać się konsekwentnie, rozwijać permanentnie, konsolidalnie, wertykalnie, hormonal­ nie oraz horrendalnie. Rozwijać się trzeba! A czasy są, jak skądinąd wiemy, ciężkie. Lecz nie ciążenie jest tu ważne. Ważne jest, żeby do czegoś dojść. Żeby dojść trzeba iść, żeby iść trzeba mieć buty. I to dobre buty, a czasy są, jak wiemy, skądinąd, ciężkie, więc żeby mieć buty, trzeba wykonać swoje zadanie. I tak są różne zadania, które na nas ciążą. Jest na przykład zadanie bojowe. Jest zadanie domowe. Jest zadanie ciosu, zadanie bobu, zadanie dnia codziennego. Zadanie najwyższe, zadanie specjalne. Niewątpliwie większość z nas nie zna swojego zadania! Więc w celu ułatwienia wam szybkiego włączenia się w nurt wykonywania swoich zadań, podaję na dziś zadanie. Niech każdy z was tam w domu nad łóżkiem sobie złotymi literami wypisze: Adsum te pressurum esse ... Jaka to forma? Aaa, do widzenia, (fragmenty) Piotr Skrzynecki wspomina G o j a k o człowieka wielowars­ twowego wyczulonego na k a ż d ą d w u z n a c z n o ś ć ludzi. We­ d ł u g Skrzyneckiego b ł a z e ń s k a i groteskowa poetyka „ P i w ­ nicy" jest z a s ł u g ą W i e s ł a w a Dymnego. S k ł o n n y do obsc e n ó w , co m i a ł y m u za złe k o l e ż a n k i z kabaretu ( w y p o w i e d ź Janiny Garyckiej), był człowiekiem o n i e z w y k ł y m poczuciu h u m o r u . Teksty Dymnego gromadzi i chroni, czasem opo­ wiada w „ n o w e j Piwnicy" M a r e k P a c u ł a . W s p ó ł c z e ś n i e , poza M a r k i e m P a c u ł ą , tradycję Dymnego w innych ramach kontynuuje Kazimierz Madej. Natomiast g r o t e s k ę i z a b a w ę f o r m ą - n i e o b c ą też D y m ­ nemu - rozwija piwniczny entuzjasta Witkacego Zbigniew Raj. W nurcie b ł a z e ń s k i m , w bachtinowskim oczyszczającym ś m i e c h u , d o c h o d z ą c y m dzisiaj z „ P i w n i c y " , mieszczą się ś p i e w a n e do niedawna dekrety o stanie wojennym, pieśń 0 Koniewie (spreparowana z w y w i a d u z A n t o n i m Hajdeck i m - t w ó r c ą p o m n i k a Koniewa) oraz w s p ó ł c z e s n e Kazania sejmowe Krzysztofa Janickiego, w y k o r z y s t u j ą c e j u ż rzeczy­ wistość I I I Rzeczypospolitej. W k o n t r a ś c i e do formy prześmiewczej p o z o s t a j ą dzieła sztuki wysokiej odpowiednio dopełniające całość wyrazu dramatycznego s p e k t a k l ó w . D r u g a strona „ p i w n i c z n y c h " n a s t r o j ó w czerpie przede wszystkim z poezji. Lista wykorzys­ tywanych a u t o r ó w jest bardzo bogata, ale sama niewiele tu powie, p o n i e w a ż efekt artystyczny osiąga się r ó ż n y m i sposo­ bami. Jednym z ciekawszych jest p r a k t y k o w a n y do dzisiaj collage z t e k s t ó w jednego lub k i l k u t w ó r c ó w , co daje w r a ż e n i e z a s k a k u j ą c e i oryginalne. Swoboda z j a k ą d o k o n u ­ je się pewnych z a b i e g ó w na p i e r w o t n y m tworzywie litera­ c k i m nie degraduje o r y g i n a ł ó w , raczej w y d o b y w a z nich nowe sensy. D u ż a w t y m z a s ł u g a Piotra Skrzyneckiego, znawcy poezji, obdarzonego w y j ą t k o w o d o b r y m smakiem. Jego p o m y s ł y u z u p e ł n i a oryginalna t w ó r c z o ś ć „ p i w n i c z a n " 1 zaprzyjaźnionych autorów. W „ P i w n i c y " poezja jest ś p i e w a n y m dramatem, m u z y c z n ą liryką lub ż a r t e m . Z z a ł o ż e n i a istnieje ona tu j a k o forma muzyczna - powraca więc do swojej archaicznej postaci i z w i ą z k ó w . Obserwacja ta m o ż e być r ó w n i e ż tropem interpretacji antropologicznej. Powiada bowiem W ł a d y s ł a w Tatarkiewicz o dawnej łączności m u z y k i i poezji: „...Muzyka była związana w wiekach średnich z poezją niepo­ równanie ściślej niż w czasach nowych: długo nie było muzyki bez słów ani poezji bez akompaniamentu. Liryki (trubadurów) były pieśniami, utwory dramatyczne (misteria) rodzajem oper..." (Tatarkiewicz 1989, s. 124). Wiedza lub intuicja t w ó r c ó w „ P i w n i c y " potwierdza w t y m przypadku tezę o nieustannych transformacjach i nawrotach do f o r m wyrazu utrwalonych w kulturze europejskiej. A w a n ­ garda to s p o s ó b wykorzystywania tradycji. Cotygodniowe spektakle w m a ł e j , dusznej, piwnicznej 68 salce p a ł a c u Pod Baranami nie są j e d y n ą f o r m ą istnienia kabaretu. P o m i j a j ą c liczne od pewnego czasu wyjazdy artystyczne - wcześniej kabaret m i a ł k ł o p o t y z w y s t ę p a m i poza K r a k o w e m , co p r z y d a w a ł o m u jeszcze legendy - „ P i w ­ nica" organizuje dla siebie i przyjaciół liczne bale, święta, rocznice, parateatralne zdarzenia plenerowe, performance i żywe obrazy. Przez trzydzieści lat istnienia „ P i w n i c y " o d b y ł o się ich tyle, że trudno je zliczyć i chronologicznie u p o r z ą d k o w a ć . D l a ilustracji zatem, a nie dla potrzeb k r o n i k i , przedstawiam w y b ó r rozmaitych dawnych i nowych piwnicznych d z i a ł a ń . Pierwsze bale o d b y ł y się w ó w c z e s n y c h k r a k o w s k i c h barach „ W i a r u s " , „ S m o c z a Jama", „ S i e l a n k a " . Miejsca te nie należały do najelegantszych w mieście, m i a ł y opinię raczej p o d ł ą . Inne słynne bale z w i ą z a n e były z premierami p r o g r a m ó w i m i a ł y miejsce w zamkach w Piaskowej Skale i N i e p o ł o m i c a c h . N i e z w y k ł y bal - w e d ł u g w s p o m n i e ń Janiny Garyckiej - z o r g a n i z o w a ł a „ P i w n i c a " w opuszczonym p a ł a ­ cu Potockich w Krzeszowicach. U r o c z y ś c i e obchodzono kolejne jubileusze kabaretu uświetniające 15, 20, 25 i 30 lat jego istnienia. Lata siedemdziesiąte przyniosły bardzo udane rekonstrukcje z d a r z e ń historycznych, a to: wjazd księcia Józefa Poniatowskiego do K r a k o w a i bal w Sukiennicach (z r o k u 1879). S p o ś r ó d najnowszych w y d a r z e ń p r z y p o m n i e ć w a r t o bal pod n a z w ą „ L a t a p i ę ć d z i e s i ą t e " , w y s t a w ę „ r e ­ sztek" własnej działalności w P a ł a c u Sztuki „ C o nam z tego z o s t a ł o " , której w e r n i s a ż z a m i e n i ł się w kolejną d a d a i s t y c z n ą manifestację. N a s t ę p n i e , „ N o c p a r y s k ą " na ulicy F l o r i a ń ­ skiej, bal na p o ż e g n a n i e k o m u n y , bal modernistyczny, przysięga Tadeusza K o ś c i u s z k i , święto krakowskich kop­ c ó w , H o ł d pruski, raut w teatrze S ł o w a c k i e g o z duchem Franciszka Józefa. Program ( n a p i s a ł P. Skrzynecki) otwarcia R a u t u w Teat­ rze i m . Juliusza S ł o w a c k i e g o w dniu 15 maja, w k t ó r y m podpisany z o s t a ł u k ł a d o opuszczeniu przez wojska radzie­ ckie terytorium Republiki A u s t r i i . Część pierwsza: powitanie Camerata gra wiedeńską muzykę w westybulu teatru, na pięknych schodach upozowane tancerki w pięknych romantycznych pączkach, schodzą się goście. Konsul Austrii w otoczeniu świty wita przybywających gości, publiczność powoli wchodzi do teatralnej sali lekko przycie­ mnionej. Loża Cesarska na razie pusta oświetlona punktowym reflek­ torem, kurtyna Siemiradzkiego podświetlona, po wejściu publiczności, do loży przylegającej do Cesarskiej wchodzi Konsul z małżonką wraz ze swoimi gośćmi, światło na sali nieco przygasa, Loża Cesarska Oświetlona bardzo silnie, zapala się światło w prawej loży obok sceny, w tzw. loży Dąbrowskiego, do Loży wchodzi gość w pelerynie, staje przy balustradzie, zapowiada przybycie Cesarza i jego małżonki Cesarzowej Sisi, fanfary - trzy razy, do Loży wchodzi Cesarz z Cesarzową i ze świtą, publiczność na wezwanie Gościa wstaje, Ogromne Oklaski !!!! powtórzenie fanfar, kurtyna Siemiradzkiego podnosi się, na scenie Teatru ukazuje się Apoteza Habsburgów, powtórzenie fanfar, Artyści wygłaszają odezwy i zapowiedzi przyjazdu Franciszka Józefa I do Krakowa, światło skierowane na Lożę Cesarską nieco przygasa, wchodzi Elżbieta Towarnicka w cudownej sukni, E. Towarnicka śpiewa dwie pieśni wiedeńskie, wbiegają dzieci, dzieci recytują nieznany wiersz na cześć Cesarza, �G o ś ć w pelerynie zapowiada Seans u pp. Siemiradzkich w Rzymie, po Seansie M . Górnisiewicz śpiewa Gdy się ma 16 lat - m o d n ą piosenkę wiedeńską z k o ń c a X I X wieku, i Austriackie Gadanie w wykonaniu C z . Wojtały i p. Grabow­ skiego, G o ś ć w pelerynie z Loży wzywa do o k l a s k ó w na cześć Cesarzowej Sisi, L o ż a Cesarska oświetlona pięknie, kolorowo. Cesarz i Cesarzowa wstają, Cesarz pozdrawia publiczność, Cesarz mówi: Witajcie M i e s z k a ń c y K r a k o w a - p o polsku i po niemiecku, Witajcie pp. Strausowie, Panowie Strausowie wstają. Szalone Oklaski !!!! G o ś ć w pelerynie błaga Cesarzową Sisi o przemówienie. Cesarzowa Sisi śpiewa wiersz Byrona Wędrówki Childe Charolda w tłumaczeniu A . Mickiewicza, Apoteoza H a b s b u r g ó w znika, na scenę Teatru wchodzi chór Dominanta, śpiewa Hymn H a b s b u r g ó w , publiczność wstaje, Oklaski !!! po z a k o ń c z e n i u H y m n u Cesarz i jego świta opuszczają Lożę, kurtyna Siemiradzkiego powoli spada, G o ś ć w pelerynie z Loży: „ W imieniu Cesarzowej i Cesarza, w imieniu pp. Strausów, w imieniu Konsula Republiki Austrii zapraszamy na uroczysty bankiet, szampana", pp. Strausowie i publiczność powoli opuszczają salę i udają się do sal recepcyjnych teatru, w sali balowej na gości oczekują Cesarzowa i Cesarz, kelnerzy roznoszą szampana, U r o c z y s t o ś ć otwarcia dokonuje się powoli i dostojnie, potem dziać będą się rzeczy niezwykłe. ( O d b y ł o się 15 maja 1993 r.) Część druga: Piękny bankiet. J u ż przytoczone tytuły i nazwy organizowanych paraartystycznych i towarzyskich przedsięwzięć sugerują, że k a ż d e z nich m i a ł o ideowe założenia. Ś w i a d o m i e p r z y w o ł y w a n o tradycję, zdarzenia, k t ó r e j u ż w swojej pierwotnej formie były świętem, z b i o r o w y m przeżyciem lub legendą. W te zamiary w c i ą g a n o a k t o r ó w , k r ą g przyjaciół, w ł a d z e miasta, p r o f e s o r ó w , wojsko, d o r o ż k a r z y , kwiaciarki i p r z y p a d k o w ą p u b l i c z n o ś ć . I oto bez w z g l ę d u na charakter administracji, zajmowane etaty i prestiż, osoby r ó ż n y c h s t a n ó w i funkcji p o m a g a ł y w realizacji p o m y s ł ó w „ P i w n i c y " . I c h g ł ó w n y m reżyserem i s c e n a r z y s t ą był zawsze Piotr Skrzynecki. O p r ó c z reżyserskiej w y o b r a ź n i , dysponuje on a n t r o p o l o g i c z n ą i n t u i ­ cją i wie czego m o ż n a o c z e k i w a ć od u c z e s t n i k ó w piwnicz­ nych s p o t k a ń i widowisk. Wykorzystuje przy t y m zawsze s w o i s t ą a t m o s f e r ę K r a k o w a i t r a d y c y j n ą g o t o w o ś ć jego m i e s z k a ń c ó w do ś w i ę t o w a n i a i u r o c z y s t o ś c i ( W o ź n i a k o w s k i 1991). D y r e k t o r kabaretu - Pan Piotr S. - zdaje też sobie s p r a w ę , że w ogólniejszym planie realizują się w tych akcjach archaiczne struktury zabawy i święta. W y p o w i a d a ł się o n kiedyś na ten temat. (Benedyktowicz 1988) Z kulturowego p u n k t u widzenia zabawa jest swobodnym i bezinteresownym d z i a ł a n i e m w e d ł u g reguł p o c h o d z ą c y c h spoza k r ę g u codziennych z a c h o w a ń . Te cechy zabawy, j a k o pierwotnego wzorca, odnajdujemy w świecie - stwierdził Johan Huizinga: W owej platońskiej identyfikacji zabawy i świętości bynaj­ mniej świętość nie zostaje pomniejszona wskutek tego, iż nazwana zostaje z a b a w ą , lecz zabawa podniesiona zostaje dzięki temu, iż pojęcie to uznaje się nawet w najwyższych rejonach ducha... C z ł o w i e k m o ż e bawić się na owym poziomie kiedy zabawa wyraża p i ę k n o i świętość..." (Huizinga 1967, s. 46). O d w o ł a n i e p o w y ż s z e odnosi się do świata kultur, k t ó r y m i zajmuje się etnologia, należy ono do historii k u l t u r y . W s p ó l szesna k u l t u r a europejska, w efekcie dominacji racjonali­ zmu, ograniczyła swoje z d o l n o ś c i symbolicznego myślenia i p r z e ż y w a n i a świata. W a ż y to istotnie na t a k i m postrzeganiu otoczenia, w k t ó r y m d o s t r z e g a ł o b y się j e d n o ś ć wszystkich w y m i a r ó w ludzkiego istnienia. Ale Mircea Eliade przekonu­ je, że nawet najbardziej zdesakralizowane społeczeństwa z a c h o w u j ą n i e ś w i a d o m e p o k ł a d y rytualizmu, zakamuflowa­ nych m i t ó w i struktur magiczno-religijnych (Eliade 1993, s. 414-416). T o właśnie te sfery zbiorowej „ n i e ś w i a d o m o ś c i " wyzwalają się w „ p i w n i c z n y c h " świętach i balach. Powaga reguł zabawy p o z w o l i ł a na sesję n a u k o w ą o „ P i w ­ nicy" z o r g a n i z o w a n ą w P A N przy okazji jubileuszu 20-lecia (1976) a „ Ś w i ę t o k o p c ó w " (1992) p o p r z e d z i ł a sesja naukowa w auli Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego - i nie c h o d z i ł o przy t y m o tanie efekty. I n n y m zdarzeniom t o w a r z y s z y ł y patriotyczne uniesienia. Szczególnie w i d a ć to było w czasie „ w j a z d u księcia Józefa do K r a k o w a " i podczas „ H o ł d u pruskiego". Liczne bale, mające zawsze p e w n ą ideę p r z e w o d n i ą , a n g a ż o w a ł y u c z e s t n i k ó w do d z i a ł a ń quasi-rytualnych. By­ w a ł o , że z a k ł a d a l i o n i maski, stroje z epoki, uczestniczyli w ż y w y c h obrazach. Bal zmieniał walor czasu i przestrzeni - j a k na p r z y k ł a d - wspominana przez wszystkich iluzja jakiej ulegli balowicze w zrujnowanej sali balowej p a ł a c u w Krzeszowicach. I n n ą f o r m ą „ p i w n i c z n y c h " świąt są coroczne, otwarte dla przyjaciół spotkania, nazywane „ o p ł a t e k " i „ j a j e c z k o " - to oczywiście wersje świąt powszechnie w Polsce obchodzo­ nych. „ P i w n i c a " rozumiana szerzej j a k o swoisty socjologicz­ ny t w ó r artystyczny i towarzyski jest ź r ó d ł e m pewnych tradycji. Powtarzane przez „ P i w n i c ę " obchody ł a t w o rytualizują się, p o n i e w a ż nadaje i m ona n i e c o d z i e n n ą o p r a w ę - tak powstaje „ p i w n i c z n a " tradycja. Jej etnologiczna w y k ł a d n i a z w i ą z a n a jest z i s t o t ą święta. (Benedyktowicz 1988) Chaos z d a r z e ń naszej c o d z i e n n o ś c i u ł a d z a co pewien czas święto. Czas świąteczny ukazuje sens życia, oświetla ś w i a d o ­ m o ś ć istnienia. Ś w i ę t o przywraca z b i o r o w ą w r a ż l i w o ś ć na rzeczywistość s y m b o l i c z n ą . W wymiarze s p o ł e c z n y m nato­ miast odnawia l u b kreuje poprzez r y t u a ł społeczny ł a d , to znaczy tworzy lub utwierdza relacje m i ę d z y l u d ź m i na r ó ż n y c h poziomach (Leach 1989, s. 46-49). Ten inter­ pretacyjny p r o t o k ó ł - najkrócej rzecz b i o r ą c - tak oto spełnia się w „ p i w n i c y " . Otwarte przyjaźnie d r z w i , żywe ś w i a t ł o świec, odpowied­ nia do święta dekoracja, zastawiony stół. Przez salki „ P i w ­ nicy" przewija się t ł u m . R y t u a ł czytania z B i b l i i , k o l ę d y - jeśli to o p ł a t e k - życzenia, gesty przyjaźni i pojednania. R o z m o w y , potem alkohol, coraz więcej ludzi, w y c h o d z ą stateczni przyjaciele kabaretu. Bywa, że jeszcze później k t o ś p r z y ś n i e na b o k u . W k o ń c u zniszczone dekoracje, rozbite szkło, bełkotliwe resztki r o z m ó w - tak d o p e ł n i a się w swoim przeciwieństwie k a ż d y r y t u a ł . Opisane wyżej święta i zabawy m a j ą swój specyficzny w y m i a r t a k ż e i dlatego, że fenomen „ P i w n i c y " tworzy też skupiony w o k ó ł niej k r ą g towarzyski - dalszych i bliższych przyjaciół. M i c h a ł Roniker w j e d n y m z w y w i a d ó w z J o l a n t ą D r u ż y ń s k ą w k r a k o w s k i m Polskim Radio stwierdził, że „ P i w n i c a pod B a r a n a m i " p r z e t r w a ł a tyle lat właśnie dzięki temu ś r o d o w i s k u , k t ó r e stale odnawia się. Ś r o d o w i s k o to jest niezwykle z r ó ż n i c o w a n e . M ó w i ą c o n i m M i c h a ł Roniker m i a ł zapewne na myśli a k t o r ó w , reżyserów, p l a s t y k ó w , p o e t ó w , p o l i t y k ó w , dziennikarzy, n a u k o w c ó w i innych. W s p o m a g a j ą o n i kabaret swoją t w ó r ­ czością, p o s t a w ą , a p r o b a t ą i g o t o w o ś c i ą do zabawy. Czuli krytycy, p o m y s ł o d a w c y , uczestnicy premier, b a l ó w , imienin, sylwestrów i bywalcy „ p i w n i c z n e g o " baru t w o r z ą rzeczywi­ ście d r u g ą d o p e ł n i a j ą c ą część „ P i w n i c y " i co ważniejsze pojawiają się w niej ciągle nowe postacie. „ P i w n i c a " p r z y c i ą g a swoją legendą, p l o t k a m i , k t ó r e o niej 69 i �k r ą ż ą , i ś w i a d o m i e t w o r z o n y m obrazem. P r z y c i ą g a więc i inne postacie, o k t ó r y c h nie m y ś l a ł cytowany wyżej znany t ł u m a c z . M a m na myśli s a m o u k ó w , d e b i u t a n t ó w , grafoma­ n ó w , p i j a c z k ó w , h o c h s z t a p l e r ó w , ludzi o k i c z o w y m stylu bycia, ale też postacie niebanalne oraz n i e o k r e ś l o n ą m a s ę k i b i c ó w , wieloletnich k l i e n t ó w baru i stałych u c z e s t n i k ó w „ p i w n i c z n y c h " imprez, znajomych znajomych, i tak dalej. D o p i e r o łącznie te dwie wymienione a przemieszane grupy t w o r z ą ś r o d o w i s k o kabaretu „ P i w n i c a p o d B a r a n a m i " . Socjograficzne p o d z i a ł y tej całości m o ż n a r o b i ć stosując r ó ż n e kryteria. O d w e w n ą t r z w i d a ć j ą j a k o bardzo z r ó ż ­ n i c o w a n ą , w o p i n i i potocznej całość: „ P i w n i c a " i k r ą g przyjaciół to „ b a n d a p i j a k ó w " - j a k w y n i k a z wpisu do księgi wystawy „ C o nam z tego z o s t a ł o " - w łagodniejszej wersji to b ł a z e n a d a , p a s o ż y t n i c t w o , g ł u p o t a . Kabaret zawsze fas­ cynował i odpychał. Takie ś r o d o w i s k o - rozumiane globalnie - jest potrzebne „ P i w n i c y " . Jest ono t ł e m koniecznym dla jej działalności. G d y b y nie ta życzliwa ś r o d o w i s k o w a p u b l i c z n o ś ć wiele imprez nie m o g ł o b y się o d b y ć . T o ona p r z y c i ą g a ł a innych, n a d a w a ł a k o l o r y t u i sensacyjności wydarzeniom, gdy obok siebie stawały lub bawiły się persona grata i persona incognita. Wiele o s ó b z tak zwanego ś r o d o w i s k a bywanie w k r ę g u „ P i w n i c y " traktuje j a k o legitymację ich z w i ą z k ó w z kabaretem. Są one przekonane, że t w o r z ą rodzaj duchowej w s p ó l n o t y i właściwie one też t w o r z ą ten kabaret. T a k dzieje się od lat. Potwierdza to n a s t ę p u j ą c a obserwacja. Kiedy p o latach p o j a w i a j ą się w K r a k o w i e ludzie z k r ę g u przyjaciół „ P i w n i c y " p o s z u k u j ą z n i ą k o n t a k t ó w . Z n a j d u j ą c w niej w ł a s n e wspomnienia raczej niż rzeczywistość, k o n ­ statują co chwila: t u nic się nie zmieniło. A zmieniło się wszystko. Nie ma k a w i a r n i „ K o l o r o w a " (dawnego miejsca s p o t k a ń ) , i n n i są artyści w kabarecie, ma on inny wyraz artystyczny, n o w i ludzie t w o r z ą ś r o d o w i s k o , inny jest też status kabaretu. A l e w t y m niedostrzeganiu zmian t k w i siła myślenia istotowego, znanego c h o ć b y z teorii f o l k l o r u . T o dzięki temu zachowuje się ciągłość tradycji - tej „ p i w n i c z n e j " również. W s p ó l n o t ę a r t y s t ó w i przyjaciół podtrzymuje też i inna, t r w a j ą c a o d lat sytuacja, w a ż n a chyba dla o b u g r u p - c h o c i a ż t r u d n o t u o jednoznaczne opinie. Chodzi o uczestnictwo w kabarecie od strony kulis. Gdy toczy się kabaretowy spektakl w piwnicach P a ł a c u pod Baranami, w pomieszczeniach kabaretu o b o w i ą z u j e pewien funkcjonalny p o d z i a ł . Część stałych b y w a l c ó w nie­ odmiennie zajmuje swoje ulubione miejsca przy barze i w sali tzw. „ k o l u m n o w e j " . P u b l i c z n o ś ć tłoczy się w salce, w k t ó r e j trwa w y s t ę p , natomiast artyści m a j ą do dyspozycji m a ł ą g a r d e r o b ę , salkę, przez k t ó r ą w c h o d z ą na p o d i u m oraz salę z w a n ą „ p l a n e t a r i u m " (dawniej „ ś l i z g a w k a " ) . W salce przejś­ ciowej p o d lustrem Piotr Skrzynecki u k ł a d a plakat - tak nazywa się schemat w y s t ę p u - w p r o w a d z a j ą c p o p r a w k i i ostateczne decyzje. T u i do „ p l a n e t a r i u m " m a j ą prawo w s t ę p u osoby z a p r z y j a ź n i o n e z „ P i w n i c ą " . W „ p l a n e t a r i u m " p e ł n y m znajomych prowadzi się roz­ m o w y , popija a l k o h o l , t u p r z y g o t o w u j ą się artyści, czasem jeszcze coś p r ó b u j ą . T u s k ł a d a się i m pierwsze gratulacje po występie, t u na stronie słyszy się o nich złośliwe uwagi i p l o t k i . T u o n i sami wygłaszają nudne autotematyczne m o n o l o g i , n a r z e k a j ą , k r y t y k u j ą innych, zarzekają się, że więcej j u ż nie w y s t ą p i ą i ... biegną na scenę. Czasem t u r ó w n i e ż grają i śpiewają artyści s k r a c a j ą c sobie czas oczeki­ wania na wejście. Czasem k o n c e r t u j ą t u podchmieleni goście. M i ę d z y t y m wszystkim k r ą ż y zdenerwowany Piotr S „ w y w o ­ łuje na scenę, pyta o w r a ż e n i a , podpowiada, kłóci się, wita w przelocie gości, wyrzuca n a t r ę t ó w i wraca do p u b l i c z n o ś c i , by z a p o w i e d z i e ć kolejny w y s t ę p . Bywa, że w „ p l a n e t a r i u m " znajdują się osoby sławniejsze 70 niż na scenie. C i , k t ó r y m w o l n o p r z e b y w a ć w „ p l a n e t a r i u m " , m a j ą poczucie, że uczestniczą w misterium. Być za kulisami to rodzaj wtajemniczenia, dopuszczenie profana do procesu powstawania spektaklu. Przekroczenie progu, o g l ą d a n i e od tyłu tego, co dzieje się na scenie, fascynuje i p r z y c i ą g a . N a p i ę c i a i relacje jakie w y t w a r z a j ą się w tej dziwnej salce są też kabaretem - jeden kreują artyści na sali z d e k o r a c j ą i p u b l i c z n o ś c i ą , inny, k t ó r e g o nie wszyscy są ś w i a d o m i , trwa w „ p l a n e t a r i u m " . G d y czasem artyści z a p r a s z a j ą t u swoich nowych gości, to w i d a ć , że w c h o d z ą c y stają onieśmieleni, czują się nie na miejscu. I n n i j u ż obyci, czerpią z tej atmosfery rodzaj satysfakcji. Są w centrum, są u siebie. Za komentarz do opisanej sytuacji niech p o s ł u ż y paraf­ raza p l a t o ń s k i e g o dialogu łon, k t ó r ą p o s ł u ż y ł się M i e c z y s ł a w P o r ę b s k i , by u w y p u k l i ć istotę relacji m i ę d z y a r t y s t ą i odbior­ cą. „... G d y ś p i e w a m - m ó w i ł Ion do Sokratesa - w y c h o d z ę z siebie, płaczę, żeby inni płakali, boję się, żeby przyprawić o strach słuchaczy. Lecz w głębi duszy wiem dobrze, co robię, i wiem również, że później będę się śmiał, p o n i e w a ż uczciwie zarobiłem swoje pieniądze. K t ó ż więc jest autorem ten, który płacze, czy ten, który się śmieje. K t ó r e m u z nich przypisać wykonane dzieło. Odbiorca napotyka pierwszego z nich - z a m a s k o w a n ą postać, która gra przewidzianą dla niej rolę. Idzie za nią i to powinno mu wystarczyć. Bo jeżeli nie, jeżeli szuka drugiego z nich - artysty w życiu prywatnym, aktora po spektaklu, rozczaruje się. Lecz być m o ż e dopiero wtedy dane mu będzie p o z n a ć aż do k o ń c a pełny mechanizm wszelkiej twórczości..." (Porębski 1986, s. 241-242). C z y m f a s c y n o w a ć m o g ą o d b i o r c ę „ p i w n i c z n i " artyści w życiu p r y w a t n y m , artyści po spektaklu? „ O d zawsze" tworzyli oni bardzo specyficzny zespół ludzi i o s o b o w o ś c i b o d ź c u j ą c y c h się nawzajem, często o k r u t n y c h wobec siebie i dla tych, k t ó r z y nie umieją się p r z e b i ć . Piotr Skrzynecki p o w i e d z i a ł wprost w j e d n y m z w y w i a d ó w : „... T u wszyscy się z wszystkich wyśmiewają bez przerwy, wszyscy plotkują o sobie i bawią się sobą. Nie ma ż a d n e g o zadęcia. I ta swoboda, jak się zdaje, wyzwala... Najbardziej drętwych ludzi, którzy tu zostali, u d a ł o się w naturalny s p o s ó b p o z b a w i ć drętwości..." (Skrzynecki 1993). Są też k o n f l i k t y , z a z d r o ś c i , g w a ł t o w n e odejścia. Z dawnej, licznej grupy o s ó b , k t ó r e przewinęły się przez kabaret prawie n i k t nie poświęcił się m u bez reszty. W i ę k s z o ś ć reprezen­ t o w a ł a r ó ż n e inne gałęzie twórczości lub zawody i do nich z czasem odeszła. Kabaret był dla nich w a ż n y m miejscem i f o r m ą manifestacji p o g l ą d ó w , ale przecież nie j e d y n ą . Nielicznym t y l k o osobom u d a ł a się kariera, k t ó r e j p o c z ą t k i w i ą ż ą się z kabaretem. Nie inaczej jest współcześnie. Kabaret nie w y p e ł n i a całości życia a k t o r o m , plastykom, m u z y k o m i l u d z i o m innych z a w o d ó w . Czy to co, stwierdziłem m o ż e r o z c z a r o w a ć o d b i o r c ę , w sensie w j a k i m u ż y w a tego pojęcia M i e c z y s ł a w P o r ę b s k i . C z ę ś c i o w o tak, p o n i e w a ż nad kabaretem dominuje o d lat o s o b o w o ś ć Piotra Skrzyneckiego. T o O n jedynie c a ł y m swoim życiem potwierdza d a w n ą k u l t u r o w ą m a t r y c ę „ k o m e ­ d i a n t a " - człowieka marginesu. R o z w i n ą ł O n przez lata swój w ł a s n y styl bycia, k t ó r y w b a n a l i z u j ą c y m opisie dziennikarze n a z y w a j ą c y g a n e r i ą . Jednak u Piotra S. nie ma fałszywej pozy. Postrzegany j a k o ironiczny błazen, autentycznie speł­ nia swoje p r o g r a m o w o samotne życie, m i m o że wszystkim jest znany, z wieloma z a p r z y j a ź n i o n y . Jego w y j ą t k o w y styl życia sprawia, że jest outsiderem wobec k a ż d e g o ś r o d o w i s k a , ale i k a ż d e G o przyjmuje od d o r o ż k a r z y do p r o f e s o r ó w . Obdarzony w y o b r a ź n i ą , s u b t e l n ą intuicją w sprawach sztu­ k i , manifestacyjnie obnosi swoją p o e t y c z n ą o s o b o w o ś ć i gar­ dzi p o w s z e d n i o ś c i ą i n i e w o l ą rzeczy. Jego s p o s ó b widzenia świata i opowiadania o n i m nie pozostaje nigdy na poziomie �protokolarnego opisu. Jego wypowiedzi t o z a s k a k u j ą c e , sensacyjne, surrealistyczne, purenonsensowe o p o w i e ś c i o zdarzeniach i ludziach. Ż y c i o w a i t w ó r c z a biografia Piotra S. nie rozczarowuje. W y p e ł n i a bowiem p e w n ą k u l t u r o w ą figurę z n a n ą z tradycji europejskiej. N a l e ż y ona dzisiaj do - m o ż n a powiedzieć - potocznej wiedzy o kulturze. T ą figurą m y ś l e n i a jest przekonanie o z g o d n o ś c i dzieła i życia t w ó r c y . Dlatego t e ż biografia artysty bywa często p o d s t a w ą interpretacji jego twórczości. Zgoda p r z e k o n a ń i d z i a ł a ń człowieka wywołuje oceny estetyczne i moralne. Spotykamy się z ocenami „ p i ę k n e " l u b „ p r a w d z i w e " życie. Jurij Ł o t m a n powiada, ż e zobaczenie pięknej i bogatej o s o b o w o ś c i artystycznej p o ­ głębia przeżycia estetyczne. Biografia artysty m o ż e więc b y ć elementem d o p e ł n i a j ą c y m dzieło ( Ł o t m a n 1985). B a z ą tych figuralnych s ą d ó w są p r z e m y ś l e n i a licznych europejskich t w ó r c ó w . Z a p r z y k ł a d y niech p o s ł u ż ą t u myśli F r y d e r y k a Schillera o sztuce życia i sztuce j a k o w o l n o ś c i autokreacji, przekonania Johna Ruskina, że sztuka jest siłą m o r a l n ą , Herberta Reada, że t w ó r c z o ś ć to rodzaj m o d l i t w y lub ocalenia ( t a k ż e C y p r i a n K . N o r w i d , H e r m a n Hesse). (Stróżewski 1983, s. 206-241). P o w y ż s z e tezy są g ł ę b o k o osadzone w systemach nor­ matywnych. W pewnej sfolkloryzowanej postaci t w o r z ą one część kliszy j a k ą posługuje się tak zwana szeroka p u b l i c z n o ś ć w ocenie zjawisk artystycznych. Klisza, podobnie j a k s ą d stereotypowy, jest oporna na zmiany i odporna na fakty. W t y m sensie jest m i t o t w ó r c z a i pozaczasowa. Towarzyszy z r ó ż n i c o w a n y m postawom: aprobacie, rozczarowaniu l u b niechęci. W a l o r pozytywny lub negatywny uzyskuje w k o n ­ tekście użycia i interpretacji. M o ż e b y ć fragmentem ideologii a r t y s t ó w l u b p o d ł o ż e m ich oceny przez innych. L e g e n d ę „ P i w n i c y p o d B a r a n a m i " t w o r z ą z a r ó w n o arty­ ści, j a k i p u b l i c z n o ś ć kabaretu. S t a n o w i ą łącznie stale o d r a d z a j ą c y się k r ą g . D z i ę k i temu legenda nie ginie a r o ś n i e . I m więcej „ k i b i c ó w " i przyjaciół w o k ó ł „ P i w n i c y " , t y m bardziej „ p i w n i c z n e " życie l u b fakt z niego wzięty urasta poprzez p l o t k ę do rangi zdarzenia i sensacji. W ten s p o s ó b powstaje kolejne złudzenie o i n t e n s y w n o ś c i życia „ p i w ­ niczan". N a d t o na „ P i w n i c ę " j a k o na całość jej a r t y s t ó w , potoczna opinia projektuje, na zasadzie pars pro toto, o c e n ę osoby Piotra Skrzyneckiego. O n jest jej znakiem. Czy lepiej więc, i d ą c za r a d ą M i e c z y s ł a w a P o r ę b s k i e g o , p o z o s t a ć na kabaretowej sali i u l e g a ć t y l k o złudzie, czy też w a r t o z a g l ą d a ć za kulisy, by wiedzieć więcej. W p o w y ż s z y m szkicu czyniłem i jedno i drugie. W i o d ł a mnie myśl wolna o d r o z c z a r o w a ń i zarazem przekonanie, że „ P i w n i c a " to jest jednak co innego n i ż „ b a n d a p i j a k ó w " . T e n kabaret, przy wielu słabościach, ma w ł a s n ą o r y g i n a l n ą f o r m ę , ma jeszcze przyjaciół i legendę, za k t ó r ą ostatnio o t r z y m a ł w a ż n ą nagrodę. „ . . . M a l a r z e i poeci mieli zawsze r ó w n y przywilej o d ­ w a ż a n i a się na wszystko..." - p o w i a d a ł X I I I - w i e c z n y W i l ­ helm Durandus (Tatarkiewicz 1989, s. 163). I m a j ą go nadal. M o ż n a tak p o w i e d z i e ć o b s e r w u j ą c p o p u l a r n ą recepcję kaba­ retu „ P i w n i c a p o d B a r a n a m i " . Zawsze życzliwa p u b l i c z n o ś ć nie dostrzega, że obecnie zespół przechodzi swoisty kryzys wieku ś r e d n i e g o . Traci się gdzieś „ p i w n i c z n a " ideologia, artyści powielają się, gdzie indziej realizują w ł a s n e p o m y s ł y . O d c h o d z ą , brak nowych dynamicznych postaci. Pan Piotr S. kręci nostalgiczny film o dawnych swoich latach. N a ten temat prowadzi z n i m r o z m o w y Zbigniew Benedyktowicz. Pani Joanna Roniker pisze w s p o m n i e n i o w ą k s i ą ż k ę o „ P i w n i c y " . C z y ż b y j u ż czas t y l k o na wspomnienia? Czy „ P i w n i c a " znowu się odrodzi, czy też przyjdzie powie­ dzieć: Sic transit Gloria. BIBLIOGRAFIA Arystoteles 1989 Poetyka, wyd. I I (opracowanie H . Podbielski), Wrocław Bachtin Michaił 1993 Czy Chrystus się śmiał, „Nowa Res Publica" nr 1, s. 17-18 Gryglewicz Tomasz 1970 1975 Guriewicz Aron Problemy poetyki Dostojewskiego, Warszawa Twórczość Franciszka Rabelaisgo a kultura ludowa niowiecznego i renesansu, Kraków śred­ Benedyktowicz Zbigniew 1988 O święcie i świętowaniu. Rozmowa z Piotrem Skrzyneckim z udziałem Zbigniewa Bujaka, Czesława Robotyckiego i An­ ny Szałapak, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa" nr 1-2, s. 107-114 1992 Uciekające zdjęcia. Rozmowa z Piotrem Skrzyneckim, „Kon­ teksty: Polska Sztuka Ludowa" nr 3-4, s. 168-178 Bobek Ryszard, Gardulski Marek 1992 Piwnica pod Baranami, album fotograf, (wyd.) Towarzystwo Przyjaciół Piwnicy pod Baranami, Kraków Brach-Czaina Jolanta 1984 Marsjasz Imię róży, Warszawa Dlaczego Platon wykluczył Głowiński Michał 1992 1981 1991 Rytuał i demagogia, Warszawa Goff Jacques le Odnawianie znaczeń, kultury, Warszawa Kraków Surrealizm i etnografia, (w:) Metodologiczne problemy współ­ czesnych badań nad kulturą i tradycją, Toruń, s. 79-94 Leach Edmund 1989 Kultura i komunikowanie, (w:) E. Leach, A . L . Greimas, i narracja, Warszawa z państwa, Ironia jako postawa i jako wyraz, Kraków Łotman Jurij 1985 O biografistyce, „Literatura na świecie", nr 11 (172), s. 348-353 Łotman Jurij, Uspienski Borys O semiotycznym mechanizmie kultury, (w.) Semiotyka kul­ tury, Warszawa, s. 177-201 Maziere Pierre la 1926 poetów Homo ludens. Zabawa jako źródło Kaniowska Katarzyna 1975 Kraków Gawroński Alfred 1984 1967 Janicka Krystyna 1985 Surrealizm, Warszawa Janion Maria 1984 czyli na marginesie literatury, Kraków Okultyzm, czary, mody kulturalne, Traktat o historii religii, Łódź kultury ludowej, Warszawa Łagocki Zbigniew 1968 Piwnica (wstęp, wybór tekstów, zdjęcia), Kraków Laguna Piotr Eliade Mircea 1992 1993 w sztuce polskiej XX wieku, Kraków Problemy średniowiecznej Rytuał Eco Umberto 1987 1987 Groteska Huizinga Johan Etos nowej sztuki, Warszawa Bystroń Jan Stanisław 1960 Komizm, (wyd. I I ) Wrocław Caillois Roger 1973 Żywioł i lad, Warszawa Ćapek Kareł 1981 1984 Warszawa Oflziell Amusements, (w:) Sitten geschichte rausg: Leo Schidrowitz) Wien-Leipzig Podbielski Henryk 1989 Wstęp, (w:) Arystoteles, Poetyka, s. V - C I . von Paris, (he- (wyd. I I ) , Wrocław, 71 I �Porębski Mieczysław 1986 Sztuka i informacja, K r a k ó w 1989 Granica współczesności (wyd. I I ) , Warszawa Richter Hans 1983 Dadaizm. Sztuka i antysztuka, Warszawa Romanowski Andrzej 1990 Przed złotym czasem. Szkice o poezji i pieśni patriotyczno-wojennej lat 1908-1918, K r a k ó w Skrzynecki Piotr 1993 O Zygmuncie Koniecznym, „ S u p l e m e n t " nr 21, marzec, K r a k ó w , s. 10 Słowiński Mirosław 1990 Błazen. Dzieje postaci i motywu, P o z n a ń Zaproszenie na sesję n a u k o w ą w U J : Krakowskie 72 Stróżewski Władysław 1983 Dialektyka twórczości, Kraków Tatarkiewicz Władysław 1989 Historia estetyki, t. 2, Estetyka średniowieczna, Warszawa Wasilewski Jerzy Sławomir 1989 Tabu a paradygmaty etnologii. Warszawa Weiss Tomasz 1987 Legenda i prawda Zielonego Balonika, K r a k ó w W o ź n i a k o w s k i Jacek 1991 Kraków miasto stare, nowa sztuka, (w:) Kraków dialog tradycji, K r a k ó w , s. 77-93 Kopce, 5.06.1992. Projekt: Jerzy Skarżyński � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/d497a8afb5ec86b68c55fa52651a5123.pdf 2b4856f27982c6115434b1ea8696d783 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2446 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2270 Title A name given to the resource Parodia i ironia w teorii i praktyce literackiej Umberto Eco / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.31-34 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Rutkowska, Teresa Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Parodia i ironia w teorii i praktyce literackiej Umberta Eco Teresa Rutkowska Śmiech, j a k powiada W i l h e l m de Baskerville w Imieniu róży, stanowi cechę d y s t y n k t y w n ą g a t u n k u ludzkiego. Śmiech, m ó w i ponadto, p r z y t a c z a j ą c h i p o t e z ę egipskiego alchemika, posiada wielką moc k r e a t y w n ą , bowiem B ó g stworzył świat śmiejąc się i śmiejąc się s i ó d m e g o dnia s t w o r z y ł obdarzonego d u s z ą człowieka. Z a ś wiara pozba­ wiona r a d o ś c i daje do ręki b r o ń szatanowi. Imię róży jest poza wszystkim powieścią o prawie człowie­ ka do ś m i e c h u , o walce o to prawo. W powieści tej konsekracja ś m i e c h u dokonana zostaje przez Arystotelesa, k t ó r y autorytetem swoim z a ś w i a d c z a o wadze tego zjawiska w kulturze. O n to pisze w księdze swojej Poetyki, będącej zaczynem powieściowej i n t r y g i kryminalnej: 1 „ P o k a ż e m y , jak śmieszność faktów rodzi się z przyrównania lepszego do gorszego i na o d w r ó t , z zaskakiwania wybiegiem, z niemożliwości i z p o g w a ł c e n i a praw natury, z błahego i z nielo­ gicznego, z poniżenia o s ó b , z użycia pantomim błazeńskich i pospolitych, z dysharmonii, z wybrania rzeczy mniej godnych. P o k a ż e m y potem, j a k ś m i e s z n o ś ć wypowiedzi rodzi się z wielo­ znaczności między słowami podobnymi dla rzeczy odmiennych i odmiennymi dla rzeczy podobnych, z gadatliwości i powtarza­ nia, z gry słów, ze zdrobnień, z błędów w wymowie i barbaryzmów." 2 O t ó ż wydaje się, że ś w i a d o m o ś ć i s t o t n o ś c i tego aspektu intelektualnej kondycji człowieka towarzyszy U m b e r t o Eco o d samego p o c z ą t k u . Poczucie h u m o r u , ironia, wyczulenie na absurd, z d o l n o ś ć do parodystycznej syntezy, to tyleż cechy n i e o d ł ą c z n i e z w i ą z a n e z jego pisarstwem (z biegiem czasu intensyfikujące się i doskonalone), co stale, w r ó ż n y c h wariantach, p o w t a r z a j ą c y się m o t y w jego r o z w a ż a ń . T y m właśnie c h c i a ł a b y m się zająć. Jak jednak p i s a ć o c z y m ś tak nieuchwytnym i w y s u b l i m o w a n y m j a k poczucie humoru? Najmniej ryzykowne wydaje się prześledzenie jego p r z e j a w ó w na płaszczyźnie tekstowej, j a k k o l w i e k i ten problem przekracza znacznie ramy referatu takiego j a k ten. T o t e ż wiele kwestii zostanie t u jedynie zasygnalizowanych. B e z p o ś r e d n i m tłem m o i c h r o z w a ż a ń będzie myśl U m b e r t o Eco. W pierwszej części a r t y k u ł u o d w o ł a m się wprost do jego wypowiedzi ma temat funkcji i r o n i i , parodii i pastiszu, p o s ł u g u j ą c się p r o p o n o w a n ą przez niego b a z ą pojęciową, niekiedy, j a k s ą d z ę k o n t r o w e r s y j n ą . O p o w i e m o niej jednak z d o b r ą w i a r ą , nie polemicznie — bo zależy m i nie tyle na prezentacji w ł a s n e g o stanowiska — ile przede wszystkim na wydobyciu, tak typowej dla U m b e r t o Eco, z g o d n o ś c i teorii z praktyką. O d w o ł a m się do t e k s t ó w jawnie i po prostu pastiszowych, a t a k ż e do tych bardziej wyrafinowanych, k t ó r e p a r o d i ę , ironię i pastisz w y k o r z y s t u j ą z a r ó w n o w funkcji estetycznej, j a k i dyskursywnej, m e t a j ę z y k o w e j . Zastrzec też chcę, że — głównie z uwagi na brak miejsca — nie p r z y t o c z ę d o k ł a d n y c h definicji ani i r o n i i , ani p a r o d i i , ani pastiszu — nie podaje ich zresztą i sam Eco, o g r a n i c z a j ą c się do charakterystyki opisowej i c z ą s t k o w e j tych t e r m i n ó w , ufny, j a k zawsze, w k o m p e t e n c j ę odbiorcy. Przy całej swojej r ó ż n o r o d n o ś c i , w s z e c h s t r o n n o ś c i i mozai k o w o ś c i t w ó r c z o ś ć U m b e r t o Eco — naukowa i literacka, t a k ż e ta pozornie b ł a h a i ulotna, felietonowo-dziennikarska — jest nad podziw s p ó j n a . Wszystko t u łączy się ze s o b ą . Metafora kłącza (rhisori) Deleuza i Guattari'ego, na k t ó r ą Eco tak c h ę t n i e się p o w o ł u j e wydaje się t u najwłaściwsza. Ten rodzaj labiryntu bez p o c z ą t k u i k o ń c a , bez centrum, ciągle w akcie tworzenia i rozrostu jest s t r u k t u r ą d o m i n u j ą ­ cą, w p o s z c z e g ó l n y c h utworach i w jego dziele j a k o całości. T o rzecz fascynująca śledzić, j a k p r z e m y ś l n i e w jego pastiszach s k r y w a j ą się klucze do Imienia róży czy Wahadła Foucaulta i odwrotnie, zaś w obu p o w i e ś c i a c h — klucze do teorii interpretracji i odwrotnie, a we francuskim w y d a n i u zbioru esejów Wojna fałszerstw (La guerre dufaux) klucze do w y w o d u Lector in fabuła i odwrotnie. Eco, j a k ż e by m o g ł o b y ć inaczej, zaprasza do o d b i o r u intertekstualnego. Jeśli więc chcemy b y ć czytelnikami m o d e l o w y m i , idealnymi — a do takich przecież Eco się zwraca — musimy p o d d a ć się tej pokusie, wziąć udział w grze, d a ć się uwieść przygodzie intelektualnej i s z u k a ć tych p o w i ą z a ń , bez obawy o u t r a t ę naukowej solenności. M o ż e się to jednak stać pod j e d n y m tylko warunkiem. M u s i m y „wiecznie p o w r a c a ć " , odczyty­ w a ć wciąż na nowo te lektury, tak rozmaite przecież i w tak rozmaitych j ę z y k a c h s f o r m u ł o w a n e . Z r e s z t ą sam Eco m ó w i o sobie, że jest typem intelektuali­ sty postmodernistycznego. I n t e l e k t u a l i s t ó w w s p ó ł c z e s n y c h dzieli na trzy grupy. T y p pierwszy — to profesor szkoły frankfurckiej, k t ó r y stając wobec ś w i a t a k u l t u r y masowej, w niezgodzie na alienację, k t ó r a jest z nią z w i ą z a n a , o s ą d z a j ą krytycznie za p o m o c ą kategorii filozoficznych, przyjmując 3 4 31 �p o s t a w ę odrzucenia w stosunku do przedmiotu analizy, Jedynym n a p r a w d ę w i e l k i m przedstawicielem tej odmiany jest w e d ł u g niego Walter Benjamin. T y p drugi — to intelektualista p o k r o j u M c L u h a n a , k t ó r y żyje w społeczeństwie konsumpcyjnym, l u b i je i decyduje się m ó w i ć j ę z y k i e m tego s p o ł e c z e ń s t w a . Wreszcie t y p trzeci, z k t ó r y m Eco się identyfikuje, to intelektualista postmodernistyczny. P o s t a w ę jego ilustruje w y p o w i e d ź Edgara M o r i n a — o t y m , że nie m o ż n a analizo­ w a ć fenomenu piłki n o ż n e j , jeśli nie umie się c z e r p a ć czystej p r z y j e m n o ś c i z o d b i o r u meczu. Ten t y p intelektualisty ś w i a d o m niebezpieczeństw, jakie ze s o b ą niesie k u l t u r a masowa, jest n a m i ę t n y m jej o d b i o r c ą , kinomanem, telewi­ dzem, czytelnikiem k o m i k s ó w . Rezygnuje z postawy klerkowskiej. A l e żyjąc w społeczeństwie naznaczonym w p ł y w a ­ m i k u l t u r y masowej, nie rezygnuje z j ę z y k a filozoficznego i kategorii teoretycznych, z a k ł a d a j ą c w s z a k ż e , że i ten j ę z y k u w i k ł a n y jest w kontekst współczesności. W y r a z takiej postawie d a ł Eco j u ż wiele lat temu, w pracy Apokaliptyczni i zintegrowani (1964). T u , katastroficznej, „ a p o k a l i p t y c z n e j " właśnie wizji h u m a n i s t ó w , duchowych a r y s t o k r a t ó w , p o s t r z e g a j ą c y c h w kulturze masowej f o r m ę rozprzestrzeniającego się nieuchronnie barbarzyństwa — przeciwstawia p u n k t widzenia z w e w n ą t r z , tych „zinteg­ r o w a n y c h " , k t ó r z y remedium na b a r b a r z y ń s t w o w i d z ą w do­ k ł a d n y m rozpoznaniu p r o c e s ó w k o m u n i k o w a n i a , a t a k ż e w usprawnianiu systemu komunikacji, w s t a ł y m „ u d r a ż n i a n i u " w y w o d ó w intelektualnych i p r z e f o r m u ł o w y w a n i u koncepcji sztuki i estetyki tradycyjnej w świetle tych właśnie p r o c e s ó w . Rozwija tę myśl w Dopiskach do Imienia róży. D o ż y l i ś m y c z a s ó w , gdy awangarda s t a ł a się tradycją, miłą niekiedy w odbiorze. Zachwiana z o s t a ł a dychotomia p o m i ę ­ dzy p o r z ą d k i e m a chaosem, p o m i ę d z y t w o r e m konsumpcyj­ n y m a dziełem p r o w o k u j ą c y m . N i e a k c e p t o w a l n o ś ć odbior­ cza sztuki awangardowej p r z e s t a ł a b y ć gwarantem w a r t o ś c i . Schemat aksjologiczny awangardy nie z o s t a ł wprawdzie całkowicie obalony, ale mocno p o d w a ż o n y . Istnieją w e d ł u g Eco elementy kontestacji i zerwania w dziełach przeznaczo­ nych do łatwej konsumpcji, z a ś wiele z tych, k t ó r e z założenia m a j ą b y ć prowokacyjne i o b r a z o b ó r c z e , w istocie niczego nie kontestują. Awangarda historyczna usiłowała r e g u l o w a ć porachunki z przeszłością, z t y m , co oswojone. Rezultatem tych po­ c z y n a ń jest informel, a w k o ń c o w y m etapie sztuka koncep­ tualna, czyli rodzaj m e t a j ę z y k a , k t ó r y m ó w i o rzeczach niemożliwych. Dalej j u ż pójść nie m o ż n a . O d p o w i e d z i ą postmoderny na m o d e r n ę jest założenie, że przeszłości nie da się z b u r z y ć — bo jej dekonstrukcja prowadzi do ciszy. Przeszłość natomiast trzeba nieustannie w e r y f i k o w a ć — ale nie w s p o s ó b niewinny. U t r a t a niewinności jest faktem powszechnym i d o k o n a n y m . Przeszłość należy w e r y f i k o w a ć z i r o n i ą . Postmodernista, pisze Eco, jest w sytuacji takiej, j a k w y k s z t a ł c o n y człowiek zakochany w w y k s z t a ł c o n e j kobiecie. Nie m o ż e jej p o w i e d z i e ć — z d o b r ą w i a r ą : „ K o c h a m cię miłością b e z n a d z i e j n ą " , p o n i e w a ż on wie, że ona wie (i ona wie, że on wie), że te zdania zostały j u ż napisane przez k o g o ś takiego, j a k Barbara Cartland (której i w naszych księgar­ niach jest p e ł n o ) . Jest jednak na to rada. M ó g ł b y jej powiedzieć: „ J a k powiada Barbara Cartland: « K o c h a m cię miłością b e z n a d z i e j n ą » " . I w rezultacie powie jej to, co chciał powiedzieć, u n i k a j ą c fałszywej niewinności, powiedziawszy jasno, że nie m o ż e m ó w i ć w s p o s ó b niewinny, że j ą kocha i że kocha j ą w epoce utraconej niewinności. I obydwoje b ę d ą musieli z a a k c e p t o w a ć to ciśnienie przeszłości, to deja dit 5 — ś w i a d o m i e i z p r z y j e m n o ś c i ą zagrają w tę i r o n i c z n ą grę, p o n i e w a ż o w o branie w c u d z y s ł ó w nazywamy właśnie i r o ­ n i ą . Tyle Eco. 6 32 I r o n i a więc to gra metalingwistyczna. W epoce post­ modernizmu nie da się tej gry z r o z u m i e ć — jeśli b ę d z i e m y b r a ć j ą p o w a ż n i e . C h o c i a ż zawsze z n a j d ą się tacy, k t ó r z y dyskurs ironiczny w e z m ą na serio. (Postmodernizm nie m ó w i , wyjaśnia w t y m ż e p o s ł o w i u Eco, do a n a l f a b e t ó w zlobotomizowanych przez mass-media, ale ma też r o z e r w a ć i p o r u s z y ć k o g o ś więcej niż, j a k p o w i a d a ł M a n n , pierwszych chrześcijan i d e w o t ó w sztuki.) Postmodernizm w t a k i m ujęciu jest więc k a t e g o r i ą ducho­ w ą (Kunstwolleń), a t a k ż e sposobem d z i a ł a n i a . W t y m znaczeniu, powiada Eco, k a ż d a epoka ma swoją postmodernę. Idealna powieść postmodernistyczna p o w i n n a w e d ł u g niego s y n t e t y z o w a ć opozycję p o m i ę d z y realizmem i irrealizmem, p o m i ę d z y formalizmem a a n a l i z ą treści, l i t e r a t u r ą czystą i z a a n g a ż o w a n ą , e l i t a r n ą i m a s o w ą — j a k d o b r y jazz i muzyka klasyczna. I r o n i a jest zasadniczym mechanizmem retorycznym stoso­ w a n y m w p a r o d i i . Parodia nowoczesna — j a k tego d o w o d z i L i n d a Hutcheon, ma nie tyle moc ośmieszającą i destrukcyj­ n ą (ten cel przyświecał p a r o d i i klasycznej) — ile moc i n t e r t e k s t u a l n ą , czyli moc aktualizowania i rekonstruowania innych t e k s t ó w w j e d n y m hipertekście (zgodnie z terminolo­ gią Genetta). Parodia utrzymuje dystans krytyczny w sto­ sunku do tekstu parodiowanego. Bywa paradoksalnie, i ta jej właściwość wydaje się szczególnie interesująca w świetle p r a k t y k i uprawianej przez Eco, „ p e ł n y m szacunku h o ł d e m i j e d n o c z e ś n i e prztyczkiem w nos d a n y m t r a d y c j i " . Za takie parodie u w a ż a ł Eco swoje teksty o d w o ł u j ą c e się do Borgesa, Joyce'a i ( O dziwo!) Derridy. 7 8 Ten rodzaj p a r o d i i stosowali zresztą Barth, Fowles, N a b o ­ kov, M u r d o c h i oczywiście sam Borges. Parodia, dodaje Eco jest lasem deja vu i deja dit, przez k t ó r y trzeba przejść c h c ą c d o t r z e ć do czegoś nowego. W przypadku Imienia róży i Wahadła Faucaulta jest to las gęsty, przez k t ó r y trudno się niekiedy p r z e d r z e ć , ale też niespodzianka, k t ó r a czeka nas na k o ń c u , warta jest tego t r u d u . Kategoria i r o n i i bywa przez Eco rozumiana d o ś ć szczegól­ nie. Jako chwyt retoryczny, ale t a k ż e , podobnie j a k post­ modernizm, j a k o typ postawy intelektualnej wobec świata. M ó w i w j e d n y m z w y w i a d ó w : „ I r o n i a jest przede wszystkim imperatywem g o d n o ś c i . Jak p o w i e d z i a ł Villiers d'lsle A d a m , życie jest potworne, pozostawmy ten problem naszym nie­ w o l n i k o m " . Jako figura retoryczna odznacza się ironia g ł ę b o k ą a m b i w a l e n c j ą . Jest w istocie s z t u k ą m ó w i e n i a rzeczy przeciwnych o d tych, k t ó r e są uznane za prawdziwe, ale z w i a r ą w inteligencję odbiorcy, że ó w zna p r a w d ę i rozpozna, strategię, j a k ą się posługuje nadawca. Jest to figura na granicy tekstu i tego, co poza tekst wykracza, czyli konteks­ tu. Eco zwraca u w a g ę na to, iż ironia m o ż e b y ć najdoskonal­ szą strategią p e r s w a z y j n ą . 9 Jest to jednak strategia nie bez ryzyka. U w a ż a się po­ wszechnie, że tragedia odznacza się większą u n i w e r s a l n o ś c i ą niż komedia. Eco w eseju o Komizmie i regułach z t o m u La guerre de faux zwraca u w a g ę na fakt, iż w y n i k a to s t ą d , że w utworze tragicznym w i a d o m o d o k ł a d n i e , j a k i e reguły uległy przekroczeniu, p o n i e w a ż reguły te zostały uprzednio explicits s f o r m u ł o w a n e przez c h ó r — w tragedii klasycznej lub przez szeroko zarysowany kontekst społeczny, na przy­ k ł a d w powieści d z i e w i ę t n a s t o w i e c z n e j . I n n y m i słowy, k a ż d e dzieło tragiczne jest swojego rodzaju lekcją a n t r o p o l o g i i kulturowej. W k o m e d i i dochodzi do p o g w a ł c e n i a scenariu­ szy w s p ó l n o t o w y c h , z n a j o m o ś ć k t ó r y c h zostaje z g ó r y z a ł o ż o n a . Śmieszność zostaje zasugerowana za p o m o c ą figury pronuntiatio, ale jedynie zasugerowana. K o m e n t a r z do i r o n i i zabija ironię. Eco ma ś w i a d o m o ś ć tych o g r a n i c z e ń . Zdaje sobie s p r a w ę z faktu, iż część z tego co pisze jest 10 �niepercypowalna poza jego krajem, w j ę z y k u i n n y m niż włoski. Dlatego też nader pieczołowicie weryfikuje obcoję­ zyczne wydania swoich u t w o r ó w pastiszowych, a niekiedy czuje się w o b o w i ą z k u d o o k r e ś l i ć , ich kontekst (we francus­ k i m w y d a n i u Diario minimo, n o s z ą c y m tytuł Pastiches et postiches — w traktacie fenomenologicznym o M i k u Bongiorno wyjaśnia, że jest to prezenter telewizji włoskiej, zawdzięczający p o p u l a r n o ś ć absolutnej swojej przeciętności, a fragmenty literackie analizowane w futurologicznym eseju o wynikach prac archeologicznych na p ó ł w y s p i e a p e n i ń s k i m po w y b u c h u a t o m o w y m to teksty piosenek w ł o s k i c h z lat 3 0 — 6 0 ) . Jego w s t ę p y do u t w o r ó w literackich, a t a k ż e obszerne Dopiski do Imienia róży świadczą jednak o pewnym niepokoju w t y m względzie, j a k k o l w i e k nieustannie de­ klaruje w i a r ę w kompetencje swojego czytelnika. Problem w t y m , że zazwyczaj u Eco m a m y do czynienia z p a r o d i ą „ u c z o n ą " i p o z i o m w y m a g a ń stawianych przezeń czytel­ n i k o w i bywa bardzo wysoki. 11 Jakie więc są cechy tego czytelnika modelowego? W s p o s ó b najbardziej wyrazisty s f o r m u ł o w a ł je oczywiście Eco w pracy Lector in fabuła. O d w o ł a j m y się do jej fragmentu, p o ś w i ę c o n e g o analizie nader przewrotnej no­ welki Alphonse'a Allais'a p.t. Dramat typowo paryski (Un dramę bien parisieri). Jest to o p o w i e ś ć o dwojgu niezmiernie zazdrosnych m a ł ż o n k a c h , stale ze s o b ą s k ł ó c o n y c h . K a ż d e z nich otrzymuje pewnego dnia a n o n i m o w y list, w k t ó r y m zawarta jest w i a d o m o ś ć , że w s p ó ł m a ł ż o n e k ( k a ) dnia tego a tego spotka się z k o c h a n k i e m ( ą ) na balu maskowym w przebraniu " p i r o g i kongijskiej" i "templariusza fin de sićcle". Zjawiają się więc w sekrecie na t y m ż e balu jedno przebrane za p i r o g ę , drugie za templariusza, szukając się wzajemnie. Z n a j d u j ą się, wieczór k o ń c z y się w lokalu, gdzie zdejmują maski — i t u ogromne zaskoczenie: ani jedno, ani drugie nie jest domniemanym w s p ó ł m a ł ż o n k i e m . 12 Wszystkie poprzednie rozdziały są przygotowaniem teore­ tycznym do rozprawy z t y m u t w o r e m . Eco lojalnie uprzedza: Jeśli jesteś na tyle inteligentny, aby o d c z u ć paradoksalny dowcip tej nowelki, jesteś w y s t a r c z a j ą c o inteligentny, aby zrozumieć mój wywód. Pierwszy więc warunek to inteligencja i kompetencja. C ó ż to oznacza? Oznacza to m i ę d z y i n n y m i u m i e j ę t n o ś ć wpada­ nia w p u ł a p k ę z a s t a w i a n ą i przez Eco i Allais'a i g o t o w o ś ć na przyjęcie niespodzianki. W ł a ś c i w a lektura tego u t w o r u jest rodzajem chytrej p r ó b y . Zwycięskie jej przejście — to nie t y l k o zrozumienie tego dziełka, ale przede wszystkim zro­ zumienie będącej naszym u d z i a ł e m pracy u m y s ł u w procesie interpretacji. I , dodaje Eco — j a k w s z a n u j ą c y m się k r y m i n a ­ le p r a w d z i w y m m o r d e r c ą jest czytelnik. Oznacza to po prostu, że czytelnik idealny musi „ p o d j ą ć się kooperacji tekstowej — a więc o d b i e r a ć wirtualne intencje" zawarte w tekście. Czytelnik jednak, i to jest d r u g i n i e z b ę d n y jego atrybut, musi p o s i a d a ć coś, co Eco nazywa k o m p e t e n c j ą encyk­ l o p e d y c z n ą , k t ó r e j towarzyszy intuicja i w r a ż l i w o ś ć po­ zwalająca a k t u a l i z o w a ć jedne hipoteksty w hipertekście, a inne, j a k pisze Eco „ n a r k o t y z o w a ć " , czyli u n i e w a ż n i a ć . T o stawia przed czytelnikiem u t w o r ó w Eco szczególne wymagania. Kompetencja czytelnika parodii musi być nieja­ ko p o t r ó j n a : 1) lingwistyczna — tak by m ó g ł r o z p o z n a ć i z r o z u m i e ć język; 2) retoryczna — w y m a g a j ą c a z n a j o m o ś c i n o r m i rozpozna­ nia o d s t ę p s t w o d niej; 3) ideologiczna — aby m ó g ł o d n i e ś ć się do systemu w a r t o ­ ści. T o w a r z y s z y ć temu musi z n a j o m o ś ć konwencji k u l t u r o ­ wych i historii interpretacji poprzednich t e k s t ó w ; Czasem autor litościwie udziela nam w s k a z ó w e k . N a p r z y k ł a d w traktacie antropologicznym o zachowaniach seksualnych m i e s z k a ń c ó w doliny Padu s f o r m u ł o w a n y m przez australijskich a b o r y g e n ó w , j a k sam pisze, o d w o ł u j e się b e z p o ś r e d n i o do pracy Malinowskiego, ale t a k ż e do metod Margaret M e a d , R u t h Benedict czy Kroebera, po­ sługując się ponadto z lekka tylko retuszowanymi cytatami z Husserla, Binswangera i Heideggera. W e w s p o m n i a n y m szkicu o pracach archeologicznych nawiązuje do szkoły frankfurckiej i j a k wyjaśnia do „ a d o r n i z u j ą c y c h k r y t y k ó w w ł o s k i c h " . Czasem w s k a z ó w k i t k w i ą w samym tekście, j a k na p r z y k ł a d w zjadliwym eseju o trzech s ó w k a c h na k o m o ­ dzie, gdzie aplikuje na a b s u r d a l n ą w y l i c z a n k ę dziecięcą najbardziej solenne metody analizy tekstowej, „ c y t u j ą c " Starobinskiego, Jakobsona, Levi-Straussa, Le Goffa, Lacana, D e r r i d ę , Guattariego, wreszcie Greimasa z jego k w a d ­ ratem m o d a l n o ś c i , nie szczędząc i siebie samego. 1 3 Z p o w i e ś c i a m i sprawa jest jednak znacznie trudniejsza. Bowiem poza bardzo w ą s k i m k r ę g i e m specjalistów — czytel­ nik nie m o ż e wiedzieć z całą p e w n o ś c i ą , czy ma do czynienia z k o n f a b u l a c j ą , p a r o d i ą , czy z faktami i w y w o d e m serio. Oto bohaterowie Wahadła Foucaulta p r z y g o t o w u j ą Plan temp­ lariuszy: „ D o d a w a ł o nam otuchy uzgodnienie — milczące, j a k wymaga etykieta i r o n i i — że parodiujemy logikę tamtych. A l e w czasie d ł u g i c h przerw, kiedy k a ż d y z nas osobno g r o m a d z i ł m a t e r i a ł y do wspólnej pracy, ze spokojnym sumieniem, gdyż w przekonaniu, że zbiera fragmenty, k t ó r e złożą się na p a r o d i ę mozaiki, nasze m ó z g i p r z y w y k ł y w i ą z a ć bez ustanku wszystko ze wszystkim, jeśli m i a ł o się to d o k o n y w a ć automatycznie. Sądzę, że na pewnym etapie zanika r ó ż n i c a m i ę d z y nawykiem udawania, iż się wierzy, a nawykiem w i e r z e n i a . " T a d w o i s t o ś ć i tajemnica jest losem czytelnika Wahadła. Jak u Borgesa, k t ó r y wymyślił idealnego p a r o d y s t ę Pierre'a M o n o d a , autora Don Kichota, k t ó r e g o a m b i c j ą b y ł o sparo­ diowanie Cervantesa s ł o w o po słowie, linijka po linijce — tak aby tekst parodiowany i parodia stały się identyczne. Ten w ą t e k podjęty zostanie w Wahadle Foucaulta w opo­ wieści Belba o Johnie Dee, Baconie, Szekspirze i Cervantesie — gdzie wszyscy imitują wszystkich tak dalece, że autor j a k o osoba r o z p ł y w a się w niebycie. Eco z nie u k r y w a n ą satysfakcją stwierdza w Dopiskach do Imienia róży, że ilekroć, k t ó r y ś z k r y t y k ó w z a r z u c a ł m u przestylizowanie i p r z e s a d ę — zarzut był chybiony, bo d o t y c z y ł tekstu autentycznego. Trzecim warunkiem właściwego o d b i o r u jest podjęcie t r u d u p o w t ó r z e n i a lektury. Ten „ p i e r w s z y raz" musi b y ć oczywiście na tyle w a b i ą c y , aby czytelnika do tego zachęcić — to j u ż zadanie autora. W trakcie ponawiania procesu odczytywania rodzi się czytelnik krytyczny — d o k o n u j ą c y interpretacji, k t ó r y niejako zabija w sobie czytelnika naiw­ nego z okresu pierwszej lektury. T o odnosi się tyleż do czytelnika nowelki Allais'a, co do czytelnika Eco — a praw­ dopodobnie do czytelnika k a ż d e g o u t w o r u opartego na strategii ironicznej. Brak t u miejsca na w y w ó d bardziej szczegółowy, ale c e c h ą niezmiernie i s t o t n ą r o z w a ż a ń w Lector in fabuła jest przemia­ na scholastyki semiologicznej w l u d y c z n ą wycieczkę, zaba­ w ę , c h w i l a m i w b u r l e s k ę . U jej korzeni t k w i jednak za­ dziwiająca dyscyplina p o j ę c i o w a i metodologiczna. W y p a d a więc p o w i e d z i e ć nieco więcej o parodii j a k o o sposobie uprawiania przez Eco m e t a k r y t y k i naukowej. Ta metakrytyka daje o sobie z n a ć w tekstach jawnie parodystycznych na p r z y k ł a d we wspomnianym tekście o trzech s ó w k a c h . W tych tekstach pozornie, do z ł u d z e n i a prawdziwych, Eco o d k r y w a p u ł a p k i metodologiczne roz14 33 �m a i t y c h szkół humanistycznych, własnej zresztą r ó w n i e ż . A l e parodia jest obecna i w tekstach o randze wybitnie naukowej. N a p r z y k ł a d w Granicach interpretacji dokonuje on bardzo ostrej k r y t y k i zasad tego, co nazywa i n t e r p r e t a c j ą n i e o g r a n i c z o n ą . A u t o r Dzieła otwartego, pozwala je sobie wymienić w punktach : 1) tekst poddaje się n i e s k o ń c z o n y m interpretacjom. 2) nie ma jednego sensu — nie ma intencji autora. 3) język odbija n i e a d e k w a t n o ś ć myśli. 4) tekst jedno-sensowy jest tekstem kalekim. 5) grzechem j ę z y k a jest szukanie iluzji sensu. 6) k a ż d y m o ż e stać się w y b r a n y m , wtajemniczonym — j e ś l i narzuci w ł a s n ą intencję lektury na a u t o r s k ą ( n i e u c h w y t n ą ) . W ten s p o s ó b k a ż d y czytelnik stać się m o ż e n a d c z ł o w i e k i e m . 7) słowa m a s k u j ą sens. 8) „ w y b r a n y " rozumie, że prawdziwy sens tekstu to pustka. 9) najważniejsze: semiotyka to spisek, zmowa tych, k t ó r z y c h c ą nam n a r z u c i ć wiarę, że język służy k o m u n i k o w a n i u myśli. Sam Eco przyznaje n a s t ę p n i e , że jest to karykatura interpretacji nieograniczonej, ale z a s t o s o w a ł j ą ś w i a d o m i e , p o n i e w a ż k a r y k a t u r y ujawniają fizjonomię, tendencje, cechy inaczej nieuchwytne. Nie chodzi o to, aby w c z a m b u ł p o t ę p i a ć wspomniane powyżej zasady — ale ujęte w t a k ą całość — s k ł a d a j ą się one na obraz patologicznego syndromu aluzji i p o d e j r z e ń i implikują metafizykę p o z o r ó w tyleż s u g e s t y w n ą , co u k r y t ą . C i , k t ó r z y u p r a w i a j ę ten rodzaj nauki, nie są b y ć m o ż e — powiada litościwie Eco — paran o i k a m i , ale dręczy ich choroba podejrzliwości. T y m stylem argumentacji posługuje się Eco d o s y ć często. N o t a bene wspomniana metoda interpretacji hermetycz­ nej i nieograniczonej z o s t a ł a przewrotnie i cynicznie w p r o ­ wadzona w życie przez Causabona i jego towarzyszy w Wa­ hadle przy mistyfikowaniu Planu templariuszy. T u Eco d a ł w y k ł a d n i ę tego, do czego doprowadza inwazja g ł u p s t w a . D o c h o d z i m y w ten s p o s ó b do n a s t ę p n e j cechy Ecowskiej parodii. Parodia jest k ł ą c z e m . Figury ironiczne i p a r o d i ę stosuje w obu p o w i e ś c i a c h i niemal we wszystkich pracach naukowych. W y d a ł t a k ż e dwa t o m y Diario minimo ( g r u p u j ą ­ ce felietony z „ E s p r e s s s o " drukowane z przerwami o d lat 60 do tej p o r y — częściowo znamy je ze z b i o r k u Zapiski na pudelku zapałek). Są to, j a k pisze, ćwiczenia w stylu R a y m o n ­ da Queneau, w tej samej aurze intelektualnej, co Mythologiques Barthesa. N i e k t ó r e z tych t e k s t ó w nie m a j ą charakteru parodystycznego, przechylają się raczej w s t r o n ę czystego, bezinteresownego pastiszu, r o z r y w k i , wyzbytej intencji krytycznej i moralizatorskiej, pisanej j a k m ó w i autor, lewą r ę k ą , j a k c h o ć b y „ p i o s e n k i do ś p i e w a n i a przy winie na kongresach n a u k o w y c h " . W praktyce nawet ta deklarowana b e z i n t e r e s o w n o ś ć m o ż e b y ć postrzegana j a k o bodziec do n a m y s ł u nad k u l t u r ą w s p ó ł c z e s n ą , tą najbardziej t r y w i a l n ą i t ą w y r a f i n o w a n ą . R ó w n o c z e ś n i e t u właśnie pozwala sobie Eco na rozwijanie p o m y s ł ó w parodystycznych zainicjowanych w tekstach poważniejszych, k t ó r e z uwagi na ciągłość w y w o d u m u s i a ł p o w ś c i ą g a ć . W drugiej części Diario minimo m a m y na p r z y k ł a d k o n t y n u a c j ę pomys­ łu Belba i Diotalleviego co do reformy uniwersytetu i fakul­ tetu irrelewancji p o r ó w n a w c z e j — gdzie s t u d i o w a ć się będzie 15 to co z b ę d n e i n i e m o ż l i w e , czyli r o z b u d o w a n ą k o n c e p c j ę tetrapiloktomii. R o z d z i a ł p o ś w i ę c o n y recenzjom książek n a d e s ł a n y c h do wydawnictwa (Biblii, Jerozolimy Wyzwolo­ nej Tassa, Boskiej Komedii Dantego), zawarty w pierwszej części Diario minimo, to egzemplifikacja o d b i o r u a-kontekstualnego i a-historycznego, a więc absurdalny komentarz do Lector in fabuła i Granic interpretacji. T a s p ó j n o ś ć w y w o d u sankcjonowana jest przez trzy toposy Ecowskie: Bibliotekę (wraz z jej u n o w o c z e ś n i o n ą wersją — komputerem), L a b i r y n t i W y d a w n i c t w o . Rzeczy­ wistość, po k t ó r e j porusza się on i jego bohaterowie — to rzeczywistość t e k s t ó w k u l t u r y . W i l h e l m de Baskerville, Causabon, Belbo — to r ó ż n e oblicza porte-parole autora. Erudyci, k t ó r z y p r a c ę intelektu w y k o n u j ą z ironicznym dystansem, ale i paradoksalnie, z pasją d e t e k t y w ó w . Badanie m o d a l n o ś c i z n a c z e ń — to p o w o ł a n i e semiotyka, k t ó r e Eco realizuje w całym, swoim dziele. Parodia jest j e d n y m ze ś r o d k ó w dochodzenia do celu. Jednym z n a j w a ż ­ niejszych a s p e k t ó w parodii, k t ó r ą Eco się interesuje —jest płaszczyzna lingwistyczna. J u ż od lat 60 doskonali instru­ menty dekodowania lingwistycznego, instrumenty dekonstrukcji j ę z y k o w e j . Z d o l n y jest p a r o d i o w a ć wszelkie style j ę z y k a pisanego i m ó w i o n e g o . B a w i się g r ą z n a c z e ń . Paro­ diuje języki d y s k u r s ó w naukowych i style autorskie (między i n n y m i Manzoniego, Cortazara, N a b o k o v a , Robe-Grilleta, Borgesa), z a r ó w n o w formie bardziej rozbudowanej, j a k i w s p o s ó b maksymalnie syntetyczny — j a k w felietonie z Diario minimo, gdzie ustami najrozmaitszych pisarzy i filozofów udziela odpowiedzi na pytanie: Come va? (Co słychać?). Rozmaite fragmenty Wahadła Foucaulta dostar­ czają t u szczególnie w d z i ę c z n e g o m a t e r i a ł u do analizy. O d r ę b n y aspekt jego pisarstwa parodystycznego to ono­ mastyka. M a m y z t y m do czynienia z a r ó w n o w p o w i e ś c i a c h , j a k i drobnych pastiszach. D o w c i p tam opiera się na swobodnych, absurdalnych skojarzeniach w y p ł y w a j ą c y c h z p o d o b i e ń s t w a d ź w i ę k o w e g o (częste w Pastiszach). Niekie­ dy, jest to istotne przede wszystkim w p o w i e ś c i a c h , i m i o n a i nazwiska to klucze, k t ó r y c h dopasowanie wymaga dedukcji ze strony czytelnika, zawsze jednak się o p ł a c a , p o n i e w a ż pomaga w d o o k r e ś l e n i u funkcji postaci. W t y m miejscu, z p e ł n ą ś w i a d o m o ś c i ą , iż temat nie z o s t a ł wyczerpany, d o s z ł a m do k o ń c a moich r o z w a ż a ń . Jest prze­ cież jeszcze Eco — autor książki ekologicznej dla dzieci i Eco — autor historii w y n a l a z k ó w , Eco — autor w s t ę p u do zbioru k o m i k s ó w i t d . Ze zdjęć prasowych i licznych, umieszczanych w czasopismach k a r y k a t u r (Eco jest p o s t a c i ą niezwykle na zachodzie p o p u l a r n ą — i c h c ą c nie c h c ą c usytuowany z o s t a ł w systemie gwiazd współczesnej k u l t u r y ) s p o g l ą d a na nas wyrozumiale w s z e c h w i e d z ą c y m spojrzeniem, u ś m i e c h a j ą c się u ś m i e c h e m z lekka s z a t a ń s k i m . Zgotuje nam zapewne jeszcze niejedną n i e s p o d z i a n k ę . D o d a m m o ż e jeszcze t y l k o , że j a k o klasyk sam też j u ż bywa przedmiotem parodii, że w s p o m n ę o księżce Philipa Sollersa Portret gracza, w k t ó r y m analizowane są przyczyny niezwykłej popularności powieści Róża bezimienna ( c y t . " J e s t e ś m y t u na dole po to, aby się ś m i a ć , nie będzie tego m o ż n a r o b i ć w czyśćcu ani w piekle. A w raju — nie będzie wypadało.") 1 6 P R Z Y PISY 1 Por. Umberto Eco, Imię róży, Warszawa 1991, s. m.in. 113,152,551 Tamże, s.540 Tamże, Dopiski na marginesie, Imienia róży s.613 i dalej. Por. „Magazin Litteraire" No 187, sept.1982 Umberto Eco, Imię róży, Dopiski..., s.618 i dalej. Tamże. Por. Linda Hutcheon, A Theory of Parody. The Teachings of Twentieth Century Art Form, New York 1985 Tamże, s.12 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 34 9 Wywiad w „Magazin Litteraire" No 262, fevr.1989 Umberto Eco, La guerre de faux, Paris 1985 Tamże. Umberto Eco, Lector in fabuła, Paris 1988 Umberto Eco, Le Pastiches et postiches, Paris 1992 Umberto Eco, Wahadło Faucaulta, Warszawa 1993, s. 469 Umberto Eco, Les limiles de {'interpretation, Paris 1989 Cyt. za: Annie Montant, La Parodie indefinie et le discours de Tincroyance, (w:) Dire la Parodie, Paris 1988 1 0 1 1 1 2 1 3 1 4 1 5 1 6 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/f340ef6558544502e4c34e1ef6dee8ae.pdf de6b4f8e855b47cfeb23886483e75fe7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2451 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2275 Title A name given to the resource "Tango" - taniec uniwersalnej alienacji / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.48-53 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Benedyktowicz, Zbigniew Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text 1 „Tango" - taniec uniwersalnej alienacji Zbigniew Benedyktowicz U w a g i te i refleksja (poprzedzone projekcją d w u k r ó t k i c h filmów Zbigniewa R y b c z y ń s k i e g o : pierwszego, zrealizowa­ nego w s p ó l n i e z Bogdanem D z i w o r s k i m Wdech-wydech oraz nagrodzonego Oscarem w 1983 r o k u Tanga ) p o w s t a ł y na marginesie przygotowywanej, w Pracowni filmu I n s t y t u t u Sztuki P A N , książki o twórczości Zbigniewa R y b c z y ń s ­ k i e g o . C h c ę je t u p r z e d s t a w i ć j a k o przyczynek do tematu „ E t n o l o g i a wobec w s p ó ł c z e s n o ś c i " . Sam fakt zajmowania się przez w s p ó ł c z e s n ą e t n o l o g i ę filmem j a k o tekstem k u l t u r y nie jest j u ż dzisiaj c z y m ś w y j ą t k o w y m i dziwnym, ani r z a d k i m i odosobnionym. Świadczy o t y m rozwijająca się o d r ę b n a dziedzina j a k ą jest antropologia filmu, postrzegana j u ż to j a k o subdyscyplina etnologii, j u ż to j a k o specyficzne o d r ę b n e podejście interpretacyjne b i o r ą c e za m a t e r i a ł do analiz dzieło filmowe. P o d k r e ś l a się w s p ó l n o t ę d o ś w i a d c z e ń p o m i ę d z y fotografią, filmem a e t n o g r a f i ą i a n t r o p o l o g i ą . Rozwija się r ó w n i e ż nowy rodzaj „ p i s a n i a " , czy też tworze­ nia antropologii - przy pomocy fotografii, kamery filmowej i video - tzw. antropologia wizualna, w k t ó r e j nie brak r ó w n i e ż antropologicznej refleksji nad w s p ó ł c z e s n y m i i daw­ n y m i zjawiskami k u l t u r y wizualnej. M o g ą więc b y ć te uwagi r ó w n i e ż przyczynkiem na rzecz uzasadnienia prawomocno­ ści, potrzeby i s e n s o w n o ś c i stosowania takiego antropologi­ cznego spojrzenia na film, rozpatrywania go w antropologi­ cznej perspektywie, odnajdywania w dziele f i l m o w y m zawar­ tego w n i m antropologicznego w s p ó ł c z y n n i k a . K r ó t k o i po prostu m ó w i ą c , byłby to przyczynek, k t ó r e m u m o ż n a by d a ć tytuł: „ O potrzebie i s e n s o w n o ś c i pisania antropologicznego komentarza do dzieła filmowego, jakiego n i k t inny poza antropologiem nie napisze." B e z p o ś r e d n i m z a ś powodem dla tych uwag stała się recenzja p i ó r a Charlesa Solomona, j a k a u k a z a ł a się w „ L o s Angeles T i m e s " w k r ó t c e po nagrodzeniu filmu Oscarem, pod frapującym (już nie tylko dla antropologa) t y t u ł e m ,,Tango" - polski taniec alienacji. Oddajmy głos Solomonow i : „Tango to hipnotyczne, z ł o ż o n e dzieło, k t ó r e z o b a c z y ć trzeba kilkakrotnie, aby w pełni je d o c e n i ć . W r a z z p o c z ą t ­ kiem starego, zdartego tanga oczom w i d z ó w ukazuje się pusty, anonimowy p o k ó j . Przez o k n o wpada piłka, do ś r o d k a wdrapuje się c h ł o p i e c i podnosi j ą . F i l m wydaje się być oparty na żywej akcji, ale struktura jego jest osobliwa - działanie c h ł o p c a powtarza się z zadziwiającą d o k ł a d n o ś ­ cią. Kiedy wspina się po raz drugi, do p o k o j u wchodzi kobieta t u l ą c n i e m o w l ę , potem wychodzi. A k c j a rozbudowu­ je się dalej, aż do c h w i l i , gdy na planie porusza się 26 a k t o r ó w i aktorek, a p o k ó j r o b i się bardziej z a t ł o c z o n y niż kabina o k r ę t o w a w filmie braci M a r x Noc w operze. Potem t ł u m p o w o l i się rozprasza, i p o k ó j się wyludnia. Co w a ż n e , ludzie ci nie współdziałają ze s o b ą , k a ż d y kontynuuje swoje działa­ nie w izolacji, zupełnie obojętnie, nie reagując na otaczający go chaos - komentarz do zbyt ciasnych m i e s z k a ń w polskich miastach i bolesnej alienacji, k t ó r ą ten stan rzeczy w y w o ł u je(...)" W stosunku do wiele z a p o w i a d a j ą c e g o tytułu ta jedno­ znaczna autorytatywna, bo p o w a ż n i e b r z m i ą c a , mieszkaniow o - k u l t u r o w a konkluzja interpretacji uderza p r o s t o t ą i spra­ wia, że trudno p o w s t r z y m a ć u ś m i e c h . A l e nie mniejsze poczucie niedosytu p o z o s t a w i a j ą i p o z o s t a ł e filmoznawcze wyjaśnienia rozwijające zresztą konsekwentnie ó w w ą t e k polskich t r u d n o ś c i mieszkaniowych. Z n a m i e n n y m przy t y m 1 2 3 4 5 48 dla nich rysem jest to, że k o n c e n t r u j ą się one głównie na zagadnieniach warsztatowych, ściśle technicznych. Podkre­ ślają zazwyczaj b a n a l n o ś ć historyjki, właściwe jej nieważ­ n o ś ć . Przestrzegają przed doszukiwaniem się w filmie j a k i ś głębszych treści filozoficznych. T e m u p r y m a t o w i z g a d n i e ń technicznych t o w a r z y s z ą przede wszystkim r o z w a ż a n i a nad przechodzeniem przez R y b c z y ń s k i e g o od filmu do nowej f o r m u ł y i porzucaniem forrny filmowej na rzecz innej. R o z w a ż a n i a nad o d k r y w a n i e m przez niego nowej formy obrazowania j a k ą u m o ż l i w i a technika video. O t o k i l k a takich p r ó b e k . W artykule Jak Polak pisze Jean Paul Fargier: „ Z b i g n i e w R y b c z y ń s k i uprawia video od zawsze. Nawet kiedy kręcił w Polsce filmy eksperymentalne, realizował video. Tango ostatni film zrobiony w Polsce (...) jest bezdyskusyjnym video, nawet jeśli jego podstawa ma charakter filmowy, a wszystkie jego t r i c k i są klasycznymi maskami i kontrmaskami filmowymi. A l b o w i e m czasoprzestrzenna strategia, k t ó r a organizuje to dzieło, absolutnie genialne, należy do d z i a ł a n i a video. Chodzi o stworzenie m o ż l i w o ś c i r ó w n o c z e s ­ nego obejrzenia o k o ł o trzydziestu akcji r o z g r y w a j ą c y c h się, by tak rzec, w t y m samym czasie w bardzo m a ł y m p o k o j u (gdzie znajduje się o k n o , troje drzwi, szafa, stół i ł ó ż k o ) . N a p o c z ą t k u p o k ó j jest pusty. Przez o k n o wpada piłka, za n i ą wdrapuje się dziecko, k t ó r e pragnie j ą o d z y s k a ć , c h ł o p i e c wyrzuca piłkę i sam wychodzi. Lecz natychmiast piłka powraca i dziecko r ó w n i e ż . Uwaga! pętla! Uwaga: w trakcie p o w r o t u pierwszej pętli pojawia się (i zawiązuje) inna akcja; j a k i ś m ę ż c z y z n a wchodzi, zabiera (kradnie?) walizkę leżącą na szafie. I tak dalej, d w a d z i e ś c i a a nawet trzydzieści akcji będzie się s u m o w a ć w tej ciasnej przestrzeni. Przy stole m ę ż c z y z n a będzie j a d ł z u p ę p r z y n i e s i o n ą przez k o b i e t ę . K i e d y s k o ń c z y , wyjdzie. A l e zaledwie odejdzie od stołu, inny m ę ż c z y z n a wkroczy do p o k o j u i wejdzie na ten stół, aby w y m i e n i ć ż a r ó w k ę , stół, z k t ó r e g o z p o w o d u w y ł a d o w a n i a elektrycznego zejdzie szybciej niż n a ń wszedł, p o z o s t a w i a j ą c wolne miejsce dla kobiety, j u ż pojawiającej się z talerzem zupy... K a ż d y z a k ą t e k przestrzeni zostaje maksymalnie zagospodarowany. Ł ó ż k o służy do przewijania n i e m o w l ę c i a , do czekania na śmierć, do uprawiania miłości. T o tak j a k dziewięć i p ó ł Nowej książki (poprzedni film eksperymental­ ny R y b c z y ń s k i e g o - przyp. Z.В.), p o m n o ż o n e j przez 3 lub 4, z o s t a ł o ustawione w perspektywie, przezroczyste w stosunku do siebie, p o ł ą c z o n e w stos uchylający z a r ó w n o przestrzen­ ne, j a k i czasowe rozgraniczenia." I dalej francuski k r y t y k stawia znamienne pytanie: „ K r y ­ zys mieszkaniowy czy kryzys kina? K i e d y po raz pierwszy o b e j r z a ł e m Tango, p o m y ś l a ł e m o kryzysie mieszkaniowym w Polsce ( i innych krajach socjalistycznych). W trakcie p o w t ó r n e g o o g l ą d a n i a rzucił m i się w oczy kryzys kina (w kraju rozpowszechnionej telewizji). Tango jest samym k i n e m (ze swoimi drzwiami i o k n a m i , swoimi wejściami i wyjściami z planu, swoimi banalnie p o w t a r z a j ą c y m i się, z u ż y t y m i scenariuszami), k t ó r e j a w i się w trakcie zsuwania w prze­ strzeń telewizji, w czasie b e z p o ś r e d n i o ś c i . Wszystko w i d a ć r ó w n o c z e ś n i e na t y m samym planie: tragedia i burleska w y r a ż a j ą się tutaj z finezją, ale zyskują na gęstości. Nie ma czego ż a ł o w a ć . K i n o r e p r e z e n t o w a ł o p e w n ą siłę dramatycz­ ną, k o m i c z n ą , c z ę s t o k r o ć p o t ę ż n e emocje. Video otwiera się na nowy świat emocji, ś m i e c h ó w , d r a m a t ó w . " 6 7 �Pora przejść do analiz czynionych od w e w n ą t r z i o d d a ć głos p o l s k i m a u t o r o m . Pisze M a r c i n G i ż y c k i : „ D o pustego, przechodniego p o k o j u wpada przez o k n o p i ł k a . Za nią tą s a m ą d r o g ą wchodzi c h ł o p i e c . Bierze piłkę, wyskakuje przez o k n o . Piłka natychmiast wpada ponownie do w n ę t r z a . C y k l powtarza się, j a k zacięta p ł y t a . Z a c z y n a j ą p o j a w i a ć się inne postacie, w c h o d z ą c e z r ó ż n y c h stron. Z a c h o w u j ą się one tak, j a k by były same w p o k o j u . Wszystkie w y k o n u j ą ściśle o k r e ś l o n e c z y n n o ś c i i w y c h o d z ą , aby natychmiast ponownie się p o j a w i ć i p o w t ó r z y ć d o k ł a d n i e to samo. M i m o , iż o s ó b stale przybywa, ich d r o g i j a k i m ś cudem tak się przecinają, że nigdy nie dochodzi do kolizji. I to jest właśnie swoisty majstersztyk R y b c z y ń s k i e g o , tak z g r a ć wszystkie d z i a ł a n i a w czasie z d o k ł a d n o ś c i ą co do u ł a m k ó w sekund, żeby zazębiały się niczym t r y b y w zegarku. Zwyczajne odegranie tego przez a k t o r ó w b y ł o b y po prostu niemożliwe, a nawet jeśliby to się w j a k i m ś przynajmniej stopniu u d a ł o i tak nie u z y s k a ł o b y się owej absolutnej m e c h a n i c z n o ś c i akcji, stano­ wiącej w k o ń c u istotę f i l m u . W momencie k u l m i n a c y j n y m w p o k o j u znajduje się podobno ponad trzydzieści o s ó b , co przyjąć trzeba na s ł o w o h o n o r u , bo widz gubi się w liczeniu znacznie wcześniej. Później w n ę t r z e zaczyna się stopniowo w y l u d n i a ć , tak j a k się wcześniej zapełniło - to znaczy, że po k t ó r y m ś tam wyjściu postacie nie w r a c a j ą i nie w z n a w i a j ą c y k l u . T r e ś c i ą f i l m u jest więc ruch i zmienne relacje prze­ strzenne m i ę d z y bohaterami - ruch n a r a s t a j ą c y do pewnego p u n k t u , w k t ó r y m n a s t ę p u j e szczytowe skomplikowanie u k ł a d u zgromadzonych postaci, n a s t ę p n i e o p a d a j ą c y , a ż do ustania wszelkiej akcji. D r a m a t u r g i a Tanga budowana jest przez zagęszczenie, w d o s ł o w n y m znaczeniu, sytuacji. K a ż d e wejście nowego l o k a t o r a podnosi napięcie: j a k też uda się m u przejść przez p o k ó j ? A ludzi przybywa i przybywa. K o n ­ strukcja filmu jest bardzo konsekwentna i jasna. K a ż d e z a s k a k u j ą c e z a k o ń c z e n i e b u r z y ł o b y logikę założenia, c h o ć na m a l u t k i e o d s t ę p s t w o autor sobie w finale pozwolił, zmieniając nieco c z y n n o ś c i ostatnich z w y c h o d z ą c y c h po­ staci, o co m o ż n a mieć pretensje, gdyby s k i e r o w y w a ł o to w y m o w ę filmu w j a k ą ś zupełnie i n n ą s t r o n ę . P o n i e w a ż jednak nic takiego nie n a s t ę p u j e , przyjęte r o z w i ą z a n i e o d ­ biera się j a k n a t u r a l n ą , m u z y c z n ą k a d e n c j ę , co znajduje t a k ż e swoje uzasadnienie w tytule. Z n a j ą c R y b c z y ń s k i e g o m o ż n a b y ć niemal pewnym, że Tango i n t e r e s o w a ł o go przede wszystkim j a k o problem techniczny. Po prostu m i a ł p o m y s ł , wiedział j a k to da się z r o b i ć . S t ą d n a l e ż a ł o b y b y ć raczej o s t r o ż n y m z doszukiwa­ niem się j a k i ś głębszych intencji filozoficznych (podejmowa­ no takie p r ó b y ) . Niemniej autor r ó ż n i c u j ą c swych b o h a t e r ó w pod w z g l ę d e m charakteryzacji i k o s t i u m u , co b y ł o konieczne dla czytelności akcji (nawiasem m ó w i ą c , pojawia się też ó w m ę ż c z y z n a w czerwonym płaszczu z Nowej książki), i projek­ tując scenerię s t w o r z y ł swoiste polskie p a n o p t i k u m . Wszyst­ k o kotłuje się w j a k i m ś p o k o j u przechodnim, t y m symbolu polskich k ł o p o t ó w mieszkaniowych, ale i demokratyzacji s p o ł e c z e ń s t w a (to t u przecież u s t a w i a ł a się po wojnie we w s p ó l n y m o g o n k u do łazienki inteligencja z klasą robot­ niczą, co utrwalił Leonard Buczkowski w głośnej k o m e d i i Skarb). Przez owo pomieszczenie przewija się galeria prze­ ciętnych P o l a k ó w . Postacie te p r e z e n t u j ą p e ł n y zakres funk­ cji życiowych s p e ł n i a n y c h w mieszkaniu - od kopulacji p o c z y n a j ą c , a na umieraniu k o ń c z ą c . Jest więc s p ó ł k o w a n i e , karmienie, ubieranie się, s p r z ą t a n i e , a nawet (w d o m y ś l e , bo ukryte poza kadrem, za d r z w i a m i do łazienki) mycie się i wydalanie. Są to treści w filmie d r u g o r z ę d n e , niejako w t ó r n e , niemniej w y z w a l a j ą wiele r ó ż n y c h asocjacji." 8 I jeszcze, na z a k o ń c z e n i e , głos Daniela Szczechury: „ P o d ­ s t a w ą realizacji Nowej Książki, Tanga i innych filmów jest olbrzymia partytura z ruchami p o s z c z e g ó l n y c h postaci. Dlatego brak jest f o t o s ó w z filmów R y b c z y ń s k i e g o . Nie m o ż n a b y ł o w y k o n a ć fotosu z Nowej książki, g d y ż efekt finalny był p r o d u k t e m w y o b r a ź n i autora i o b r ó b k i laborato­ ryjnej. (...) W pustym p o k o j u , j a k na scenie p o j a w i a j ą się r ó ż n e postacie, w y k o n u j ą proste codzienne c z y n n o ś c i . Z czasem liczba postaci zwiększa się, p r z y b y w a j ą nowe, a k a ż d a wykonuje stale j e d n ą i tę s a m ą c z y n n o ś ć . C h ł o p i e c wychyla się zza okna i zabiera piłkę, k t ó r a w p a d ł a do p o k o j u , kobieta przewija dziecko, dziewczynka odrabia lekcje, babcia umiera itp. W kulminacyjnej scenie tworzy się c o ś w rodzaju baletu czy p a n t o m i m y , w k t ó r e j występuje 26 postaci. A k c j a p o w o l i wygasa i znowu zostaje pusty p o k ó j . Wszystko to rozgrywa się w rytmie tanga. F i l m prosty w p o m y ś l e i o s z c z ę d n y w ś r o d k a c h wywiera d u ż e w r a ż e n i e . Po projekcji pada niezmienne pytanie: j a k to b y ł o zrobione? Rzeczywiście czegoś podobnego się nie o g l ą d a ł o . " 9 N a s t ę p n i e D a n i e l Szczechura, sam b ę d ą c nielada t w ó r c ą i r z e m i e ś l n i k i e m w tej dziedzinę, o d s ł a n i a tajniki tej filmowej roboty. Daje niezwykle rzetelny, fachowy, opis techniczny, k r o k po k r o k u r e k o n s t r u u j ą c powstawanie tego filmu. Dlaczego więc te filmoznawcze analizy, j a k p o w i e d z i a ł e m , m o g ą b u d z i ć niedosyt? W ł a ś n i e dlatego, że nawet gdy s k u p i a j ą c się na samym filmie, starają się w s p o s ó b rzetelny i szczegółowy go o p i s a ć , p o z o s t a j ą niejako w n i m uwięzione, skazane na repetycję. U m y k a j ą niejako przed p r ó b ą o d ­ powiedzi „ c o znaczy TangoT, a nawet i przed pytaniem bardziej o s ł a b i o n y m : „czy Tango m o ż e c o ś z n a c z y ć ? " . I t u spostrzegam miejsce i rolę dla antropologa, j a k ą m o ż e o d e g r a ć , p o j a w i a j ą c się ze swym komentarzem. Z p o c z ą t k u z d a w a ł o b y się, że filmoznawcze podejście w t y m dylemacie: techniczny (materialny) opis czy poszukiwanie sensu, jest j a k b y bliższe intencjom t w ó r c y i autora, k t ó r y sam zabiera głos w tej sprawie (cytuję t u jedynie fragment tej wypowiedzi, do k t ó r e j przyjdzie jeszcsK nam p o d koniec p o w r ó c i ć ) : „ N a j w a ż n i e j s z a jest technologia. M o ż n a m ó w i ć o p i ę k n i e piramidy, ale najistotniejsze jest t o , j a k j ą zbudowano. Podobnie z wieżą Eiffla. Były protesty, gdy budowano tę o l b r z y m i ą , s t a l o w ą k o n s t r u k c j ę . M ó w i o n o , jest ohydna. Teraz stała się sentymentalnym symbolem P a r y ż a . Najpierw jest konstrukcja, technologia. D o p i e r o potem to obrasta znaczeniami i wytwarza nastroje. ( . . . ) " 1 0 J e d n a k ż e istnieje i d r u g i biegun. I inne na to spojrzenie. P o g l ą d , k t ó r y m ó w i , że nie p o w i n n i ś m y jednak do k o ń c a ufać artystom. U f a ć , to m o ż e tak, ale nie do k o ń c a wierzyć w to, co m ó w i ą , ani się temu p o d d a w a ć . Z w r a c a ł na to u w a g ę Janusz Bogucki w rozmowie, zamieszczonej w „ K o n t e k s t a c h " : „ A r t y s t a jest skupiony na t y m , co powstaje w jego u m y ś l e i stopniowo przemienia się w przedmiot. Później nad t y m przedmiotem pracuje, jest cały zanurzony w świecie w e w n ę t r z n y m tego przedmiotu. N o ale ten obiekt zaczyna potem żyć swoim w ł a s n y m życiem, k t ó r e jest r ó w n i e prawdziwe j a k to pierworodne życie w głowie i w pracowni artysty. A u t o r r o b i ą c to, nie wie na pewno, co właściwie r o b i , to się t y l k o po części wie. Prawdziwy artysta nie wie, co r o b i , jest instrumentem, jest ź r ó d ł e m energii, k t ó r a zostaje przelana w j a k ą ś m a t e r i ę na zasadzie t r o c h ę z a m i e r z e ń , ale przede wszystkiem p r z e c z u ć - prawda, u m y s ł nad t y m czuwa, u m i e j ę t n o ś ć fachowa jest na usługi, ale j a k to się dzieje, bo to nie jest sprawa zaplanowania i wykonania. Jeżeli jest to sprawa zaplanowana i wykonana, to powstaje przedmiot estetyczny pusty w ś r o d k u , a jeżeli jest to akt t w ó r c z y to jest to w j a k i m ś sensie od t w ó r c y n i e z a l e ż n e . " 11 Stojąc zatem na t a k i m stanowisku i w przekonaniu, że Tango nie jest t a k i m pustym w ś r o d k u przedmiotem estetycz­ nym, (świadczą o t y m też p r z y w o ł a n i autorzy - „ h i p n o t y c z ­ ne, z ł o ż o n e d z i e ł o " , „dzieło genialne", „ m a j s t e r s z t y k " „film wywiera d u ż e w r a ż e n i e " ) , podsumujmy tymczasem głosy filmoznawcze. Ilość pozafilmowych o d n i e s i e ń jest t u zniko- 49 �ma. I c h lektura odbywa się głównie w o b r ę b i e omawianego dzieła (jak jest zrobione) i przebiega w odniesieniu do jednego kontekstu (kontekst f i l m o w y ) , odsyłając nas j u ż to do lokalnej (Giżycki - Skarb), j u ż to do światowej - zależnie zresztą z k t ó r e j strony na to spojrzymy - (Solomon - Bracia M a r x , Noc w operze; Szczechura j a k o p u n k t odniesienia, j a k wielu przywołuje - Meliesa) historii kina. Tymczasem pyta­ nie „czy Tango m o ż e coś o z n a c z a ć ? " , „czy Tango c o ś znaczy?" pozostaje nadal w mocy i nie daje, nie t y l k o nam, spokoju. Powraca wciąż natarczywie. Natarczywie domaga się odpowiedzi. O t o stawia je t w ó r c y , dziennikarz p r o w a d z ą ­ cy z n i m w y w i a d dla wydawanego przez A n d y W a r h o l a pisma „ A n d y Warhols Interview Magazine": „ C z y teraz, gdy z d o b y ł pan Oscara, m o ż e nam pan powiedzieć, co oznacza Tango! - (a m y uprzedzeni j u ż , że za bardzo nie należy wierzyć w t y m względzie artyście) m o ż e m y przyjąć ze spokojem p a d a j ą c ą o d p o w i e d ź : „ A b s o l u t n i e nic." Co więc robić? Co z naszym k u l t u r o w y m komentarzem po t a k i m dictum. N i e ma rady. Trzeba z a c z y n a ć od p o c z ą t k u . . . Trzeba nam w r a c a ć do Solomona. N a t y m tle ta, zrazu odrzucona przez nas, śmiesząca nas, bo p ł y t k a w y p o w i e d ź , czytana bez c u d z y s ł o w u : Tango - polski taniec alienacji, pozostaje nadal frapująca i zdaje się w y p r o w a d z a ć nas na właściwy trop. N o bo rzeczywiście, c o ś t u wydaje się b y ć na rzeczy. Tango w Teatrze Śmierci K a n t o r a , Tango w filmie R y b c z y ń s k i e g o , Tango w teatrze absurdu M r o ż k a (To p o d o b i e ń s t w o nazwy i tytułu z dramatem M r o ż k a o d ­ n o t o w a ł nawet skwapliwie, oficjalny korespondent ówczes­ nej „ T r y b u n y L u d u " i P A P - u , i „ Ż y c i a Warszawy" - Luliński, k o n c e n t r u j ą c się jednak na opisie skandalu w y w o ł a n e g o przez laureata, k t ó r y z a c h o w u j ą c się agresywnie p r ó b o w a ł w y k r z y c z e ć c o ś do odebranego m u m i k r o f o n u o „ S o l i d a r n o ­ ści", z a k ł ó c a j ą c p o w a g ę imprezy, a potem, gdy wyszedł na z e w n ą t r z , nie wpuszczany z p o w r o t e m do ś r o d k a w d a ł się w b ó j k ę ze s t r a ż n i k a m i z o c h r o n y . ) I d ą c za tropem odczytania, jakie daje Solomon: Tango - polski taniec alienacji, d o t y k a m y t u centralnego dla ant­ ropologii i antropologiczno-kulturowej problematyki, zaga­ dnienia, j a k i m są l o k a l n o ś ć i u n i w e r s a l n o ś ć kultury, procesy uniwersalizowania się tego, co lokalne, oraz w c h ł a n i a n i a tego, co uniwersalne w lokalne i vice versa. D o t y k a m y problemu kulturowego p r z e k ł a d u . Czy j e s t e ś m y w stanie o d t w o r z y ć tę d r o g ę ? Zadanie, przyznajmy, t r o c h ę trudne i k a r k o ł o m n e , j a k ż e p r z y p o m i n a j ą c e sytuację z motta, j a k i m Jan K o t t o p a t r z y ł niegdyś swoją analizę i r o z b i ó r Tanga M r o ż k a : „ N i k t stąd nie wyjdzie, d o p ó k i nie znajdziemy idei. Edek nie wypuszczaj nikogo. (Tango)" O t o bowiem w najogólniejszym zarysie d a ł o b y się tę d r o g ę tak zapisać: L o k a l n y , (egzotyczny, a r g e n t y ń s k i taniec) uniwersalizuje się stając się europejskim i o g ó l n o ś w i a t o w y m , przenika do lokalnej k u l t u r y , gdzie poddany zostaje artystycznej, teatral­ nej, literackiej, filmowej o b r ó b c e , by p o w r ó c i ć do niej, tzn. - do uniwersalnej światowej k u l t u r y , w nowej lokalnej szacie. O t o j a k l o k a l n o ś ć i egzotyka zostaje oddana temu, co uniwersalne: Tango stając się p o l s k ą specjalnością - polskim t a ń c e m alienacji, staje się w swojej l o k a l n o ś c i uniwersalne. Jak to się dzieje i j a k to jest możliwe? Zacznijmy najpierw od warstwy lokalnej, starając się przy t y m nie u r o n i ć nic ze ś l a d ó w i t r o p ó w zawartych w filmoznawczych opisach, jakie j u ż się pojawiły. N i e p r z y p a d k o w o r o z p o c z ę l i ś m y te uwagi od projekcji i zestawienia tych d w u tanecznych, a tak r ó ż n y c h filmów, j a k i m i są Tango i Wdech-wydech (Dziworskiego i R y b c z y ń s k i e g o ) - nota bene m y l i się t u francuski k r y t y k , kiedy pisze, iż Tango to ostatni film zrealizowany przez R y b c z y ń s k i e g o w Polsce, jest n i m właśnie ten w s p ó l n i e z D z i w o r s k i m zrobiony dokument (1981). Zapis i obraz świata, k t ó r e g o j u ż nie ma, i k t ó r y zda się z n i k n ą ł w niebycie a za k t ó r y m j u ż o d z y w a ć się zaczyna t u i ó w d z i e społeczna nostalgia. Ś w i a t a s a n a t o r i ó w i w c z a s ó w . 12 13 50 D o k u m e n t a l n y zapis swoistego PRL-owskiego czasu ś w i ą t e c z n e g o (w przeciwieństwie do tak p o d k r e ś l a n e j co­ dzienności, i prostych czynności Tanga), a nawet d o s ł o w n i e k a r n a w a ł o w e g o , czasu kursokonferencji, odbywanej przez i n s t r u k t o r ó w k u l t u r a l n o - o ś w i a t o w y c h Towarzystwa Przyja­ źni Polsko Radzieckiej, realizującej swoisty program "re­ kreacji w pomieszczeniach z a m k n i ę t y c h " . Obraz świata rozrywek i towarzyskich k o n k u r s ó w (nie wyłączjąc k o n k u r ­ su wiedzy o Z S R R ) . J a k ż e odmienne to filmy! Wdech-wydech to: naturalne w n ę t r z a , naturalna muzyka (orkiestra dancingowa i z chryp i ą c e g o g ł o ś n i k a ) , muzyka z " t a m t y m i " przebojami, z k o n ­ kursami t a ń c a (są i Podmoskowskije wiecziera), k o n k u r s a m i na egzotyczny strój, na artystyczny w y s t ę p , z rekreacją t a k ż e na świeżym powietrzu, piruetami na ł y ż w a c h , na l o d o w i s k u w otoczeniu naturalnego, g ó r s k i e g o krajobrazu; to żywi ludzie filmowani z precyzją, u w a g ą , o s t r o ś c i ą ale i czułością. C o ś , co filmowo nie ma swego odniesienia, a jedynie umieścić m o g l i b y ś m y „ p o m i ę d z y " i „ p o n a d " , c o ś p o m i ę d z y i ponad homo ludens, homo sovieitcus i homo PeReLus; i c o ś , co nieudolnie d a ł o b y się określić, j a k o „ p o m i ę d z y " filmami i dokumentami o konkursach socjalistycznych fryzjerów i Rejsem M a r k a Piwowskiego a czeską szkołą filmową z Miłością blondynki, i z Pali się moja panno. Zaczęliśmy od zestawienia tych dwu tanecz­ no-muzycznych filmów nieprzypadkowo, bo pozwala n a m to na przypomnienie o istnieniu jeszcze jednego istotnego s k ł a d n i k a w twórczości autora Tanga. Pozwala zwrócić u w a g ę na stale o b e c n ą w a r s t w ę antropologii wizualnej w filmach R y b c z y ń s k i e g o . Ż e b y t u c h o ć b y w s p o m n i e ć 0 m a ł y m etnograficzno-antropologicznym traktacie j a k i m jest Święto (1975), z zapisanymi w n i m obrazami, j a k b y wyjętymi z niedawno opublikowanego na tych ł a m a c h studium Rocha Sulimy o s y r e n k a c h . M a m y więc w Święcie o w ą „ k r ó l o w ą pobocza", „ s a m o c h ó d stacjonarny", w y ­ znacznik s p o ł e c z n e g o prestiżu, ó w hybrydyczny t w ó r spo­ między „cywilizacji drewna" i „cywilizacji techniki" w y ­ prowadzany do rytualnego mycia. M a m y t u też r y t u a ł ś w i ą t e c z n e g o rodzinnego spotkania, z gestami p o w i t a ń i po­ ż e g n a ń , u ś c i s k ó w b r u d e r s z a f t ó w i t o a s t ó w , wizytę na cmen­ tarzu, p a m i ę ć o z m a r ł y c h z „ z a d u s z k o w y m zapalaniem lampek" z d o b i e g a j ą c y m w tle p ł a c z e m n i e m o w l ę c i a , t r o c h ę p o ś p i e s z n y i r u t y n o w y , bo n i e m o w l ę przywiezione na cmen­ tarz, marudzi i niecierpliwi się w w ó z k u . M a m y i świąteczne, o b r z ę d o w e , rodzinne o g l ą d a n i e telewizji. Jest też i na uboczu pośpiesznie odbywana miłość (w krzakach na działce). Eros 1 Thanatos (jak i w innych filmach R y b c z y ń s k i e g o ) , są blisko i sąsiadują tu ze s o b ą . ( O t o j a k w y g l ą d a to w opisie k r y t y k a obcokrajowca: „ D r o b n a kobieta na podmiejskim p o d w ó r k u ucina łeb kurczakowi - symboliczny r y t u a ł k r w i i ofiary życia r o z p o c z y n a j ą c y o w ą s p o k o j n ą , nader u p o r z ą d k o w a n ą , tra­ dycyjną c e r e m o n i ę r o d z i n n ą . Czerwony m ę ż c z y z n a wyjeżdża z g a r a ż u białym samochodem, za k t ó r y m ciągnie się smuga zielonego d y m u . Rozpoczyna c e r e m o n i a ł mycia samochodu, p o l e w a j ą c go żółtą woda(...) o ś m i o o s o b o w a rodzina, wraz z n i e m o w l ę c i e m w w ó z k u , przybywa do d o m u starszego m a ł ż e ń s t w a . W y k o n u j ą o n i swoisty taniec p o w i t a l n y (...) n a s t ę p n i e widzimy r o d z i n ę przy obiedzie, nad niedawno zabitym i p r z y r z ą d z o n y m kurczęciem i s m a k o w i t y m i t r u n ­ k a m i ^ . . ) Po obiedzie rodzina w skupieniu o g l ą d a telewizję, n i e c h ę t n a do r o z m o w y i znudzona s o b ą wzajemnie. I c h milczenie kontrastuje z sekwencją dzikiego pościgu na ekranie telewizora. Potem m a m y r y t u a ł p o ż e g n a ń (...). Te milutkie sceny liturgii rodzinnej poprzerywane są ujęciami pary (uciekającej z rodzinnego obiadu), k t ó r a potajemnie uprawia miłość za domem, niezręczny balet ich r ą k i n ó g (w ruchu sterowanym przez R y b c z y ń s k i e g o ) upodobnia ich do p o ż e r a j ą c y c h się i n s e k t ó w . M ę ż c z y z n a myjący s a m o c h ó d wreszcie z a k o ń c z y ł tę c z y n n o ś ć , natychmiast odprowadza 14 �bezpiecznie do g a r a ż u ó w ukochany symbol statusu społecz­ nego i zamyka drzwi. Starsze osamotnione m a ł ż e ń s t w o pozostaje w p o k o j u (...) Dziadek moczy nogi, a babcia leży na łóżku. W dalszym ciągu oglądają ten sam program telewizyj­ n y . " Kamera R y b c z y ń s k i e g o czy to w Święcie, czy eks­ perymentach, w rozbitym na 9 pól obrazie (Nowa książka), czy w szaleńczym pościgu w Oj, nie mogę się zatrzymać zapisuje i „ u t r w a l a " obraz obyczaju, gestów, banalnego, codziennego życia, brzydkich k r a j o b r a z ó w miasta, przed­ mieść, s u b u r b i ó w , zapisuje etnografię - j a k to n a z w a ć ? - miasta, m a ł e g o miasta, m a ł y c h historii, starej rozpadającej się, i starej-nowej p r z e m y s ł o w o - p a w i l o n o w o - b l o k o w o - b a r a kowej socjalistycznej architektury, „rzeczywistości nie miejs­ kiej nie wiejskiej", o której śpiewał Piotr Szczepanik w „ t a n g u za p ó ł z ł o t e g o " . Powiada się o wybitnych artystach, że są t w ó r c a m i jednego dzieła, odnawianego w wielu postaciach - tak m ó w i się o Fellinim, Bergmanie. Tango (i ta swoista antropologia wizualna, d o ś w i a d c z e n i e polskich filmów) jest s t r u k t u r ą w a ż n ą dla t w ó r c z o ś c i R y b ­ c z y ń s k i e g o k o n t y n u o w a n ą dalej w i n n y c h dziełach tego autora, nieraz odnajdziemy nawet drobne elementy. (Ot c h o ć b y takie, j a k gesty, drobne delikatne m ł y n k i , k r ę c o n e we Wdech-wydech przez t a ń c z ą c e g o w takt podmoskowskich wieczierow mężczyznę, o d n a l e ź ć m o ż e m y w energicznych m ł y n k a c h k r ę c o n y c h przez w s p a n i a ł e a m e r y k a ń s k i e dziew­ czyny, szaleńczo j e ż d ż ą c e na w r o t k a c h po Manhattanie w wideo klipie The Original Wrapper L o u Reeda) W rysunku-notatce j a k i zamieściliśmy w tej k s i ą ż c e - m o n o grafii o R y b c z y ń s k i m - na samym p o c z ą t k u , notatce, k t ó r a chyba była szkicem do wideoklipu Imagine (przedstawia trzy amfiladowo p o ł ą c z o n e pokoje, w k a ż d y m z nich przed z a m k n i ę t y m i drzwiami stoi ta sama p o s t a ć , człowiek), pod spodem, w dole m o ż e m y o d c z y t a ć : - czy o n sam? - j a k o inne postaci - czy powtarzanie i dodawanie j a k w Tangu - czy ciągłość jakiejś historii - jednej - kilku? - j a k a konstrukcja całości? Bohaterami filmów R y b c z y ń ­ skiego są nie t y l k o „ r u c h i relacje przestrzenne m i ę d z y bohaterami", studia nad p r z e s t r z e n i ą i czasem, bipak, reprojektor i maski, high definition, ale t a k ż e ruch stosunki i relacje k u l t u r o w e . W z n a k o m i t y m studium o symbolach i sztuce j a k i m i żywi się ta t w ó r c z o ś ć , M a ł g o r z a t a Baranowska, autorka pojęcia kluczowego dla tej twórczości i sztuki, k t ó r ą uprawia R y b c z y ń s k i : „ r e a l i z m symboliczny", i k t ó r y m to terminem stara się o b j ą ć i z i n t e r p r e t o w a ć ostatnie filmy R y b c z y ń s k i e g o wskazuje t a k ż e i na tę k u l t u r o w ą w a r s t w ę , gdzie z n ó w m o ż e m y o d n a l e ź ć w s p o m n i a n ą p r o b l e m a t y k ę nieustannej gry, r u c h u , relacji p o m i ę d z y t y m co lokalne i uniwersalne: „Manhattan to wizja poetyckiej całości złożonej z wielkiej ilości osobnych k u l t u r , z w ł a s n y m i k o l o r a m i , strojami, melodiami, t a ń c a m i , artystami, z nowojorczykami cierpiący­ m i na b e z s e n n o ś ć , z nieco śmiesznymi policjantami i przechy­ trzającymi ich złodziejami, z bezdomnymi, a t a k ż e z nieudol­ n y m i p o l i t y k a m i wszystkich m a ś c i w y k o n u j ą c y m i , bez w z g l ę d u na cokolwiek, k i l k a r y t u a l n y c h gestów. F i l m y R y b c z y ń s k i e g o cechuje poczucie h u m o r u . Z a r ó w n o on, j a k M i c h a ł U r b a n i a k , zrobili wszystko, żeby kolejne sekwencje z a s k a k i w a ł y z m i a n ą , ale często też śmiesznością obrazu i d ź w i ę k u . D o najśmielszych chyba scen Manhattanu należy ogniste tango t a ń c z o n e pewnie przez A r g e n t y ń c z y k ó w , bo t u sceny podzielono j a k b y w e d ł u g popularnych r y t m ó w po­ szczególnych n a r o d ó w , s k ł a d a j ą c y c h się na wielką m i e s z a n k ę Nowego J o r k u . Ś r o d k o w a część t u ł o w i ó w tańczącej pary z a s t ą p i o n a z o s t a ł a w i e l k i m miechem, j a k od h a r m o n i i , k t ó r y kurczy sie i r o z c i ą g a w r y t m m u z y k i , czyniąc ich raz olbrzymami, raz k a r ł a m i . Daje to efekt j a k b y obrazow o - d ź w i ę k o w e g o k a l a m b u r u . Bardzo śmiesznie w y g l ą d a rap t a ń c z o n y t u w powietrzu - r y t m t a k i n i e o d ł ą c z n i e z w i ą z a n y 1 5 1 6 z tupaniem nagle zawieszony nad u l i c ą . " W y m i a r antropologiczny odnajdziemy w tych d w u fil­ mach o genius loci - j a k n a z w a ł a je M a ł g o r z a t a Baranowska zbierając w skrócie zawarte w nich tematy: „ F i l m y o D u c h u Miejsca nadzwyczajnie łącza w sobie nigdy przez R y b c z y ń s ­ kiego nie przerwane studia nad przestrzenią i nad czasem z wizją tak r ó ż n i ą c y c h się miast. Krajobraz t u zachowuje swoją s t a t y c z n o ś ć , a ludzie w y k o n u j ą c y symboliczne czynno­ ści w niesamowitym t a ń c u względności określają charakter miejsca. W w i e l k i m skrócie i uproszczeniu: Manhattan reprezentuje - wielkiego grajka, a r t y s t ę , bezdomnego, dziec­ ko, policjanta, kalejdoskop ś w i a t ó w i r ó ż n o r o d n y c h l u d ó w , życie, m ł o d o ś ć , miłość, nadzieję, w s p ó ł c z e s n o ś ć . Washington D. C. reprezentuje - u r z ę d n i k a , o d k r y w c ę , łowcę, napastnika, znikanie dawnych k u l t u r , żołnierza, k a r n a w a ł , posiadanie, p i e n i ą d z e , miłość, z d r a d ę , przemijanie, h i s t o r i ę . " W r ó ć m y do Polski. Zdajemy sobie s p r a w ę z r ó ż n i c p o m i ę d z y Tangiem u M r o ż k a (1964), Tangiem u K a n t o r a i Tangiem R y b c z y ń s ­ kiego, i nie s p o s ó b ich wszystkich t u rozwijać. Tango u M r o ż k a (La Cumparsita) jest t a ń c e m zniewolenia do jakiego zaprasza nas w ł a d z a chama ( „ p r o p o z y c j ą nie do odrzucenia"), czyż nie jest j a k ą ś wersją niemocy naszej, echem i przetworzeniem chocholego t a ń c a z arcydramatu Wesela. Jan K o t t w y w o d z i ł b o h a t e r ó w - Rodzinę Mrożka z Kurki Wodnej Witkacego. Jan Błoński pisał: „ W Tangu p o p e ł n i a s a m o b ó j s t w o idea b u n t u : popada ona we w ł a s n e p r z e c i w i e ń s t w o , p o n i e w a ż w o l n o ś ć zapowiadana przez a w a n g a r d o w ą sztukę, umiera w pieczarze E d k a jaskiniowca, do k t ó r e j nas sama z a p r o w a d z i ł a . " I n n y jest p o k ó j w s p o m n i e ń , p o k ó j u m a r ł y c h , p o w t a r z a j ą ­ cych mechanicznie elementarne c z y n n o ś c i u K a n t o r a , u k t ó ­ rego zresztą tango pojawia się d o ś ć p ó ź n o , najpierw w Nigdy już tu nie powrócę (1988) j a k o znak czasu i miejsca - w knaj­ pie: „ C z ę ś ć p i e r w s z ą , owe Zaduszki w tajemniczej knajpie, prowadzi z kolei a r g e n t y ń s k i e tango Tempos viejos (to j a k b y replika walca Francois z Umarłej klasy) , potem w Cichej Nocy, gdzie: „ Z c a ł u n ó w p o w o l i zaczynają się rozwijać postacie. Kolejne o p o w i a d a j ą o swoich śmiesznych i tragicz­ nych i n t y m n y c h katastrofach. W y ł a n i a się cała galeria. Wszystkie postaci s ą mocno zakorzenione w ikonografii teatru Cricot 2. - M ł o d y chasyd, w chałacie i j a r m u ł c e ; r o z t a ń c z o n y k s i ą d z , z drewnianym k r z y ż e m w d ł o n i ; som­ nambuliczna dziewczyna; bigot z r ó ż a ń c e m na szyi; demoni­ czna ulicznica, z m y s ł o w o t a ń c z ą c a kobieta w żałobie; czło­ wiek z r o ś n i ę t y ze szczotką; i ten z czarnym parasolem; żołnierzyk z I wojny światowej i jeszcze 'nieproszony' - w czarnych okularach, z r o l k ą papieru z a w i e s z o n ą na szyi. Scenę wypełniają dźwięki tanga. Wszyscy t a ń c z ą w ekscent­ rycznie dobranych p a r a c h . " A n o n i m o w y p o k ó j Tanga R y b c z y ń s k i e g o jest daleki od inteligencko-intelektualnego salonu „ w a r s z a w k i " , a t a k ż e i jego bohaterowie dalecy od w i d m K a n t o r a , jeśli j u ż strukturalnie p a t r z ą c , to bliżsi a n o n i m o w y m , szarym l u ­ dziom z Pieszo M r o ż k a , m i m o techniki animacyjno filmowo-videowej to ludzie żywi (sfilmowani t e c h n i k ą live action), j a k interpretowano Tango - b y ć m o ż e R y b c z y ń s k i sfilmował p a m i ę ć p o k o j u po jego (żywych? - dop. Z . B ) l o k a t o r a c h . Skoro p r z y w o ł a n y został „ p o k ó j przechodni" to z p e w n o ś c i ą tak j a k dla K a n t o r a , tak i dla R y b c z y ń s k i e g o w tle b y ł o b y i p o k ó j - m i e s z k a n i e z Kartoteki R ó ż e w i c z a (z t y m , że w przy­ padku R y b c z y ń s k i e g o , bez trenu postaci romantycznych b o h a t e r ó w , ani wojennej przeszłości). Tango R y b c z y ń s k i e g o sytuuje się najbliżej m o ż e , - przez swoich szarych a n o n i m o w y c h b o h a t e r ó w (jak zapisane jest w scenopisie są to osoby, k t ó r e c o ś r o b i ą : 1. c h ł o p i e c z piłką 2. k a r m i ą c a m a t k a 3. n i e m o w l ę 4. złodziej 5. pan z p a c z k ą 6. dziewczynka r o b i lekcje 7. kobieta niesie z u p ę 8. m ę ż c z y z n a je z u p ę 9. m ł o d z i e n i e c gimnastykuje się 10. pani z zakupami 11. pan zmienia ż a r ó w k ę 12. pani czyści r y b ę 13. dziewczyna 1 7 18 19 2 0 21 22 23 51 �r o b i toaletę 14. pan wynosi śmiecie 15. m u n d u r o w y 16. pani s p r z ą t a 17. podpity m ę ż c z y z n a 18, 19. pan pani - goście 20,21. całująca się para 22. matka przewijająca n i e m o w l ę 23. r a c z k u j ą c e n i e m o w l ę 24. m ę ż c z y z n a z gazetą 25. starszy pan z psem 26. staruszka) / najbliżej uniwersalnych/lokalnych korzeni tanga. Pora więc wreszcie o d d a ć głos ekspertowi, a n t r o p o l o g o w i k u l t u r y i p r z y w o ł a ć k u l t u r o w e referencje. Zadanie to t y m łatwiejsze, że w tej funkcji m o ż n a p o w o ł a ć się na pisarza. I to nie byle jakiego, autora eseju o tangu. Jest n i m Ernesto Sabato. C z e r p i ę t u z d w u ź r ó d e ł ,(idlatego m a m nadzieję, że w tekście tangistycznym wybaczone b ę d ą pewne repryzy, nawroty i p o w t ó r z e n i a . ) Poprzedzam też same „ i n f o r m a c j e " 0 tangu, w y j ą t k i e m jego myśli etnograficznych o subkulturze p r z e d m i e ś ć , n i e b ł a h y c h t a k ż e dla naszego tematu - etnologia wobec współczesności. Odnajdziemy w nich p r o b l e m pery­ ferii i centrum, odwieczne pytanie o peryferie k u l t u r o w e o to czy może być co dobrego z GalUei, (tu: z Polski, A r g e n t y n y w sztuce i kulturze poza Tangiem), pytania w k t ó r y c h o d n a l e ź ć m o ż n a echa gombrowiczowskich p y t a ń o w a r t o ś ć peryferyjności kulturowej, niedojrzałości, l o k a l n o ś c i , „ n i e ­ d o s k o n a ł o ś c i " , k t ó r a bywa, że jest wyższą w a r t o ś c i ą : 24 ironicznego. N e a p o l i t a ń c z y k , gdy t a ń c z y t a r a n t e l ę - r o b i to dla zabawy; p o r t e ń c z y k * t a ń c z ą c tango, r o z m y ś l a o swojej doli, k t ó r ą uosabia p r z e w a ż n i e jego partnerka, lub usiłuje r o z g r y ź ć i dociec, j a k a jest o g ó l n a struktura egzystencji ludzkiej. Nalany p i w e m Niemiec, gdy podryguje w takt muzyki tyrolskiej, śmieje się i najniewinniej w świecie b a w i się; p o r t e ń c z y k nie śmieje się i nie bawi, a jeśli czasem bezwiednie i u k r a d k i e m niejako się u ś m i e c h n i e - ten grotes­ k o w y jego grymas r ó ż n i się od ś m i e c h u Niemca tak, j a k garbus pesymista r ó ż n i się od instruktora gimnastyki. (...) 2 5 Subkultura 26 przedmieść „ P r a w i c o w i nacjonaliści, k t ó r y m i r o i się Argentyna steryl­ nie czysta, c h c ą a b y ś m y wciąż pisali o (niestniejących) gauczach. N a c j o n a l i ś c i z lewa u t r z y m u j ą natomiast, że problemy metafizyczne są stosowne dla starej europejskiej cywilizacji... W e d ł u g tej szczególnej d o k t r y n y „ b ó l metafizy­ czny" m o ż e d o k u c z a ć jedynie m i e s z k a ń c o m P a r y ż a l u b Pragi, a przecież jeśli ma się ś w i a d o m o ś ć , że p o w o d e m b ó l u jest s k o ń c z o n o ś ć c z ł o w i e k a , trzeba u z n a ć , że dla tych s z a l e ń c ó w ludzie u m i e r a j ą tylko w Europie, a u nas żyją l u d o w o i nieśmiertelnie. - Jednak tak się nie dzieje, jeśli bowiem przemijanie jest t y m , co ożywia metafizyczny niepo­ k ó j , m a m y więcej p o w o d ó w , by je o d c z u w a ć niż na starym kontynencie,bo j e s t e ś m y bardziej t y m c z a s o w i . " 27 Tango piosenka 2 rioplateńska * 1 HYBRYDAŻ (...) M i l i o n y i m i g r a n t ó w , k t ó r e n a p ł y n ę ł y do tego kraju w ciągu niespełna stu lat, nie t y l k o zaszczepiły tutaj owe dwa atrybuty w s p ó ł c z e s n e g o A r g e n t y ń c z y k a , j a k i m i są rozczaro­ wanie i smutek, lecz r ó w n i e ż p r z y g o t o w a ł y glebę dla po­ wstania najoryginalniejszego fenomenu regionu del Plata, j a k i m jest tango. Taniec ten był sukcesywnie ganiony, chwalony, satyryzowany i analizowany. Wreszcie najwięk­ szy jego t w ó r c a Enrique Santos Discepollo określił go najcelniej, dając najtrafniejszą definicję: Jest to smutna myśl, którą się tańczy. (...) II NIEZADOWOLENIE (...) Wszystko to sprawia, że tango jest t a ń c e m introwersyjnym, a nawet i n t r o s p e k t y w n y m , s m u t n ą m y ś l ą , k t ó r ą się tańczy. W przeciwieństwie do tego, co ma miejsce w innych t a ń c a c h ludowych, k t ó r e są ekstrawertyczne i erotycznie wesołe. T y l k o gringo m o ż e się z d o b y ć na pajacowate w y k o ­ rzystanie tanga do konwersacji l u b beztroskiej zabawy. Tango jest zjawiskiem ze wszech miar zadziwiającym, jeśli chodzi o gatunek t a ń c a ludowego w o g ó l e . N i e k t ó r z y s ą d z ą , że tango nie zawsze jest dramatyczne i że zdarza się, iż w y ł a n i a się z niego humor. Przez to zdają się o n i s u g e r o w a ć , że nieobca jest tangu niefrasobliwość. O t o ż , wydaje m i się i to c a ł k i e m niesłuszne, gdyż mamy t u do czynienia z u k r y t ą s a t y r ą . W humoryzmie tanga jest c o ś z a r g e n t y ń s k i e j przekory, jego epigramaty są gniewne i p o n u ­ re. Cały dzień nieludzka harówka, a w sobotę wieczorem jesteś sobie pan. Oblicze A r g e n t y ń c z y k a ma w sobie c o ś karykaturalnie 52 III SEKS (...) R ó ż n i myśliciele a r g e n t y ń s c y u t o ż s a m i a l i tango z sek­ sem lub, j a k to czynił Juan Pablo Echagtie, zwali go po prostu t a ń c e m l u b i e ż n y m . U w a ż a m , że mamy t u do czynie­ nia z c z y m ś w r ę c z o d w r o t n y m . P r a w d ą jest, że tango p o w s t a ł o w spelunkach, ale j u ż sam ten fakt p o w i n i e n n a s u n ą ć nam podejrzenie, że zachodzi t u c o ś w rodzaju rewersu, gdyż t w ó r c z o ś ć artystyczna niemal zawsze jest aktem antagonistycznym, p r ó b ą ucieczki lub rebelii. W y o b ­ r a ź n i a tworzy to, czego nie ma, co jest niejako przedmiotem naszej t ę s k n o t y i naszej nadziei, co w s p o s ó b magiczny pozwala nam wyzwolić się z ciężkiej codziennej rzeczywisto­ ści. (...) IV (...) C i a ł o drugiego jest t y l k o obiektem i sam k o n t a k t z jego m a t e r i ą nie u p o w a ż n i a do przekroczenia granic s a m o t n o ś c i . T a k więc sam akt seksualny jest p o d w ó j n i e smutny, gdyż nie t y l k o pozostawia m ę ż c z y z n ę w jego poprze­ dniej s a m o t n o ś c i , lecz j ą nasila i wzmaga frustracją wysiłku. T o jest jeden z m e c h a n i z m ó w , k t ó r y m m o ż n a t ł u m a c z y ć smutek tanga, tak często p r z e p e ł n i o n e g o d e s p e r a c j ą , gnie­ wem, g r o ź b ą i sarkazmem. (...) V BANDONEON (...) Z p r o s t y b u l ó w i spelunek tango r u s z y ł o na p o d b ó j centrum z k a t a r y n k ą i p a p u g ą , k t ó r a z całą n i e w i n n o ś c i ą głosiła zuchwale: Chciałbym być łobuzem, by posiadać dziewczynę. I z niezwyciężoną siłą, j a k a cechuje a u t e n t y c z n ą ekspresję, tango p o d b i ł o świat. (...) VI METAFIZYKA (...) W t y m kraju o p o z y c j o n i s t ó w , za k a ż d y m razem, gdy k t o ś c o ś planuje l u b tworzy ( b u d ż e t , symfonię czy projekt mieszkaniowy m i n i m u m ) , natychmiast w y r a s t a j ą tysiące k r y t y k ó w , k t ó r z y z s a d y s t y c z n ą s k r u p u l a t n o ś c i ą wszystko to niszczą. (...) (...) W s p o m n i a n i krytycy znajdują m e t a f i z y k ę t y l k o w fo­ liałach p r o f e s o r ó w niemieckich, podczas gdy, j a k m a w i a ł Nietzsche, leży on na ulicy, w trzewiach „ s z a r e g o " człowieka z k r w i i kości. (...) Nieuchronna frustracja, nostalgia za d a l e k ą ojczyzną, n i e c h ę t n y stosunek t u b y l c ó w do tej inwazji, poczucie n i e p e w n o ś c i i k r u c h o ś c i w z m i e n i a j ą c y m się zawrot­ nie świecie, n i e m o ż n o ś ć zapewnienia sobie egzystencji, brak hierarchii absolutnych - wszystko to znajduje swój wyraz w tangistyce metafizycznej. Asfalt zmiótł za jednym zamachem starą dzielnicę, gdzie się urodziłem. P o s t ę p , k t ó r y forsownie w p r o w a d z i l i p r z y w ó d c y nowej Argentyny, nie z o s t a w i ł kamienia na kamieniu, więcej: nie zostawił cegły na cegle, gdyż technicznie m a t e r i a ł ten jest mniej trwały, a co za t y m idzie, fakt jest jeszcze bardziej przygnębiający. W mieście widmie nie ma nic t r w a ł e g o . L u d o w y poeta opiewa s w ą nostalgię za starym Cafe de los Angelitos: Ewokuję cię, zagubiony w życiu i pogrążony w odmętach dymu. �Z kolei skromny podmiejski M a n r i q u e zapytuje: Za jakimi snami odleciały'.' Po jakich gwiazdach wędrują'' Glosy, co wczoraj nadeszły i minęły i zamilkły, gdzie są dziś? jakimi ulicami wrócą? P o r t e ń c z y k j a k n i k t w Europie odczuwa przemijanie czasu i to, że frustracja wszystkich jego s n ó w i ś m i e r ć ostateczna jest n i e u n i k n i o n y m epilogiem wszystkich jego w y s i ł k ó w . O b ł o c o n y na m a r m u r o w y m blacie stolika, w ś r ó d kielichów ..semillonu*" i d y m u z p a p i e r o s ó w „ n e g r o s " w przyjaznej medytacji zapytuje: Czy pamiętasz bracie, tamte piękne czasy? 1 z c y n i c z n ą g o r y c z ą konkluduje: Płynie życie, odchodzi i nie wraca. Więc najlepiej jest używać, a wszystkie Niech idą do diabla. (...) troski C z ł o w i e k tanga jest i s t o t ą , k t ó r a medytuje o mijaniu czasu i o t y m , co to mijanie ze s o b ą niesie: o n i e u b ł a g a n e j ś m i e r c i . " (Przełożył .1. Kekslas) * porleno - Mieszkaniec Buenos Aires * lichy gatunek popularnego wina. P RZ 1 Wdech-wydech (1981) scenariusz, zdjęcia, reżyseria: Bogdan Dziworski i Zbigniew Rybczyński, muzyka: Janusz Hajdun, kier. prod. Ryszard Okuński, produkcja SeMaFor (dla TVP) Tango (1980) realizacja: Zbigniew Rybczyński, współpraca: Janina Dychto, Andrzej Teodorczyk, Andrzej Strąk. Janusz Olszewski, Zyg­ munt Smyczek, Wiesław Nowak, Halina Krajewska, muzyka: Janusz Hajdun, dźwięk: Mieczysław Janik, montaż: Barbara Sarnocińska, kier. prod.: Ryszard Okuński, Ignacy Goncerz, produkcja: SeMaFor. Zbigniew Rybczyński podróżnik do krainy niemożliwości. Praca zbiorowa pod red. Zbigniewa Benedyktowicza. współpraca red. Teresa Rutkowska, Ryszard Ciarka. Warszawa 1993. Por. m.in. moje wprowadzenie do poświęconego antropologii filmu numeru „Kontekstów", Nr 3/4 1992; a także cały ów numer zawierający teksty na ten temat. Por. też Sztuka na wysokości oczu. Film i antropologia Warszawa 1991. Charles Solomon, „Tango" - polski taniec alienacji, tł. Teresa Rutkowska, (w:) Zbigniew Rybczyński podróżnik...., dz. cyt. s. 37 Jean-Paul Fargier, jak Polak, tł. Teresa Rutkowska, tamże s.44-45 tamże Marcin Giżycki, Wizja i kalkulacja, tamże s. 28-29 ' Daniel Szczechura, Tango, czyli nowe spojrzenie nu kino, tamże s.34-35 Wypowiedź podczas konferencji prasowej w IS P A N , polem powtarzana w wywiadach i publikacjach prasowych. Janusz Bogucki, w rozmowie Emaus za dużo czy za mulo wolności?. „Konteksty" nr 1/1992 s.29 por. w relacji z wywiadu dla ..Andy Warhols Interview Magazine", w: Zbigniew Rybczyński - podróżnik..., dz. cyt. s. 84--85 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 1 0 1 1 1 2 Pora więc i na u p o r z ą d k o w a n i e : Wdech-wydech mieści się poetyce lanca ekslrawertycznego. Tango jest z natury rzeczy inlrowertycznc. Ś w i a d o m i j e s t e ś m y r ó ż n i c m i ę d z y w i d m o w o s c i ą Buenos. Ł o d z i , Warszawy... Gdy j u ż p o z n a l i ś m y s r u k l u r ę tanga m o ż e m y p o w r ó c i ć do całej wypowiedzi R y b c z y ń s k i e g o (urwanej poprzednio i po­ zbawionej k o ń c z ą c e g o j ą zdania): ..(...) Najpierw jest konstrukcja, technologia. D o p i e r o p o l e m obrasta znaczeniami i w v t w a r z nastroje. T R E Ś Ć JEST W I E C Z N A I WSPÓLNA WSZYSTKIM LU­ DZIOM." Asfaltem zalane znikło w jednej chwili osiedle stare, gdzie na świat przyszedłem... Za jakimi snami odleciały'? Po jakich gwiazdach wędrują? Glosy, co wczoraj nadeszły i minęły i zamilkły. gdzie są dziś? jakimi ulicami wracaj? Inna jest smutna myśl. którą się tańczy u Kantora Inna jest smutna myśl. która się tańczy u Mrożka Inna jest smutna myśl. którą się tańczy u R y b c z y ń s k i e g o Inna jest smulna myśl, którą się tańczy w Tangu, wc Wdech-wydech, w Orkiestrze, na Manhattanie, i w Washing­ tonie. T R E Ś Ć J E S T W I E C Z N A 1 W S P Ó L N A W S Z Y S T K I M LUDZIOM. PISY 1 3 Jan Koli, Rodzina Mrożka. Nr 4/1965 s. 68-73 Roch Sulima Przyczynek do semiotyki śmieci. ,,Konteksty" Nr 11993 s. 33 Zbigniew Rybczyński - podróżnik..., dz. cyt. s. 67 tamże s. 189-190 tamże s. 200 Na ten temat por. rozmowę z Mrożkiem Jerzego Jarockiego, w której autor wyznaje, iż pierwszą obejrzana sztuką która zrobiła na nim potężne wrażenie było właśnie Wesele „Teatr" Nr 4/1994 Jan Kott, dz. cyt. Jan Błoński Drugie danie czyli powtórka poczwórki, „Dialog" Nr 5/168 s. 70 Krzysztof Pleśniarowicz, Teatr Śmierci Tadeusza Kantora. Verba/Chotomów, 1990 s. 114 Magdalena Smęder, .,Betlejem, Go/gola, Basty/ia i Biedny Pokój", „Konteksty" Nr 3-4/1991 s. 123 Ryszard Ciarka Zbigniew Rybczyński podróżnik... dz. cyt. s. 169 tamże - wkładka graficzna. Ernesto Sabało, Pisarz i jego zmory zebrał, przełożył i posłowiem opatrzył Rajmund Kalicki, Kraków 1988: tenże. Tango piosenka rioplateńska, „Literatura" 12, nr 12, 20 marca 1975 s. 11 Składam serdeczne podziękowanie Panu Rajmundowi Kalickiemu za pomoc w zlokalizowa­ niu bibliograficznym tego eseju, który zapadł mi w pamięć, ale bez zapisu danych. Ernesto Sabato, Pisarz i jego zmory, s. 68 tamże numeracja śródtytułów pochodzi ode mnie ze względu na nowy układ fragmentów. 1 4 1 5 1 6 1 7 1 8 1 0 2 0 2 1 2 2 2 3 2 4 2 5 2 0 2 7 2 8 53 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/474deec6075d847192ccba4d2618c495.pdf e4ff22065bc1862b3fe0555a5e25e76b Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2450 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2274 Title A name given to the resource Historia współczesności / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.46-47 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Stomma, Ludwik Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Historia współczesności Ludwik Stomma Podług definicji Rolanda Barthesa, k t ó r ą cytuję zawsze i wszędzie, do znudzenia; mit polega na przestawianiu szeregów kultury i natury - przedstawianiu kulturalnego, społecznego, ideologicznego, ekonomicznego, jako oczywistości, normy, ko­ nieczności wynikłej z prawa naturalnego i istoty człowieczeńst­ wa. Człowiek nie chce i nie może żyć w braku sensu. Buduje więc konstrukcje uzasadniające jego przyzwyczajenia, odruchy, pra­ wa - buduje mity pozwalające m u przemienić niekonieczne w konieczne, przypadkowe w obowiązujące i naturalne. Z tej właśnie immanentnej cechy wszystkich kultur korzysta reklama. Jest ona niczym innym, jak drugim piętrem mitu: ma uzasadnić naturalną oczywistość i konieczność potrzeby, która jeszcze nie zaistniała. Stąd elementarną regułą reklamy jest zestawienie: produkt - natura, a jeszcze lepiej: produkt - natura odwieczna, gdyż „odwieczność" uwypukla „ n a t u r a l n o ś ć " , „potrzebę wrodzo­ n ą " . Stąd wszechobecne w ikonografii reklamowej góry, pus­ tynie, wodospady, dzikie zwierzęta na wolności, łany zbóż... D o tej samej grupy należy ewokacja „ n a t u r a l n e g o " życia: wieś, święto ludowe, folklor, chłopska rodzina przed stylizowaną chatą, wąsaty dziadek z wnukiem. „ N a t u r a l n o ś ć " eksponowana poprzez „odwieczność" propo­ nuje nam obrazy przeszłości: rycerstwo, herb szlachecki, staro­ żytny Rzym, aluzje biblijne. Nie chodzi tu oczywiście o żaden realny związek z miejscem, epoką czy zdarzeniem. Chodzi 0 znak mający wywołać podświadome skojarzenie. Herb z re­ klamy jest przeważnie heraldycznym absurdem. To oczywiste, nie jest on przecież herbem, a tylko herbu symboliczną ewoka­ cja... Tak więc pierwszą regułą reklamy jest konstrukcja struktury mitycznej, czyli usytuowanie produktu w p o r z ą d k u naturalnej 1 odwiecznej konieczności. Jakimż cudem mogłem się dotychczas obejść bez X?! D r u g ą regułą jest obietnica. T u pojawiają się piękne panie, bezszelestni kelnerzy, pocałunki, olśniewające bogactwem wnęt­ rza. X jest elementem tego świata. Poprzez X osiągasz więc coś z nim wspólnego. Jest to o d w r ó c o n a zasada magii sympatycznej: skoro produkt oddziaływuje i na ciebie i na nich, nawiązuje się między wami interakcja, nić konfidencjonalnej wspólnoty. Cat­ herine Deneuve zachęcająca Francuzów do kupowania akcji prywatyzowanego przedsiębiorstwa przemawia argumentami pseudoracjonalnymi. Racjonalność jest jednak antytezą rekla­ my, wymagałaby bowiem udowodnienia, że produkt X jest nam rzeczywiście niezbędny, co jest oczywistym absurdem, gdyż żyliśmy dotąd bez i spokojnie toczył się światek. W rzeczywisto­ ści mówi Deneuve: kup akcje, które i j a kupiłam. Będziemy razem, będziemy podobni. A w tym upodobnieniu mieścić już się m o g ą i schody w Cannes, i poufałość z gwiazdami i marzenia seksualne. Obietnica i tajemnica. Wreszcie reguła trzecia - znak musi zostać zapamiętany. Z a p a m i ę t a n y przy t y m w sposób miły, nie powodujący agresji przeciw, nie rodzący frustracji, a wręcz przeciwnie raczej frustra­ cję rozpraszający. Stąd, nie wspominając o muzyce i kolorystyce, reklam telewizyjnych, ich dobroduszny paradoks, dowcip, przy­ mrużenie oka. Nawet pozorna prowokacja: „Nigdy nie będziecie tacy piękni, jak chłopcy z Kaliforni. Nigdy nie będziecie tacy muskularni, jak chłopcy z Kaliforni, Nigdy nie będziecie tacy opaleni, jak chłopcy z Kaliforni, I nigdy nie będą was dziewczyny kochały jak chłopców z Kaliforni. 46 A L E . Ale za to! Możecie mieć takie same slipy, jak chłopcy z Kalifornii!!!" W zasadzie wszystko jest proste. Obiektywna triada dobrej reklamy: natura - obietnica - wesoła spolegliwość... T u jednak właśnie zaczynają się kłopoty. Wszystkie trzy bowiem wymie­ nione czynniki są zmienne i w przestrzeni i w czasie. Zmienia się i obraz „ n a t u r a l n o ś c i " nas samych i sfera aspiracji społecznych i kształt humoru. Dobra reklama relacjonuje stan społecznych zaszłości. Bardzo dobra, a ta tylko okazuje się znacząco skuteczna, antycypuje koniunktury i koniunktur zderzenia. To właśnie dlatego pisałem kiedyś o reklamie mydła „ C a dum". Koniec wieku X I X jest z jednej strony czasem wynalazku i teatralizacji dzieciństwa; z drugiej epoką fetyszyzacji higieny. Jeszcze około 1860 nie tylko chłop, ale i mieszczanin francuski przekonany był o dobrodziejstwie i medycznie zbawiennych właściwościach brudu. Ba! Kiedy w 1991 kupiłem dom należący przedtem do małomiasteczkowej inteligentki, nie było w nim... łazienki. Ta pani akurat na pewno była j u ż przekonana o dob­ rodziejstwach czystości ciała, po prostu nie miała pieniędzy, by poprawić po przodkach. Wychowano j ą też w wierze w swois­ tość - którego sama nie zdążyła jeszcze zaznać - ale w której j u ż zaczynała wierzyć, błogiego stanu dzieciństwa. W końcu X I X wieku miała lat osiemnaście. I wtedy właśnie pojawia się na murach „Bebe Cadum" - gołe, sterylnie czyste niemowlę. Znak tendencji jeszcze nie w pełni uspołecznionych, dopiero torujących sobie drogę. Apoteoza dzieciństwa i higieny wpisanych już w porządek naturalny - cóż jest bowiem naturalniejsze nad dziecięcą nagość. Reklama mydła „ C a d u m " zrobiła kolosalną furorę. Bezpłciowe niemowlę z plakatów zaadoptowane zostało przez społeczeństwo, włączo­ ne w realne życie. Podczas I Wojny Światowej krążyły powszechnie dwie, po­ wtarzane zresztą i przez prasę i przez polityków, plotki o „Bebe Cadum" - jedna achronologiczna, że rodzice Cadum zamor­ dowani zostali przez Boszów i zostało się ono nieszczęśliwą sierotą; druga - bardziej licząca się z wymiarem czasu, iż Bebe, które w międzyczasie, n o r m a l n ą koleją losu wyrosło, poszło na front i bohatersko zginęło. Tak oto reklama mydła posłużyła z kolei reklamie (choć częściej używa się w tym kontekście pojęcia „ p r o p a g a n d a " ) wojennej. Dzisiaj znowu spotkać możemy to samo „Bebe Cadum" we francuskich sklepach. Przepraszam, nie to samo. Ten sam jest tylko rysunek. Zmieniła się ideologia. Dzisiaj przywołuje golas siebie samego sprzed lat jako figurę trwałości, „wieczności", a dodatkowo jeszcze wspomnienie tak modnej dzisiaj „la belle epoque" - pięknych czasów schyłku poprzedniego wieku; „Bebe Cadum", Montmartre impresjonistów czy wieża Eiffla w kon­ strukcji stały się znakami wymiennymi. Dobitny to przykład, że wbrew przeważającym dzisiaj sądom nie odwołuje się reklama tylko do statycznego: rzekomych archetypów, czy odwiecznych symboli (które są zresztą pojęcia­ mi mitycznymi same w sobie), ale przede wszystkim do dynamiki społecznego i kulturalnego, do rozpryskujących się i łączących wciąż od nowa zmiennych figur kultury. Dlatego właśnie może być d o m e n ą etnologii. D o m e n ą etnologii? - Myślę, że konieczny jest w tym miejscu obszerniejszy komentarz. Truizmem jest stwierdzenie, iż wyrosła etnologia z doświad­ czenia konfrontacji z innością. Bez względu na to, czy było to spotkanie z egzotyką odległych ludów, czy społeczeństw chłops­ kich, to samo pytanie tworzyło etnologię: jeżeli X , a co więcej cała seria X-ów zachowuje się tak dziwnie, tak niezgodnie �z naszymi standartami, które uważamy za racjonalne i natural­ ne, to czy stoi za tymi ekstrawagancjami j a k o w a ś logika, jakiś system, jakiś sens. Tak sformułowane pytanie, będące poniekąd po dziś dzień pytaniem naczelnym akademickiej etnologii, wyznaczyło na długie lata dwie istotne słabości naszej dyscypliny. Po pierwsze, przyjmowano milcząco, że to zachowanie X jest dziwne w stosu­ nku do naszego, a nie odwrotnie. Trzeba było długich lat i przejścia przez strukturalizm, by uznać wreszcie zasadę r ó w n o ­ ważności „dziwności". Po drugie, baza działalności p o r ó w n a w ­ czej zdeterminowana została przez synchronic. Zestawienie: j a - mój odpowiednik z buszu, j a - chłop, przesłoniło całkowicie zestawienie równie płodne: j a - mój odpowiednik sprzed lat, czy też: on - jego odpowiednik sprzed lat. Jakościowe wręcz rozróżnienie pomiędzy tymi dwoma pytaniami wprowadziły kierunki akcentujące lub wręcz podnoszące do rangi swoistego panaceum konieczność b a d a ń terenowych, czyli empirii dotyka­ lnej. Dalej jeszcze poszedł Levi-Strauss, który pojęcie „ludów, do historii których brakuje nam źródeł" zastąpił „ludami bez historii", k t ó r a to drobna manipulacja stylistyczna przekształ­ cona została następnie w paradygmat. Nic dziwnego, że z t a k ą stanowczością i konsekwencją potępia Levi-Strauss wszelkie próby podejmowane w dziedzinie tak zwanej „antropologii współczesności". Przeciwieństwem współczesności jest wszakże przeszłość, inność w diachronii, a nie synchronic Porównanie: j a - m ó j odpowiednik z buszu, pozwala mi się obejrzeć w mojej europejskości czy innej lokalności. Tylko zestawienie: j a - mój odpowiednik sprzed lat, pozwala mi się rozszyfrować w mojej „współczesności". Tak więc współczesno­ ści naucza historia. Przytaczałem przed chwilą przykład wynalezionego w końcu X I X wieku dzieciństwa i jego nieudolnej teatralizacji polegającej na miniaturyzowaniu, defunkcjonalizowaniu i w końcu infantylizowaniu świata dorosłych, czyli jedynego dotąd realnego. Rzecz rozgrywa się na przestrzeni niecałych stu lat, a przecież jest dziś dzieciństwo z całym towarzyszącym m u systemem nakazów i zakazów, a nawet sztafarzem estetycznym, oczywis­ tością samą. Weszło w sferę „naturalności", jest więc mitem spełnionym. Spełnionym co więcej, czemu winna (lub co jej zawdzięczamy?) rewolucja środków komunikacji, na przeważa­ jących połaciach naszego globu. O ileż wyraziściej rysuje więc nam proces transformacji mitycznej analiza dia-, niż synchroni­ czna. Fernand Braudel wyróżniał, jak wiadomo, trzy elementy procesu dziejowego: zdarzenia, koniunktury i długie trwanie. Są one wzajemnie zależne. „Bebe Cadum", będące samo w sobie zdarzeniem, karierę zrobiło na skrzyżowaniu dwóch rodzących się koniunktur. Jest to przykład względnie prosty. Równie proste są wstępne założenia Braudela (potem je komplikuje), iż długim trwaniem jest na przykład typ klimatu, gleb, układu p r ą d ó w morskich... Ta pozorna prostota, czy wręcz banalność niektórych obserwacji Nowej Historii spowodowała, iż przyjął się zdroworozsądkowy poniekąd sposób rozróżniania trwałości poszczególnych elementów kultury. Język wyobrażeń zbioro­ wych, na którym słusznie opiera się reklama zdominował tu język analizy, na której słusznie opierać się winny i historia i etnologia. Tymczasem analiza przynosi tu wnioski zgoła zaskakujące. I tak na przykład jadłospis nasz narodowy ma charakter zdarzeniowo-koniunkturalny. W ó d k a pojawia się w Polsce dopiero w X V I wieku! Kartofle w X V I I I ! . . . Sport jako rozrywka milionów (oglądających, nie uprawiających) jest wy­ nalazkiem X X wieku, niewiele dłuższy ma r o d o w ó d muzyka rozrywkowa. Elementarne pojęcia powszechnej demokracji, praw człowieka i obywatela, równouprawnienia kobiet... w wy­ miarze historycznym nie strząsnęły z siebie jeszcze płodowych płynów. Natomiast reakcje społeczne w konfrontacji z niezna­ ną c h o r o b ą zakaźną wykazują przez wieki zadziwiające podo­ bieństwa. Czy to d ż u m a X I I i X I I I w., czy A I D S odnajdujemy tą samą triadę: kara za grzech - grzeszne marginesy - ocalenie przez dyskryminację. Wbrew potocznym wyobrażeniom sek­ sualny charakter choroby rna tu drugorzędne znaczenie. To nie w reakcji na syfilis pokutowali biczownicy i mordowano Żydów... Zaiste, dziwną dialektykę trwania i ulotności ukazuje nam analiza diachroniczna. Toteż w niespodziewanym pokazuje nas lustrze etnologia współczesności. Świadomość tak narodowa, grupowa, jak i indywidualna jest sumą wyobrażeń jakie chcieli­ byśmy, by o nas miano - pisał Bloch. Innymi słowy byłoby to zjawisko zbliżające się na poziomie mitycznym do struktury reklamy. Czym innym tożsamość, będąca syntezą długiego trwania (Braudel). Przyjdzie nam dopiero p o z n a ć własną naszą tożsamość. Scena z Tanga Zbigniewa R y b c z y ń s k i e g o 47 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/f4b70a993a5c8909963acf65bc18b4e9.pdf 90ddfc234dd82c67a558df65866d1ac1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2453 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2277 Title A name given to the resource Powroty do przeszłości, albo czy wspomnienia kłamią / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.57-60 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Piątkowski, Krzysztof Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Powroty do przeszłości, albo czy wspomnienia kłamią? Krzysztof Piątkowski Czy godzi się i r o n i z o w a ć z tak miłego dla d o j r z a ł e g o serca uczucia j a k n o s t a l g i a za przeszłością? G ł u p i o to r o b i ć w skali jednostkowej, prywatnej, kiedy „ c z a r w s p o m n i e ń " , tylko dobrych w s p o m n i e ń , prostuje nam przygarbione plecy, a p r z y w o ł a n i e utraconego czasu wyciska łzę. Jacy byliśmy p i ę k n i , j a k żarliwie k o c h a l i ś m y , jakie cudowne b y ł o kiedyś życie i świat... Czy wspomnienia k ł a m i ą ? D e l i k a t n y to problem z a k ł a m a ­ nie ludzkich biografii. A l e gdy rozszerzymy skalę patrzenia, gdy „ w y j d z i e m y z siebie", gdy do tego rozejrzymy się wokół... Być m o ż e zobaczymy, j a k k u l t u r a popularna epatuje nas n o s t a l g i ą za czasem m i n i o n y m . Słyszymy m u z y k ę , o g l ą d a m y filmy, z a k ł a d a m y modne stroje - i j u ż j e s t e ś m y w sidłach przeszłości! W y w o ł a n e j przeszłości. Najpierw była moda na lata pięćdziesiąte - j a k w filmie G . Lukasa American Graffiti (1973): dynamiczny czas, cudow­ ne, wyzwolone dziewczęta, najpiękniejsze samochody i rock and r o l i ! W y d a w a ł o się - „ t o se ne v r a t i . . . " Dziś pop k u l t u r a czaruje nas n o s t a l g i ą za latami sześć­ dziesiątymi. M o d y w kulturze, m o d y w sztuce... „ Z a c z ę ł o się to chyba od m o d y na retro, czyli n a w r o t u do stylu modernizmu z p r z e ł o m u X I X i X X w i e k ó w . Szybko zaczęły k l a r o w a ć się tendencje do przeciwstawiania się awangardyzmowi z jego a b s o l u t y z a c j ą o r y g i n a l n o ś c i , rady­ kalnej n o w o ś c i . W pewnym k r ó t k i m okresie p o w r ó c o n o do r o m a n t y z m u czy też neoromantyzmu - zwłaszcza w muzyce. Lecz artyści nie mogli z a p o m n i e ć bez reszty tego wszyst­ kiego, co d a ł a W i e l k a Awangarda i p o w s t a ł konglomerat, ś w i a d o m e przemieszanie stylów na zasadzie pastiszu, cyta­ t ó w z odniesieniami do nowych tendencji w myśli filozoficz­ nej" ( G o ł a s z e w s k a 1992:103). Czy k u l t u r a postmodernistyczna w t y m w i e l k i m przypo­ m i n a n i u o d k r y w a nam j a k ą ś p r a w d ę o przeszłości? S p ó j r z m y na nasz, lokalny, polski p r z y k ł a d . N a p o c z ą t k u paradoks: nie należy dziś „ d o dobrego t o n u " nostalgiczne p r z y w o ł y w a n i e c h o ć b y f r a g m e n t ó w z peerelow­ skiej przeszłości. Jest t u jednak sfera pop k u l t u r y w y m y k a j ą ­ ca się z „ o b s z a r u wstydu i zapomnienia": muzyka m ł o d z i e ż o ­ wa - j a k to się wtedy m ó w i ł o . Z w r ó ć m y u w a g ę , że j u ż s ł o w o „ m ł o d z i e ż o w a " , u ż y w a n e wtedy oficjalnie, m i a ł o p r z y w o ł y ­ w a ć kontekst czegoś d r u g o r z ę d n e g o , m a ł o w a r t o ś c i o w e g o , infantylnego czy niedojrzałego (przypomnijmy jednak d w u ­ z n a c z n o ś ć niedojrzałości u Gombrowicza!). O d k i l k u lat do dziś j e s t e ś m y ś w i a d k a m i serii k o n c e r t ó w tzw. „ d i n o z a u r ó w " . Reanimowane zespoły z lat sześćdziesią­ tych zapełniały w i d o w n i e w większych i mniejszych mia­ stach. Ostatnio r ą c z o p r z y g r y w a ł y „ C z e r w o n e G i t a r y " , a k i l k a d n i temu come back w p e ł n y m składzie z a p o w i e d z i a ł zespół „ N o T o C o " . Czy to t y l k o zwiewny czar elektrycznych gitar, czy zawarta jest w t y m zjawisku j a k a ś prawda czasu? Milan Kundera zauważa: „Jeśli to prawda, że historia m u z y k i s k o ń c z y ł a się, to co p o z o s t a ł o z muzyki? Cisza? S k ą d ż e ; m u z y k i jest coraz więcej, wielokrotnie więcej, niż 58 było jej w najwspanialszych czasach. Rozlega się z g ł o ś n i k ó w na domach, ze straszliwych a p a r a t ó w d ź w i ę k o w y c h w miesz­ kaniach i restauracjach, z m a ł y c h t r a n z y s t o r ó w noszonych przez ludzi na ulicach. S c h ó n b e r g z m a r ł , Ellington z m a r ł , ale gitara jest wieczna. Stereotypowa harmonia, wytarta melodia i r y t m , t y m w y r a ź ­ niejszy, i m bardziej m o n o t o n n y , oto co z o s t a ł o z m u z y k i , oto jej wieczność. W tych prostych kombinacjach nut wszyscy m o g ą się zjednoczyć; przecież to sam byt krzyczy w nich swe radosne: Ja t u jestem! Ż a d n a zgoda nie jest głośniejsza i bardziej j e d n o m y ś l n a niż prosta zgoda na byt. Pod t y m w z g l ę d e m p o r o z u m i e w a j ą się A r a b o w i e z Ż y d a m i , Czesi z Rosjanami. C i a ł a p o r u s z a j ą się w takt d ź w i ę k ó w , pijane ś w i a d o m o ś c i ą , że istnieją. Dlatego ż a d n a kompozycja Beethovena nie była p r z e ż y w a n a z większą, z b i o r o w ą e k s t a z ą j a k rytmicznie p o w t a r z a j ą c e się uderzenia w struny gitar. (...) H i s t o r i a m u z y k i jest ś m i e r t e l n a , lecz g ł u p o t a gitar jest wieczna. M u z y k a w r ó c i ł a dziś do swego p o c z ą t k o w e g o stadium. Jest to stan po ostatnim postawieniu pytania, stan po ostatnim zastanowieniu, stan po h i s t o r i i " ( K u n d e r a 1993: 183-184). A więc dźwięki gitar b r z m i ą j a k słowa konsekracji: p o w o ł u j ą świat m i t u . J a k i ż to m i t j e d n o c z y ł dawniej tych s z a r p i ą c y c h d r u t y i tych wywijających marynarkami? M i t w s p ó l n o t y , w k t ó r y wierzono wtedy i k t ó r y m i t o l o g i z u j ą c przeszłość wywołuje się teraz. P ó j d ź m y tropem Rolanda Barthesa i przyjmijmy rozumienie takiej m i t o l o g i i j a k o z a k ł a m y w a n i a (Barthes 1970). W s p ó ł c z e ś n i e w dalszym ciągu - p o w i a d a ł Barthes - mamy do czynienia „ z obfitością e l e m e n t ó w mitycznych, j a k dawniej anonimowych, p o k r ę t n y c h , rozgadanych, p o d ­ dawanych z a r ó w n o krytyce ideologicznej j a k i semiologicznemu d e m o n t a ż o w i " . D z i ś jednak trzeba - d o d a w a ł - „ w y ­ o d r ę b n i a ć i o p i s y w a ć nie m i t y ale socjolekty. M i t o l o g i ę n a l e ż a ł o b y z a s t ą p i ć przez idiolektologię, bardziej sformali­ z o w a n ą i j e d n o c z e ś n i e , j a k sądzę, bardziej p r z e n i k l i w ą . Jej kategorie operacyjne to j u ż nie znak, signifiant, signifić czy konotacja, ale cytat, odniesienie, stereotyp" (Barthes 1992:6). J a k ą przeszłość w y w o ł u j ą „ d i n o z a u r y " ? Oczywiście miłą, wesołą, z a b a w o w ą - t a k ą jak piosenki z tamtych lat. Bo w o k ó ł czego ma b u d o w a ć się m i t w s p ó l n o t y ? Naturalnie, w o k ó ł spraw, k t ó r y m i żyje pokolenie. J a k i e ż to sprawy j e d n o c z y ł y m ł o d y c h ? - pytamy dalej. N i e w ą t p l i w i e w a ż n e . O N tak J Ą charakteryzuje: „ J e s t e ś taka j a k inne dziew­ częta / lubisz b a w i ć się, b y ć u ś m i e c h n i ę t a " ; jest jednak pewien feler: „ T o , że ty się boisz myszy / czy nie śmieszne to?" - śmieszne, bardzo śmieszne. O N A bywa bardziej konkret­ na: „ N i e wołaj mnie na ż a d e n film" - powiada, t y l k o : „ z a m ó w m i czekoladowy k r e m " ; lecz m ł o d y nie musi się z a m a r t w i a ć zanadto, bo wreszcie usłyszy: „ C i e b i e k o c h a m i czekoladowy k r e m " . O N A p r z e w a ż n i e „ c z e k a na m i ł o ś ć " , O N to wyczuwa i pyta wprost: „ C z y będziesz sama dziś wieczorem / bo jeśli tak, to przyjdę / a jeśli nie, to nie"! O N A spuszcza z t o n u i sugeruje: „ N i e pukaj do m y c h d r z w i " , raczej: „ N a p i s z p r o s z ę " , bo przecież „ Z a daleko mieszkasz �m i ł y " , a w o g ó l e to lepiej „ Z a m n ą nie o g l ą d a j się". O N p r z y g n ę b i o n y filozoficznie się zaduma: „ N a betonie kwiaty nie r o s n ą " , ale zaraz krzyknie do innych: „ P o w i e d z c i e j e j " , że „ P ł y n i e Wisła, p ł y n i e " , ot co. R o z d o k a z a ł e m się erotycznie... M o ż e zamiast seksu, dzie­ w c z ę t a zajęłyby się p r z y r o d ą ? P r o s z ę bardzo, najlepiej r u d y m rydzem, m u c h o m o r k i e m czy b i e d r o n e c z k ą w kropeczki. Najbezpieczniej jednak w r ó c i ć do zabaw dziecięcych i za­ c h ę c a ć wszystkich: „ B a w się w c i u c i u b a b k ę z nami (wystar­ czy w k r ą g u s t a w i ć się) c h u s t e c z k ę j e d n ą m i e ć " - prawda, że proste? Były też marzenia. Co m o g ł o być obiektem m a r z e ń ? - oczywiście dżinsy. Jako że był to towar trudno d o s t ę p n y i drogi, m u s i a ł go s f i n a n s o w a ć tato: „ T a t o , k u p m i dżinsy spodnie (tato, będzie m i wygodnie) tato, nie m ó w , że są drogie". T a t o , naturalnie, p r a c o w a ł w sektorze p a ń s t w o w y m ( u s p o ł e c z n i o n y m ) , bo „ b a n a n o w a m ł o d z i e ż " w y w o d z ą c a się z k r ę g ó w „ p r y w a c i a r s k i c h " dżinsy k u p o w a ł a sobie sama. Banan - symbol b u r ż u a z y j n e g o zbytku... C ó ż tam banan! Przypomnijmy sobie, j a k o statku w i o z ą c y m cytryny na święta entuzjastycznie i n f o r m o w a ł a cała prasa z k i l k u d n i o ­ w y m wyprzedzeniem. Notabene debatowano na „ n a j w y ż ­ szym szczeblu", czy nie da się z a s t ą p i ć tego luksusowego owocu k a p u s t ą k w a s z o n ą ( w y t ł u m a c z o n o jednak towarzy­ szowi W i e s ł a w o w i , że nie da się z t y m pić herbaty...). I n n y m obiektem m a r z e ń był m o t o c y k l ( „ N i e chcę skody ani opla..."), oczywiście krajowej produkcji. U b r a n i w jajo­ waty kask, elastyczny golf i p r z y s ł o w i o w y o r t a l i o n (z p o d p i n ­ k ą lub bez) m o g l i ś m y z a d a ć szyku, c h o ć b y na zabawie podmiejskiej, gdzie m o ż n a b y ł o „ T a n g o za p ó ł z ł o t e g o tańczyć"... K s z t a ł t o w a ł y się t a k ż e pewne wzorce p o s t ę p o w a n i a . Bujn o w ł o s a nimfa, k o k i e t u j ą c a o b f i t y m biustem w y l e w a j ą c y m się z obcisłej, brokatowej sukni kusiła: „Przyjdzie na to czas / przyjdzie czas / najpierw w s t ą p do d o m u / o przyszłości ze m n ą p o m ó w " . D z i e w c z ę t a smodzielnie natomiast zapew­ niały hardo: „ O mnie się nie m a r t w / j a sobie r a d ę d a m " . Z kolei r o d z i m y amant o wyglądzie wyleniałego wymoczka, z a w o d z i ł j a k prawdziwy macho: „ P o s ł u c h a j co ci powiem dziś / j u ż jesteś nie potrzebna m i / j u ż z a p o m n i a ł e m chwile te"... A emocjonalnie pobudzona p u b l i c z n o ś ć dziś się wzrusza i bije brawo... Jaki m i t w s p ó l n o t y , j a k i e d o ś w i a d c z e n i e pokoleniowe kryje się za t y m i piosenkami o banalnej miłości czy trzecio­ r z ę d n y c h problemach życiowych? Ż a d e n m i t , raczej jego skrawek, rudyment; przywołuje się d o ś w i a d c z e n i a m i ł o s t e k , prywatek, mody... Piosenka z c z a s ó w m ł o d o ś c i - j a k w magii kontaktowej - p r z y w o ł u j e m ł o d o ś ć . M ł o d o ś ć jest p i ę k n a i dobra, m ł o d o ś ć jest wieczna; p r z y w o ł a n y m i t w s p ó l n o t y redukuje się do wspomnienia młodzieńczej zabawy, wywołuje obraz siel­ skiej, wesołej, bezproblemowej m ł o d o ś c i . C i sami ludzie grają, te same usta śpiewają s t a r ą p i o s e n k ę : stare jest dobre, stare nie m o ż e k ł a m a ć , jest p r a w d ą . I d i o c i m u z y k i p r z y w o ł u j ą czas zapomnienia... Lecz za­ k ł a m a n a prawda zderza się z p o d w ó j n i e z a k ł a m a n ą rzeczy­ wistością peerelowskich lat sześćdziesiątych. P o d w ó j n i e za­ k ł a m a n a , bowiem zostaje p r z e s ł o n i ę t a nawet r e a l n o ś ć tej rzeczywistości. Tak wielka jest siła kreacji ideologii, wiary w moc słowa, k t ó r e stwarza n o w ą p o s t u l o w a n ą rzeczywis­ tość. C h o d z i ł o o to - j a k m ó w i ł Aleksander W a t - by „ u z n a ć za to co jest - to, co p o w i n n o być, a czego właśnie nie ma i być nie m o ż e " . Z a w o d o w i interpretatorzy p r z e k ł a d a l i i upo­ wszechniali m ą d r o ś ć partii. W s p i e r a ł a to wiara (to co, że udawana) i nauka (to co, że fałszywa). Obraz ś w i a t a w y d a w a ł się ustabilizowany na wieki w i e k ó w ; nie m o g ł a go z a c h w i a ć z m i e n n o ś ć f o r m pop k u l t u r y . M a ł o tego: p r ó b o w a ­ no z a a n e k t o w a ć w y t w o r y k u l t u r y masowej i u s t a w i ć je pod sztandarami realnego socjalizmu. O p o r t u n i ś c i m u z y k i śpie­ w a l i na propagandowych festiwalach o t y m , że „ Ż o ł n i e r z dziewczynie nie s k ł a m i e " , czy o mogile partyzanckiej w „ s z c z e r y m p o l u " , gdzie biały krzyż, lub zachęcali m ł o d z i e ż „ d o woja marsz", czy r o d z i n ę do przyjazdu na przysięgę w o j s k o w ą . Wychwalali też p o m y ś l n y r o z w ó j ludowej ojczyz­ ny, k t ó r a „ k w i t ł a j a k p ę k czerwonych r ó ż " , a zespół „ N o T o C o " tak się rozpędził, że w s t ą p i ł w 1968 r o k u do partii i p o p a r ł linię kierownictwa... W ł a d z e d o z o w a ł y w radio i T V r o c k - a n d - r o l l o w ą m u z y k ę a n g l o s a s k ą , preferując p i o s e n k ę w ł o s k ą (np. F. Buscalione) czy f r a n c u s k ą - a m ł o d z i e ż słuchała Radia Luksemburg. Jeśli n i e k t ó r z y nasi wykonawcy p r ó b o w a l i ś p i e w a ć „ R o c k A r o u n d the C l o c k " czy „ R o c k and R o l l M u s i c " , to r o z g ł o ś ­ nie p a ń s t w o w e h u c z a ł y szlagierem o Tierieszkowej, jeśli k t o ś z a ś p i e w a ł ,,1'm Sorry", czy „ L o v e M y Tender", nasi t w ó r c y odpowiedzieli zaraz „ Z i e l o n y m i w z g ó r z a m i nad S o l i n ą " . . . R o d z i m o ś ć była u r z ę d o w o zalecana, zwłaszcza sięganie do ludowych tradycji. P r z y k ł a d y m o ż n a m n o ż y ć . . . Z w i ą z e k tego t y p u propozycji z t y m co się działo w muzyce rockowej na Zachodzie był, delikatnie m ó w i ą c , umowny. N i e zapominajmy jednak o całkowitej k o n t r o l i p a ń s t w a nad życiem estradowym, rynkiem fonograficznym czy radiem i telewizją, o p r ó b a c h skanalizowania i zaanektowania muzycznej pop k u l t u r y . T o co w y m y k a ł o się t y m zakusom m i a ł o charakter undergroundowy; k i l k a z e s p o ł ó w p r ó b o w a ­ ło p r z e n o s i ć na nasz grunt wzory zachodnie (ciekawe zwłasz­ cza były p r ó b y bluesowe czy jazzrockowe). N i e zapominaj­ my wreszcie o d o s ł o w n e j granicy z a m k n i ę t e j m i ę d z y obu blokami: na p o c z ą t k u szóstej dekady w y b u d o w a n o m u r berliński, a narowisty p r z y w ó d c a Z S R R omal nie p r z e k s z t a ł ­ cił tzw. k o n f l i k t u k u b a ń s k i e g o w ś w i a t o w ą w o j n ę . Rock jest o g ó l n o ś w i a t o w y m fenomenem artystycznym, k u l t u r o w y m i s p o ł e c z n y m drugiej p o ł o w y X X wieku, k t ó r y ma w ł a s n ą p r a w d ę i w ł a s n ą estetykę ( Z o b . Siwak 1993). M o ż n a powiedzieć, że zjawisko to lokuje się m i ę d z y s z t u k ą a życiem, czy m i ę d z y s z t u k ą a c o d z i e n n o ś c i ą ; t o usytuowanie „ p o m i ę d z y " dodaje m u sensów nie t y l k o artystycznych i nie t y l k o k u l t u r o w y c h . Zajmuje pozycje m e d i a c y j n ą m i ę d z y spontanicznymi, często z a m k n i ę t y m i subkulturami m ł o d z i e ­ ż o w y m i , a najszerszym obiegiem k u l t u r y masowej. Jest więc „ p o trosze" s z t u k ą k u l t u r y nieoficjalnej i „ p o trosze" p r o d u k t e m masowym, w y t w o r e m p r z e m y s ł u kulturowego (jest też s z t u k ą w i e l o p o s t a c i o w ą : obejmuje koncerty, płyty, film, T V e t c ) . K u l t u r a w s p ó ł c z e s n a w ostatnich kilkudziesię­ ciu latach w y p r o m o w a ł a ideę m ł o d o ś c i j a k o w a ż n ą w a r t o ś ć , j a k o m i t ; rock w t o p i ł się w tę ideę, k t ó r a jest jego n o ś n i k i e m . Rockowcy m u s z ą zawsze p o z o s t a w a ć w opozycji do zasta­ nych f o r m k u l t u r o w y c h : bunt i agresja (wyrażająca się m i ę d z y i n n y m i poprzez h a ł a s , głośne granie) są atrybutem m ł o d o ś c i i reakcją na nieprzystosowanie do s k o s t n i a ł y c h f o r m , czy p o t r z e b ą znalezienia własnej t o ż s a m o ś c i . Rock ma swoją p r a w d ę , szczerość wypowiedzi: zjawiska sztuczne, nieautentyczne nigdy nie z a d o m o w i ł y się na dłużej na rockowej niwie. Ta prawda kreuje w s p ó l n o t ę r o c k o w c ó w , zawarta jest w ewokowanych pragnieniach w o l n o ś c i , m i ł o ­ ści, a u t e n t y c z n o ś c i i p r a w d z i w o ś c i , poczuciu b e z p i e c z e ń s t w a i akceptacji, m o ż l i w o ś c i uczestniczenia na w ł a s n y c h warun­ kach w życiu s p o ł e c z n y m . . . Intensywna ekspresja, specyficz­ na forma wsparta p u l s u j ą c y m rytmem, w o k a l n o ś ć - oto ś r o d k i , k t ó r e tę p r a w d ę niosą. Dialogiczny charakter k o n ­ t a k t u t w ó r c a - odbiorca, w y m u s z a j ą c y specyficzną aktyw­ n o ś ć odbiorcy - to u ł a t w i a . K o n c e r t rockowy bywa spektak­ lem parateatralnym, ma w ł a s n ą , z a a r a n ż o w a n ą dramatur­ gię, gdzie stopniuje się napięcie od p o c z ą t k u do finału. Manifestuje się m i t w s p ó l n o t y , poparty w s p ó l n ą ekspresją i p o d o b n y m w y g l ą d e m t w ó r c ó w i słuchaczy. O d swego p o c z ą t k u rock w y t w a r z a ł s p o ł e c z n ą o t o c z k ę , k r e o w a ł idoli, bożyszcze t ł u m ó w . Dawniej ten mechanizm 59 �I c e c h o w a ł k i n o i o d n o s i ł się do gwiazd filmowych. O d p o ł o w y lat pięćdziesiątych na o ł t a r z uwielbienia wynoszeni są rockowcy; pierwszym był Elvis Presley... D z i ś dawniejsi idole w y w o ł u j ą uczucie nostalgii za prze­ szłością, m ł o d o ś c i ą . . . M ó w i ę o t y m w k o n t e k ś c i e m u z y k i . O d j a k i e g o ś czasu w kulturze Zachodu w y r a ź n i e z a u w a ż a się tendencje do p o w r o t ó w - ostatnio zwłaszcza do lat sześć­ dziesiątych. W i d a ć to w filmie, sztukach plastycznych, zainteresowaniach kulturalnych, modzie czy nawet w p o l i t y ­ ce. Prezydent U S A B i l l C l i n t o n w y r a ź n i e kształtuje swoje image na w z ó r Johna F. Kennedy'ego, niemal mitycznego dziś prezydenta, bohatera wielu filmów, książek. Ten sam w y g l ą d , fryzura, retoryka, styl, rola ż o n y , m o ż n a wręcz powiedzieć: czekamy jeszcze na głośne romanse... S ą d z ę , że jest w t y m pewne uzasadnienie: konserwatywne r z ą d y R. Reagana czy M . Thatcher nie r o z w i ą z a ł y wielu n a b r z m i a ł y c h p r o b l e m ó w społecznych, m i m o p o c z ą t k o w y c h s u k c e s ó w ekonomicznych. Liberalna gospodarka, aktywne społeczeń­ stwo - d o s k o n a ł y m i realizatorami takich idei o d p o c z ą t k u lat 80-tych byli tzw. yuppies ( Z o b . P ę c z a k 1992); j e d n a k ż e późniejsza recesja i ostre k o n f l i k t y społeczne (np. ten w Los Angeles) zmąciły j e d n o z n a c z n ą o c e n ę takiej p o l i t y k i . Z r e s z t ą k o n s e r w a t y ś c i n i e c h ę t n i e o d w o ł u j ą się do lat sześćdziesią­ tych, w i d z ą c zwłaszcza u ich schyłku d e s t r u k c j ę i anarchizm a w treściach - mistyfikacje. Polityka konserwatywna zawsze k r y t y k o w a n a b y ł a przez kręgi akademickie i artystyczne. Przedstawiciele tych ś r o d o w i s k p o s t r z e g a j ą tamte lata j a k o czas rozbudzenia demokracji, okres w a ż n y c h przemian obyczajowych i i instytucjonalnych, modernizacji społecznej i liberalizacji prawa, a także przemian duchowych - sięgania, j a k by to p o w i e d z i a ł Eliade, do archaicznej gleby religijnej, by r e k o n s t r u o w a ć pierwotne dla wszelkiej k u l t u r y d o ś w i a d ­ czenie sacrum. Z r e s z t ą r ó ż n e na ten temat opinie, j a k i e znajdujemy w literaturze zależą od stanowisk politycznych a u t o r ó w ( Z o b . u nas L e g u t k o 1993 i K r z e m i ń s k i 1993). Przypomnijmy t a k ż e , iż artyści z formacji beat generation, czy intelektualiści b y l i ideologami ruchu hipisów; ś r o d o w i ­ ska te m o d e l o w a ł y t a k ż e wizerunek k o n t r k u l t u r y ( Z o b . J a w ł o w s k a 1975). R ó ż n e nurty k u l t u r y alternatywnej są j a k ą ś k o n t y n u a c j ą r u c h ó w s p o ł e c z n y c h z lat sześćdziesią­ tych. M a m y więc powody, aby w kulturze Zachodu pojawiła się - czy to w perspektywie jednostkowej, czy w perspektywie s p o ł e c z n e g o d o ś w i a d c z e n i a - nostalgia za przeszłością, za straconą młodością. W muzyce rockowej po inwazji w latach o s i e m d z i e s i ą t y c h heavy metalu, m u z y k i monochromatycznej, noise music czy rapu - wraca się do r o z w i ą z a ń i b r z m i e ń z szóstej dekady (np. styl rave). Nawet ekscentryczny heavy metal w y c i e n i o w a ł swą a g r e s y w n ą d i a b o l i c z n o - h e d o n i s t y c z n ą w a r s t w ę , upoda­ bniając się coraz bardziej do starego hard rocka. Notabene ciekawym jest, iż w tekstach a u t o r ó w klerykalnych czy B I B L I O Barthes R. 1970, Mit i znak, Warszawa 1992, O zmianie przedmiotu badań (czyli mitologia dzisiaj), „Polska Sztuka Ludowa. Konteksty" nr 3-4 Gołaszewska M . 1992, Postmodernistyczna gra w ku/turę, (w:) Oblicza postmoderny. Teoria i praktyka uczestnictwa w kulturze współczesnej, red. A. Zeidler-Janiszewska, Warszawa Jawłowska A. 1975, Drogi kontrkultury, Warszawa 60 konserwatywnych bardzo często heavy metal u t o ż s a m i a n y jest z satanizmem i wręcz z c a ł y m rockiem; nierzadkie są też opinie, że tego t y p u muzycy n o s z ą długie włosy, aby p r z y k r y ć ślady po l o b o t o m i i . . . K u l t u r a postmodernistyczna przetwarza wiele w ą t k ó w k u l t u r y alternatywnej. Socjolog Jerzy W e r t e n s t e i n - Ż u ł a w s k i z a u w a ż a , że „ T o , co (...) najbardziej znamienne w z w i ą z k a c h postmodernizmu z k u l t u r ą a l t e r n a t y w n ą to antyteologiczna wizja świata nie m a j ą c e g o wytyczonej drogi ani d o m i n u j ą c e j jedynie słusznej aksojologii i k u l t u r y - ś w i a t a «globalnej wioski» z ł o ż o n e g o z lokalnych, bardzo spluralizowanych kultur, w k t ó r y c h p r z e b y w a j ą czasowo jednostki ludzkie, o d g r y w a j ą c e na pewien czas j a k i e ś role społeczne, opierające jednak swój sens egzystencji na autonomicznych systemach w a r t o ś c i służących doznawaniu k o m f o r t u psychicznego (post-konwencjonalnych) i b ę d ą c y c h w l u ź n y c h z w i ą z k a c h z i n n y m i ( p r z y n a l e ż n o ś c i t o ż s a m o ś c i o w e j a nie p r z y n a l e ż n o ś ­ ciowej). Jest to wizja świata trwałej anomii, ś w i a t a w k t ó r y m m o ż n a się z a t r a c i ć , jeśli nie zredukuje się swoich potrzeb transcendentalnych na rzecz temporalistycznych r o z w i ą z a ń d o r a ź n y c h , p r z y n o s z ą c y c h ulgę i m o ż n a być stale r a n i o n y m , jeśli nie u ł o ż y się na n o w o więzi z l u d ź m i , ze w s p ó l n o t a m i l u d z k i m i , z k u l t u r a m i i ich w z o r a m i i n o r m a m i : »lojalność wobec s p o ł e c z e ń s t w a s k o ń c z y się w momencie, w k t ó r y m m u s i a ł b y m z a p r z e c z y ć w ł a s n e m u j a « - pisał W . S i m o n " ( W e r t e n s t e i n - Z u ł a w s k i 1992: 136-137). Powroty do przeszłości m a j ą swe uzasadnienie w refleksji postmodernistycznej. Nostalgia za u t r a c o n y m czasem jest w kulturze Zachodu t a k ż e p r ó b ą poszukiwania t o ż s a m o ś c i ze s o b ą samym i k o m u n i k a c j i z i n n y m i k u l t u r a m i . A w naszym kraju? M ó w i ł e m o muzyce z tamtych lat odgrzewanej przez „ d i n o z a u r ó w " , o zderzeniu z a k ł a m a n y c h ś w i a t ó w . Czy wspomnienia k ł a m i ą ? D o jakiej rzeczywistości społeczno-politycznej sprzed ćwierćwiecza m i e l i b y ś m y się o d w o ł a ć : do g o m u ł k o w s k i e g o marazmu, regresu, b r a k u alternatyw i sytuacji totalnego niedoboru wszystkiego, czy do hucpy politycznej z 1968 roku? Nie m o ż e t a k ż e do w ł a s n y c h korzeni p o w r ó c i ć polski rock, k t ó r y dopiero w latach 80-tych o d z y s k a ł swoją p r a w d ę , gdy w stanie wojennym s p a d ł a maska z z a k ł a m a n e g o oblicza i trzeba b y ł o samemu to przeżyć i z a c z ą ć pisać w ł a s n ą a u t o b i o g r a f i ę . . . Coda Przypomnijmy na koniec film W i m a Wendersa Niebo nad Berlinem (1987), m ó w i ą c y o e u r o p e j s k o ś c i rozumianej j a k o p a m i ę ć . Berlin jest miastem o b c i ą ż o n y m p a m i ę c i ą wojny; bohater filmu stara się go o b s e r w o w a ć z pozycji przybysza, z p u n k t u widzenia anioła... T r o c h ę tak j a k antropolog: t y l k o dla niego p a m i ę c i ą jest w ł a s n a k u l t u r a . R A F I A Krzemiński I. 1993, Lata szczęśliwe, lata szalone... Kontrkułtura i lata sześćdziesiąte, „Znak", nr 455 Kundera M . 1993, Księga śmiechu i zapomnienia, Warszawa Legutko R. 1993, Trzy tezy o kontrkulturze, „Znak", nr 455 Pęczak M . 1992, Mały słownik subkultur młodzieżowych, Warszawa Siwak W. 1993, Estetyka rocka, Warszawa � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/2c1649325a1f0bb9a1c222699b5c3fe6.pdf 4afa0015dab4f57a7765b281317c29d6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2452 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1994 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2276 Title A name given to the resource Yes. Nostalgiczne strefy pamięci / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1994 t.48 z.1-2, s.54-56 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Burszta, Wojciech J. Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Yes. Nostalgiczne strefy pamięci Wojciech J . Burszta Grecki termin nóstos ( = p o w r ó t ) w połączeniu z algos, co oznacza „cierpienie", tworzą łącznie pierwotny sens pojęcia nostalgii jako gorącego pragnienia ujrzenia ojczyzny czy nawet choroby powstającej w wyniku tęsknoty za krajem rodzinnym. Uczucie nostalgii odnosiłoby się zatem do czegoś, co było i jest w nas samych, ale czego zewnętrzne atrybuty nie są w danej chwili dostępne. Będąc Polakiem rzuconym gdzieś w dalekie strony, nie przestaję - jeśli tego pragnę - czuć się nim, ale wypełnia mnie nostalgia za rodzinną ziemią, za zapachem ziemi ojczystej, bliskimi, za niegdyś przeżytymi chwilami „wtedy i tam". Nostalgia cechuje tedy emigrantów - czasowych i trwa­ łych - budujących wizje utraconego skrawka globalnej rzeczywi­ stości przyrodniczej i społecznej o cechach orbis interior, skraw­ ka uważanego za najważniejszy, gdyż jest on rzeczywistością „ o s w o j o n ą " w stopniu maksymalnym. Od dawna j u ż jednak takie pierwotne rozumienie nostalgii uległo niebywałemu rozplenieniu swego sensu i to w sposób dwojaki. Przede wszystkim nostalgia uzyskała swoją wykładnię zbiorową, jako już nie tylko uczucie charakteryzujące po­ szczególne jednostki, ale wręcz pokolenia. Nie chodzi przy tym o generacje wewnątrz jednego narodu czy społeczeństwa, ale 0 formacje identyfikujące się w wymiarze globalnym, skupione wokół wartości związanych przykładowo z kulturą kontestacji lat sześćdziesiątych. Pojęcie „ojczyzny" należy tutaj t r a k t o w a ć wyłącznie metaforycznie - oznacza ona l i tylko „ojczyznę uczuć 1 myśli", w której jednostki i generacje uzyskały swoją toż­ samość, ważącą na ich przyszłych losach i życiowych wyborach. Na takiej właśnie fali nostalgicznego powrotu do korzeni Ameryki lat sześćdziesiątych tamtejsze środowisko muzyczne jak jeden mąż opowiedziało się za Billem Clintonem. M a on jakoby wyrażać te cechy amerykańskiej kultury, które za czasów rządów republikańskich zostały zdegradowane. Pat Metheny, brylantowy gitarzysta współczesnego jazzu, tak mówi o Clin­ tonie: „ B o to inteligentny człowiek. Dla wielu muzyków ważna jest świadomość, że jest teraz w Białym D o m u ktoś, z k i m m o ż n a porozmawiać o różnicy między Sonny Rollinsem a Johnem Coltrane'em. A tak poważnie (...) Facet na tyle trzeźwy i bystry, by właściwie oceniać rzeczywistość, rzeczywistość całkowicie różną od obrazu tej mitycznej Ameryki, j a k i p r ó b o w a n o nam przez tyle lat sprzedawać" („Gazeta Magazyn" nr 13:1993:14). Metheny nie dodaje już, że i jego wizja Ameryki jest równie mityczna, widziana przy tym poprzez pryzmat nostalgicznego wizerunku przeszłości i początków kariery w Missouri. „ J e g o " świat powraca trzydzieści lat później, a uosabia go nowy prezydent, czynny uczestnik „ t a m t y c h " lat. Jak wyglądałby Ronald Reagan z saksofonem i jointem w kąciku ust? Ale pojęcie nostalgii nie tylko uległo uogólnieniu i oderwane zostało od oryginalnych konotacji. Stało się ono bowiem także przedmiotem świadomych zabiegów interpretacyjnych, „wy­ stawione" niejako w formie towaru do konsumpcji w kulturze popularnej. Nostalgia stała się p o ż ą d a n ą wartością. Jak zwykle najbardziej spektakularny wyraz tego trendu mamy w modzie, 'żywiącej' się nieustannie cyklicznymi powrotami do fasonów, kroju i kolorów identyfikowanych według kryterium generacyj­ nego. Za „zwykłą" m o d ą jako zjawiskiem usytuowanym do­ kładnie pomiędzy gustem a snobizmem kryją się wszakże konkretne wybory związane ze stylem myślenia, preferencjami w sferze sztuki czy nawet demonstrowaniem moralności. Trafnie zauważył przed laty Edward Sapir, że: Jakkolwiek bowiem p o c z ą t k o w o odnoszące się do ubioru i ciała ludzkiego, pojęcie 'moda' w sposób zasadniczy wiąże się nie z ubiorem i ciałem, lecz z symboliką (Sapir, 1978:247). Zatem moda na nostalgię może być - i jest - myślowo-symbolicznym równoważnikiem czyjegoś wewnętrznego „ja", czego zewnętrznym jedynie przejawem są: przebieranka i ozdoby. 54 Od jakiegoś czasu, mówiąc konkretniej od połowy lat siedem­ dziesiątych, funkcjonuje w literaturze naukowej i krytyce (głów­ nie) filmowej pojęcie nostalgia films. Pisał o nich m.in. Fredric Jameson, widząc zresztą w tym rodzaju twórczości jeden z klasycznych przejawów świadomości postmodernistycznej (Jameson, 1983). Rzecz w tzw. uwięzieniu w przeszłości, od­ sunięciu się od widzenia jej na sposób historycystyczny, tj. jako oglądu z dystansu czasu minionego, który to ogląd rościł sobie pretensje do całościowości i pragnął „ z r o z u m i e ć " przeszłość w jej zmieniających się uwarunkowaniach (relatywizm his­ toryczny). Dziś zamiast relatywizmu z oddalenia pojawia się pastisz. Jednymi z jego atrybutów są stylizacja i retrospekcja, przez krytyków francuskich określone podstawowymi wyznacz­ nikami la mode retro. Wymarzonym polem dla takiego „retro­ spektywnego stylizowania" jest kino. Jameson zauważa, że współczesne filmy z kręgu nostalgicznej ewokacji nie muszą tyczyć przeszłości, jak klasyczny już Chinatown Polańskiego, ale dzieją się obecnie, a nawet w przyszłości, jak Star Wars. Proliferacja metaodniesień do wyobrażeń o historii, teraźniej­ szości i przyszłości ma na celu rozerwanie typowo modernistycz­ nego myślenia o czasowym continuum logicznego następstwa zdarzeń jako odrębnych okresów. Te filmy mają przedstawiać nasze rutynowe myślenie o innych epokach; historyczna prze­ szłość widziana jest poprzez nasze popularne wyobrażenia i stereotypy myślenia o niej. „ B r a k " realizmu w tych filmach ma wiele wspólnego z brakiem tradycyjnie pojmowanego realizmu w myśleniu nostalgicznym, z tym charakterystycznym „składa­ niem" elementów przeszłości znanej nam z autopsji, wynikłych z lektury, skrywanych namiętności, eliminowanych fragmentów życiorysu, o których pamiętać się nie chce. Są one ponadto zabawą z nostalgią, jej obnażeniem, dekonstrukcja wskazującą na przygodność tego, co chcemy widzieć i z czym się iden­ tyfikować. Nie będzie, jak sądzę, żadnym nadużyciem powiedzieć, iż mimo postmodernistycznych gier, cytatów i metakomentarzy, nostalgia pozostaje ważnym elementem kulturowej identyfikacji zarówno w wymiarze jednostkowym, jak grupowym. Jest zaró­ wno przeżywaniem, jak i świadomym wyborem interpretacyj­ nym, dotykającym każdego uwikłanego w przemijanie zdarzeń. Patrząc pod tym kątem widzenia możemy się przekonać, w j a k i sposób żal za odchodzącą kulturą ludową odcisnął swe piętno na powojennej generacji rodzimych etnografów. W dużym stopniu postrzegała ona rzeczywistość poprzez pryzmat wewnętrznego zaangażowania i identyfikacji z kulturą, która „gasła" jako zwarty system czynności i obiektów. W profilu b a d a ń uzewnę­ trzniały się tedy wartościujące uwarunkowania „badacza we­ w n ę t r z n e g o " - j e g o niepokoje, nadzieje, marzenia nawet. Zaiste dałoby się napisać tę specyficzną, nostalgiczną historię etno­ grafii polskiej jako nieustannej pogoni za mitem kultury ludowej jako materialnej i symbolicznej pełni. Stosunek do odchodzącej tradycji przybierał niekiedy wręcz intymny charakter, jak choćby w wierszach pisanych pod koniec życia przez Kazimierza Moszyńskiego: POŻEGNANIE Dorodne ziarno miotając na rolę, dziś już nie stąpa chłop w bieli jak anioł błogosławiący mu cicho, by rosło. Siewnik rzędowy jego miejsce zajął. Dziś już nie piele dziewka pól prosianych, nie plecie wianka, z chabrów nie korzysta, ani z kąkolu, co tak kraśniał w życie. Wszystkie już chwasty tępi się do czysta. �W złocistym zbożu dzisiaj sierp nie błyska tak świętą pracą znojąc chłopskie ręce, iżby się chciało przypaść do nich usty, by z całej duszy oddać cześć ich męce; Czarcim rzechotem warczy tam pod chmury traktor koślawy, na znak, że w niebiosach brat mu rodzony ten rzechot powtórzy gotów świat zgubić w ognistych pokosach. Młyn już nie huczy dygocząc z niemocy ni szum kół jego nad stawem się pieni, gdy motor wyje jak pies w kamienicy nagiej i zimnej śród marnych drzew cieni. Ani już wzgórze skrzydłami nie wzlata, gdy Bóg wiatr zesłał na swych wiernych modły; wszystkie zarosły pod te skrzydła drogi i ślad już tylko po nich został podły. Już się nie ozwie z borów róg pastuszy echem dalekim o wieczornej porze, tęsknotę nagłą budząc do zaświata, gdy nad wsią cichą gasną słońca zorze. I głos piszczałki z wiatrem nie przyleci. Dzisiaj od innej tętnią wsie muzyki: tanga i samby i rumb bełkotania, skrzeczą wesoło ochrypłe głośniki. Pośród zmian tylu, śród tego postępu pozwól - choć zbożnie przed nikim nie klęknę! w zorzy modlitwą pożegnać na zawsze wszystko, com kochał i co dla mnie piękne. (wiersz pochodzi z 1959 roku; Moszyński, 1976:152-3) Przez dziesięciolecia obowiązujący paradygmat widzenia kul­ tury chłopskiej zwanej ludową dawał się ujmować w formule podanej jeszcze w roku 1930 przez Franciszka Bujaka: „ K u l t u r a ludowa jest tym cudownym zwierciadłem, które pozwala naro­ dowi patrzeć w przeszłość oraz oglądać swoją m ł o d o ś ć " ( K u l ­ tura wsi, Warszawa 1930:72). A n o właśnie, swoją młodość oglądali także sami badacze, a i m bardziej ona była odległa, t y m kultura ludowa mocniej idealizowana i jakby pełniejsza. Zaś młodsza generacja, jak to pisała Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa: „ k t ó r a j u ż tylko z książki historycznej zna pojęcie dziedzica, a sochy jako narzędzia do orki poszukuje w muzeum, będzie tą, która przestanie przymierzać pojęcia 'swój' i 'obcy' do wsi i do miasta" (Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, 1985:65). Etnografowie w ogóle przejawiają charakterystyczną tendencję, by czas i miejsce b a d a ń t r a k t o w a ć bardzo osobiście: czas etnograficzny i czas personal­ ny tworzą jedno. Zofia Szromba-Rysowa tak oto kończy wspomnienia o ukochanej przez siebie wsi opolskiej, w której prowadziła wieloletnie badania: „Ostatni kontakt ze wsią mia­ łam w 1979 r „ zatrzymując się w drodze powrotnej z urlopu. Nie brak było i zdumienia na m ó j widok: 'to wy jeszcze żyjecie?', i radości i wspólnie wymienianych uwag, i moich niecierpliwych pytań: 'kto wyjechał?'. Wtedy też musiałam sprostać prośbie syna zaprzyjaźnionej rodziny, pytającego o Helenę Modrzejews­ ką, o której miał napisać wypracowanie szkolne. Z pytającej stałam się i ja indagowana, co zresztą nierzadko zdarza się w trakcie naszych b a d a ń . I wówczas, po 10-letniej nieobecności we wsi, poczułam się związana mocno z tą bliską m i społeczno­ ścią. Myślę, że i teraz, kiedy tych lat minęło znacznie więcej, nie byłabym jej obca" (Szromba-Rysowa, 1989:80). K a ż d y ma prawo do takiego kształtowania przeszłości, aby jawiła się ona jako spójna i taka przede wszystkim, z którą jesteśmy w stanie się identyfikować. Jeśli tak, niech nie dziwi nas natychmiast uruchomiany proces nostalgicznej waloryzacji świa­ ta, który jest wspomnieniem tylko. Ale jest to nasze osobiste wspomnienie, nasz prywatny „ p r o p r i o s p e k t " , jak określiłby je zapewne Ward Goodenough. Pielęgnujemy starannie nasze strefy nostalgicznej pamięci, co niejednokrotnie stanowi dogod­ ną pożywkę dla wszelakich mitologizacji, jeśli tylko nasze prywatne usensownienie świata przenosimy na zjawiska o walo­ rze ogólnym. A tak miała się rzecz w wypadku badaczy kultury ludowej, którzy pielęgnowali częstokroć własną wizję tejże. „ K o n i e c " kultury ludowej był jednoczesnym końcem samoidentyfikacji etnografa zmuszonego poruszać się w gruzach dawnego sensu. Ale zostawmy tę kwestię na inną okazję. Kultura masowa, którą dzisiaj określa się raczej mianem kultury popularnej, zdaje się być fenomenem, z k t ó r y m nie bardzo wiadomo, co uczynić. Diagnozy tej kultury się tyczące, jej socjologiczne definicje z lat sześćdziesiątych i siedemdziesią­ tych, okazały się powierzchowne i mało przydatne. T y m bar­ dziej, iż minęło kilkadziesiąt lat i nasza poczciwa pop culture nabrała cech nowych, wynikających z upływu czasu i jej zakorzenienia w historii kultury. Właśnie fakt, iż kultura popularna ma już swoje własne dzieje, że istnieje czasowy „ o d d e c h " , dzięki któremu możemy się jej przyglądać, prowoku­ je do postawienia następującego pytania: czy nie jest tak, iż w mechanizm partycypacji w wartościach kultury popularnej wpisana jest nostalgia jako jeden z wzorów zindywidualizowane­ go w niej uczestnictwa? Ograniczmy się do przykładu muzyki rockowej. A n i się obejrzeliśmy, a nabiera ona cech tradycyjnie wiązanych z muzy­ ką klasyczną, z jej kanonami estetycznymi i kryteriami oceny. Oczywiście - nie cała muzyka rockowa, k t ó r a nieustannie poszukuje nowych stylów, pojawiają się w niej hybrydowe mieszanki przeznaczone do natychmiastowej konsumpcji przez najmłodszych zwolenników. Ale jest wszakże faktem, iż grupy wyznaczające drogi rozwojowe rocka, grupy nadal aktywne, liczą j u ż sobie - bagatela - po 25 czy nawet 30 lat. Jedna z nich nazywa się Y E S i właśnie mija dwadzieścia pięć lat, kiedy to w czerwcu 1968 roku narodziła się z inicjatywy basisty Chrisa Squire'a. Jako wierny - też już z górą dwudziestoletni - fan tego zespołu, miałem okazję spotkać swych muzycznych idoli „ n a żywo". Było to w paryskiej hali Zenith, 3 czerwca 1991 roku. Chciałbym ten właśnie koncert, tak dla mnie ważny z wielu względów, uczynić pretekstem dla dalszych uwag niniejszego szkicu. Oto zwykła sceneria koncertu rockowego; tłumy oczekujące na moment, gdy będzie m o ż n a pospiesznie zająć miejsca w środ­ ku hali, kupić program, okolicznościowe gadgety. R o z g l ą d a m się w o k o ł o i jedna rzecz zdumiewa mnie od razu: rozrzut wieku publiczności. Obok siebie stoją piętnasto- i szesnastolatkowie oraz osoby eufemistycznie określane 'dojrzałymi', mające więc po pięćdziesiąt lat, a może nieco więcej? I jedni, i drudzy z odpowiednimi znaczkami firmowymi Yes; starsi demonstrują te sprzed wielu lat, z innych koncertów; są wytarte i wyblakłe. Małolaty wyposażeni w nowiutkie, firmujące p o w r ó t grupy na koncertowe trasy po latach nieobecności pod hasłem Round the World in Eighty Dates. N o właśnie. Już od kilku dobrych lat notujemy zjawisko cyklicznych p o w r o t ó w d i n o z a u r ó w rocka do czynnej kariery. Raz są one udane, najczęściej jednak są to przedsięwzięcia efemeryczne, jak choćby w wypadku Procol Harum. Również i żywot super-Yes był krótki. Jak zwierzył się ostatnio przebywając w Polsce Rick Wakeman, o rozpadzie grupy zadecydowali menagerowie, dla których najistotniejsza była finansowa strona całego pomysłu. Dla samych zaś muzy­ k ó w - a m o ż n a wierzyć Wakemanowi - liczyły się względy towarzysko-muzyczne, ponowne pojednanie ludzi, których dro­ gi rozeszły się wiele lat temu, a którzy powrócili pod historyczną nazwą Yes. Zatem na takiej właśnie ogólnej fali nostalgicznych (i finanso­ wych) p o w r o t ó w zeszli się także prawie wszyscy muzycy tworzą­ cy na przestrzeni lat różne mutacje Yes. Paryskie gazety zapy­ tywały: pourquoi tant de Yes? Rzeczywiście tę supergrupę A . D . 1991 tworzyło ośmiu muzyków: Jon Anderson (wokalista), Chris Squire (bas), Steve Howe i Trevor Rabin (gitary), Rick Wakeman i Tony Kaye (klawisze) oraz Bill Bruford i A l a n White (instrumenty perkusyjne). Słowem - wielki kawał historii świa­ towego rocka w jednym zespole i jednym miejscu. Trasę koncer­ tową tej grupy poprzedziło wydanie kuriozalnej płyty pod tytu­ łem Union. Sam jej tytuł sugeruje już, że połączyły swe siły dwa opozycyjne odłamy „ d a w n e g o " Yes: „ n o w e " Yes (Squire, Rabin, Kaye i White) i formacja Anderson-Bruford-Wakeman-Howe. Płyta Union była jednak o tyle kuriozalna, iż mimo firmowania jej przez całą ósemkę, w żadnym utworze muzycy nie 55 �grali wszyscy razem. Stylistycznie była ona równie niejednorod­ na; część zdominowana przez klasyczne, panoramiczne brzmie­ nie Yes, część pisana wyraźnie pod gusta lat dziewięćdziesiątych, dla nowej publiczności, bez sentymentów dla przeszłości. Sam koncert spięty był klamrą lat 1971-1991 i składał się głównie z materiałów z trzech płyt - The Yes Album, Fragile i Union. Gdy ubrany w ulubione białe, 'anielskie' szaty Ander­ son zapowiedział dwa pierwsze utwory: Heart of the sunrise i Roundabout, na widowni wybuchł wielki, międzypokoleniowy entuzjazm. Jednako wyrażali swe uwielbienie kilkunastolatkowie, których w ogóle nie było na świecie, gdy oba te kawałki powstały (1971), jak i starsi panowie, dla których każdy utwór z tamtych lat to swoisty hymn do młodości utraconej i przypom­ nienie przełomu lat sześćdziesiątych i siedemdziesiątych, tak brzemiennych dla tamtego pokolenia. Maksymalne utożsamie­ nie publiczności z Yes nastąpiło jednak, gdy Anderson zain­ tonował słynną końcówkę z The gates od delirium: Soon Oh soon the light Pass within and soothe this endless right And wait here for you Our reason to be here Soon Oh soon the time All we move to gain will reach and calm Our heart is open Our reason to be here... itd. Cóż znaczą dla tych różnych pokoleń powyższe słowa? Jaki rodzaj identyfikacji może tu wchodzić w grę? Tego nie możemy powiedzieć z całą pewnością, ale też i z całą pewnością powie­ dzieć możemy, iż rzecz nie w tym, co kto „ p o d k ł a d a " pod rockowy tekst, ale w tym, że go w ogóle słucha, zna na pamięć, śpiewa i przeżywa w tłumie „ n a ten czas" takich samych, jak on. Jeśli ma się przeszło pięćdziesiąt lat, albo dopiero - naście, stoi ramię w ramię, zawodzi, klaszcze, przytupuje, ma łzy w oczach, co powoduje tę niebywałą integrację? Przecież na ulicy i w domu inne zupełnie role przypisano poszczególnym pokoleniom. Wydaje się, że sytuacja przypomina tę, opisaną przez Lud­ wika Stommę w odniesieniu do fenomenu piłkarskiego święta. W tekście 1:0 czyli ludzie jak bogowie czytamy: M i t przenosi się na trybuny. Połączeni k o m u n i ą z tymi samymi, zapominamy 0 obowiązujących poza stadionem podziałach klasowych, wie­ kowych, płciowych, ekonomicznych... Razem krzyczymy, zry­ wamy się z miejsca, wpadamy sobie w ramiona po bramce (...) Normalne życie przywraca swoje prawa. Koniec chaosu. Świat znów został stworzony (Stomma, 1991:142). Koncert rockowy tym się jednak różni od ekstazy futbolowej widowni, iż ma on zawsze w tle określone wybory pokoleniowe 1 linia identyfikacji z występującymi idolami oscyluje wokół - realnych czy jedynie postulatywnych - wartości 'życiowych' i artystycznych „przywiązanych" do poszczególnych zespołów i n u r t ó w muzycznych. Nie znajdziesz tedy na koncercie Yes rapowców i odwrotnie. Linia demarkacyjna jest silnie zaznaczo­ na. Na początku, to jest gdy rock i pokrewne gatunki budziły się do swego instytucjonalnego bytu i wpisywały w m a p ę współczes­ nej kultury, ta muzyka była tylko i wyłącznie kojarzona z młodością, buntem, nieodpowiedzialnością, kontestacją mie­ szczańskich wzorów życia, protestem i negacją świata zastanego. To świetnie znamy, tego nie trzeba tutaj szczegółowo przypomi­ nać. Ale minęło lat z górą trzydzieści. Muzyka rockowa rozwija się, mamy jej - jak się rzekło - nowe mutacje, hybrydowe style, nurty przeznaczone wyłącznie dla kolejnych małolatów. Ale jednocześnie pokolenie „z tamtych lat" jest czynne w życiu, nie mówiąc o samych muzykach, którzy nadal w wybornej formie. To pokolenie czegoś słucha, czymś się fascynuje, mimo iż żyje normalnie innymi sprawami, dorabia się dzieci, w n u k ó w , pienię­ dzy. Pojawia się element tęsknoty za przeszłością nieodwołalnie minioną. T ą przeszłością nie była tylko muzyka, ale generalnie styl życia wyrażany między innymi przez tę muzykę. Sam dźwięk nazw takich zespołów, jak Led Zeppelin, K i n g Crimson, Deep Purple, Santana, Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath, The Rolling Stones, Jethro Tull, Budgie, Rare Bird, itd., wywołuje natych­ miast szereg skojarzeń pozamuzycznych - z życiem, które już za nami, które już nie wróci, ale które tkwi j a k o ś magicznie w tych 56 rockowych dekoracjach: w nazwach zespołów i tytułach utwo­ rów. Dziesiątki z nich, lub nawet ich fragmenty łączą się nierozerwalnie z jakimś życiowym epizodem, a ten z kolei ewokuje obraz przeszłości, gdy wszystko było przed nami. Rock staje się z wolna klasyką, a w każdym kanonie klasyki pojawiają się pozycje odczytywane jako znaki muzyki o nie­ przemijającej wartości. Rock jest dziś z a r ó w n o klasyką, jak i twórczością poszukującą nowych form; jest w nim miejsce dla różnych generacji. Stare, uznane firmy, takie choćby jak Yes, doskonale łączą w sobie obie te cechy. Z jednej strony firmują przeszłość owych kanonicznych znaków dla średniego pokole­ nia r o c k m a n ó w , z drugiej wzbudzają respekt młodych będąc klasyką, ale klasyką żywą. A że zbliżają się do pięćdziesiątki? Pod tym względem także wiele zmieniło się w kulturze popular­ nej, niegdyś zaanektowanej przez ideał niedojrzałości w sensie nie-starości. Dzisiejsze pojęcie „młodości" jest o wiele bardziej rozciągliwe, staje się rodzajem metakategorii abstrahującej od temporalnych zmian czasu jednostkowo przeżywanego. Dziś można j u ż powiedzieć coś, co jeszcze niedawno wydawa­ ło się być zaprzeczeniem zjawisk z kręgu kultury rockowej. Oto bowiem coraz bardziej uwidacznia się w niej mechanizm nostal­ gii, skwapliwie zresztą wykorzystywany komercyjnie. Rock jest niewątpliwie muzyką pokoleniową w tym znaczeniu, że zwykły człowiek, nie-muzyk, wcześniej czy później z niego wyrasta. Słucha nadal „swojej" muzyki, ale już z dystansem, już nie ma pełnej identyfikacji. W pewnym momencie W I E M Y już, że nie jesteśmy wewnątrz rocka, że konsumujemy jedynie przy okazji jego produkty. Wówczas to rodzi się nostalgia dodatkowo dowartościowująca tę muzykę dlatego, że ona B Y Ł A nasza, a już taką de facto nie jest. W tym Sensie m o ż n a mówić o klasycznym rocku, iż stanowi on metonimię młodości. Mechanizm nostalgii działa jednak na paradoksalnej zasa­ dzie. Rock z jego heroicznego okresu wywołuje uczucia za czymś utraconym u ludzi, którzy urodzili się wiele lat po „ t a m t y m " czasie, którzy nawet nie są sobie w stanie wyobrazić jak to onegdaj bywało. Jak wytłumaczyć dzisiejszemu licealiście atmo­ sferę Woodstock? Taki młody człowiek buduje sobie mityczny wizerunek „dawnych lat", kiedy to jakoby muzyka i styl życia stanowiły jedno. Nasz młody człowiek zaczyna uczyć się tamtej muzyki, tamtych tekstów, tamtych zachowań, uczy się młodości nie-swojej. Myśli o przeszłości jako o czymś bezpowrotnie minio­ nym, zagubionym w strumieniu życia. Jest to - i tu tkwi paradoks także j e g o , przeszłość, jego muzyka, jego świat wzruszeń. Paryski koncert Yes nie był z pewnością niczym szczególnym dla k o n s u m e n t ó w kultury rockowej, ale był prawdziwym świę­ tem dla tych, którzy identyfikują się z tą akurat grupą i jej muzycznym profilem. Dla mnie był dobitnym potwierdzeniem tego, co starałem się wyżej powiedzieć. Pozostaje jednak jeszcze inna kwestia. Chodzi o samych muzyków z Yes. Wraz z roz­ wojem koncertu cała ósemka poczęła być rzeczywiście poruszo­ na faktem, że są po latach razem, że grają stare kawałki sprzed dwudziestu lat, że atmosfera jest wspaniała, że entuzjazm rośnie, że każda aluzja muzyczna (np. cytaty z albumu Tales form the topographic oceans) natychmiast wychwytywana. Gdy na bis zagrali trudne dla dwóch klawiatur i dwóch perkusji Awaken, kłaniając się następnie widowni, byli autentycznie wzruszeni. To nie było dla sponsorów, na zewnątrz, to było szczere. W momen­ cie uścisków wymienianych przez dwóch głównych antagonis­ tów w Yes - Andersona i S q u i r e ' a - p u b l i c z n o ś ć wiedziała już, iż stało się coś ważnego: w imię wywołanej przeszłości w niepamięć poszły zwady i indywidualne ambicje. Nostalgia nie jest jeno przypisana stronie słuchającej. Jest faktem, którego zanegować nie sposób, choć mówi się o tym niechętnie, półgębkiem niejako - że dwa pokolenia ludzi wyrosły i ukształtowały się w orbicie oddziaływania przede wszystkim kultury popularnej. Wspomnienia tychże pokoleń są wspomnieniami obrazu uczestnictwa w wartościach z kulturą popularną nierozerwalnie związanych. Dlaczego w imię klasyfi­ kowania kultury na „wyższą" i „niższą" pozbawiać je tych wartości. Przecież wybiórczość pamięci na tym właśnie polega, że wspomnienia mają zindywidualizowany charakter choćby nie wiadomo jak zuniformizowana była w przeszłości konsumpcja d ó b r kultury. Kulturę masową deprecjonowano głównie za jej... �masowość właśnie. Ale przypominanie przeszłości nie ma maso­ wego charakteru. Warto w t y m miejscu zacytować dłuższy fragment z O szczęściu Władysława Tatarkiewicza: „Nic nie jest pewniejsze od udziału p r z e s z ł o ś c i człowieka w jego szczęściu i nieszczęściu. Pamięć tego, co było, idzie za n i m i zapełnia część jego świadomości. Po wtóre, w przeszłości formowały się jego wyobrażenia i sądy; przeszłość uczyniła, że są pogodne czy posępne, ufne czy nieufne. I po trzecie; ufor­ mowane w przeszłości wyobrażenia i sądy stanowią 'masę apercepcyjną', wedle której człowiek ujmuje i ocenia teraźniej­ szość" (Tatarkiewicz, 1979:244). Jest niewątpliwą zasługą świadomości postmodernistycznej, cokolwiek sam termin „ p o s t m o d e r n i z m " miałby oznaczać, iż zaciera ona z upodobaniem granice pomiędzy starannie wy­ znaczanymi przez modernizm rodzajami sztuki. Modernistycz­ ne jej continuum rozciągało się pomiędzy sztuką elitarną, czyli Sztuką po prostu, a kiczem. I m elitarność dzieła gwarantowana była przez twórcę w większym stopniu, tym bardziej zasługiwało ono na to miano. Sztuka „przemysłowa" wzbudzała co najmniej nieufność jeśli nie estetyczną odrazę. Ten swoisty sposób aksjologicznego klasyfikowania uniwersum artystyczno-estetycznego wiązał się w pewien sposób z stratyfikacjami klasowymi i społeczną hierarchią. Postmodernizm uderza w te utrwalone zasady z pełną świadomością tego faktu; p o d w a ż a t y m samym pozycję samych twórców. Zdaje się zachęcać odbiorców, by traktowali Sztukę z t a k ą samą nieufnością, jak modernistyczni twórcy traktowali masowego odbiorcę sztuki konfekcyjnej. Tak n a p r a w d ę sztuka jest przede wszystkim zabawą z konwencjami, gustami, ale także zabawą z naszą pamięcią. Stąd wywoływanie hasła nostalgii jako klasycznej deformacji przeszłości. Jest to wszelako deformacja inspirująca, gdyż stanowiąca źródło uświadomienia sobie przygodności (contingency) naszego byto­ wania, widzenia bliźnich, interpretowania dziedzictwa, wyzna­ czania rzekomo absolutnych wartości i ideałów. Posmodernistyczne hasło zrównania statusu sztuki wysokiej i niskiej jest w efekcie głosem „ n a rzecz" tej drugiej; jest dowartościowaniem wielostylowości i powtórzeń, ale r ó w n o ­ czesnym wskazaniem, że nie ma od niej ucieczki. M i l a n Kundera sarkastycznie zanotował: „Schónberg zmarł, Ellington zmarł, ale gitara jest wieczna. Stereotypowa harmonia, wytarta melo­ dia i rytm, tym wyraźniejszy, i m bardziej monotonny, oto co zostało z muzyki, oto jej wieczność. W tych prostych kombinac­ jach nut wszyscy m o g ą się zjednoczyć; przecież to samo byt krzyczy w nich swe radosne: 'Ja tu jestem!' Ż a d n a zgoda nie jest głośniejsza i bardziej jednomyślna niż prosta zgoda na byt. Pod tym względem porozumiewają się Arabowie z Żydami i Czesi z Rosjanami. Ciała poruszają się w takt dźwięków, pijane świadomością, że istnieją. Dlatego żadna kompozycja Beethovena nie była przeżywana z większą, zbiorową ekstazą jak rytmicznie powtarzające się uderzenia w struny gitar (Kundera, 1993:183). Kundera obwieszcza koniec „historii muzyki", Fukuyama pisał o „ k o ń c u historii", „koniec filozofii" wieszczą sa­ mi postmoderniści. Kultura popularna trzyma się jednak krzep­ ko i nie znać na niej s y m p t o m ó w schyłku. Źródłem j ą wzmacBI BLIO Burszta W. J . , Piątkowski K . w druku O czym opowiada antropologiczna opowieść. Instytut Kultury, Warszawa Gitarzysta nastroju 1993 Z Patem Metheny rozmawia Maciej Chmiel, „Gazeta Magazyn" nr 13, 28 maja Jameson F . 1983 Postmodernism and Consumer Society, (w:) The Anti-Aesthetic Essays on Postmodern Culture, H . Foster (ed.), Washington, ss. 111-125 Kultura wsi 1930 Biuletyn X I I I konferencji oświatowej poświęconej zagadnieniu kultury wiejskiej w Polsce (tam wypowiedź Franciszka Bujaka) Kundera M . 1993 Księga śmiechu i zapomnienia, przel. Piotr Godlewski i Andrzej Jagodziński, Warszawa niającym staje się niewątpliwie czas wywołujący wrażenie wszechobecności symbolicznych Kunderowskich gitar. D l a dzi­ siejszej generacji ludzi młodych kultura popularna, muzyka rockowa były od zawsze. Jako antropologowie wiemy, iż nie jest to prawda, ale gdy słucham Close to the edge grupy Yes mam poważne wątpliwości. Strefy mojej nostaligicznej pamięci pod­ powiadają coś zupełnie przeciwnego. Deformacja bywa jednak sprzymierzeńcem szczęścia. POSTSCRIPTUM Najbardziej nostalgicznym twórcą współczesnego rocka wy­ daje się być Roger Waters. Jego kolejne płyty po odejściu z Pink Floyd w swej warstwie słownej (niezwykle rozbudowanej) są nieustannym przypominaniem czasów młodości, wartości kul­ tury lat sześćdziesiątych. Watersowi w dzisiejszym świecie nie podoba się właściwie nic, przywołuje więc swój osobisty mit szczęścia i przeciwstawia kulturze lat dziewięćdziesiątych, k t ó r a „zabawi się na śmierć". Oto p r ó b k a charakterystycznej poetyki Watersa z piosenki Amused To Death z ostatniej płyty pod takim samym tytułem: Doctor Doctor what is wrong with me This supermarket life is getting long What is the heart life o f a colour TV What is the shelf life of a teenage queen Ooh western woman Och western girl News hound sniffs the air When Jessica Hahn goes down He latches on to that symbol Of detachment Attracted by the peeling away of feeling The celebrity of the abused shell the belle (...) Our last hurrah And when they found our shadows Grouped around the TV sets They ran down every lead They repeated every test They checked out all the data on their lists And then the alien anthropologists Admitted they were still perplexed But on eliminating every other reason For our sad demise They logged the only explanation left This species has amused itself to death No tears to cry No feelings left This species has amused itself to death Amused itself to death. W świecie obfitości wszelkich d ó b r zanika rzecz najważniejsza - uczucie. Tego świata nie uratują także antropologowie, ludzie zabawią się na śmierć. Waters nie ma złudzeń, że jego świat powróci. RAFIA Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa A. 1985 Wieś i jej kultura w społecznej świadomości (o rewaloryzację kultury ludowej), (w:) Kultura wsi - kryzys wartości?, praca zbiorowa pod redakcją naukową Jerzego Damrosza, Warszawa Kazimierz Moszyński. Życie i twórczość. 1976 redaktor tomu: Jadwiga Klimaszewska, Wroclaw - Warszawa - Kraków - Gdańsk Sapir E. 1978 Moda, (w.) Kultura, język, osobowość. Wybrane eseje, przeł. Barbara Stanosz i Roman Zimand, Warszawa, ss. 236-248 Stomma L. 1991 1:0 czyli ludzie jak bogowie, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa" 3-4, ss. 141-142 Szromba-Rysowa Z. 1989 Moja wieś opolska. Z etnograficznych badań w Dzierżyslawicach kolo Głogówka, „Etnografia Polska" X X X I I I zeszyt 2, ss. 65-80. Tatarkiewicz W. 1979 O szczęściu, Warszawa 57 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/7a50a7c4c6b945a9afe629524777be27.pdf 59b0431e08a8ab64179761721639d533 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3682 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1997 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3459 Title A name given to the resource Historia idei i etnologia w obrębie struktury znaku / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1997 t.51 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1997 t.51 z.1-2, s.75-80 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Brocki, Marcin Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Historia idei i etnologia w obrębie struktury znaku Marcin Brocki Historia idei w swoim penetrowaniu rozłamów i nieciągło­ ści w skorupie „nieuchronnych procesów historycznych i kul­ turowych", zbliża się do etnologii na wiele sposobów. Nie pragnę w tym miejscu odtworzyć (nie byłbym w ogóle w stanie) wszystkich wątków zaproponowanej przez Foucaulta „historii idei", lecz skupię się na fundamentalnym dla myśli Foucaulta poziomie, który jest styczny z obecnymi od początku w etnologii zasadniczymi obszarami jej zaintereso­ wań. Pokażę, że z tej styczności wynikają dla etnologii nowe możliwości kształtowania i poszerzania dotychczasowego pola zainteresowań, bez uciekania się do radykalnego ze­ rwania z przeszłością. 1 Foucault poszukuje nieuświadomionych form myślenia (episteme), a priori epistemologicznych, określających po­ znawczą przestrzeń danejkultury.Wtymsensiejegopracajest zbieżna z podstawową dyrektywą antropologii strukturalnej rekonstrukcji nieuświadomionych, podstawowych modeli po­ znania. Wykracza on jednak poza tę dyrektywę konfrontując to, co „bezwiednie stosowane czy nieświadomie zakładane, z prowadzoną explicite argumentacją" (Nycz 1995, s. 40). Tym, co interesuje go szczególnie jest przepaść epistemologiczna jaką odnalazł między renesansem a wiekiem klasycz­ nym. Jest to bariera w sposobie myślenia, między przed i pokartezjańskim paradygmatem nauki, opartym na okreś­ lonej zasadzie logicznej, której struktura stalą się już wcześ­ niej przedmiotem zainteresowań etnologów. Chodzi o mo­ ment przejścia (a tym samym o rekonstrukcję struktury zasad logiki myślenia) od myślenia przednaukowego (struktura analogiczna do „myśli nieoswojonej") do myślenia nauko­ wego, a w szczególności o zmianę w strukturze znaku. Już wcześniej Lévi-Strauss opisał mechanizmy myślenia w ob­ rębie tego pierwszego porządku, natomiast Foucault pokazał, że choć między oboma porządkami istnieje absolutna prze­ paść, to bezustannie przeplatają się ze sobą, tzn. dyskurs późniejszy (naukowy) nie wyeliminował wcześniejszego, lecz go zmarginalizował i ukrył. Etnologia od początku obecna jest w obrębie struktury binarnej, ze struktury podobieństwa czyniąc przedmiot swoich zainteresowań. Skoro więc obie struktury się przeplatają, etnologia nie musi zrywać z tradycją dyscypliny, aby przesunąć punkt ciężkości zainteresowań. Jest to główny wkład historii idei do etnologii współczesnej - dało jej to podstawy do działania poza dotychczasowym wąskim paradygmatem opisywania obcości kultur „dzikich" - „ple­ miennych" czy „ludowych". Derrida wskazał na pewne założenia i sprzeczności zawarte w drobnej naturze znaku, na jakim wspiera się cała niemal antropologia, zarówno we właściwych jej strategiach retorycz­ nych, jak i leżących u jej podstaw założeniach. Strukturalizm świadomie uczynił ze znaku binarnego narzędzie i wewnętrz­ ny składnik wiedzy. Sama koncepcja znaku binarnego po­ zwala strukturaliście (antropologowi w ogóle) na „spojrzenie z oddali", na ugruntowaną pozycję na zewnątrz przedmiotu badań, na jego obiektywizację. Gdy traci bazową koncepcję binarną, traci dystans, zatraca się różnica między MY a ONI. Powstaje pytanie: czy wobec tego kryzys reprezentacji ma być końcem etnologii? Nie. Ponieważ sama różnica nie znika. Pojawia się w postaci JA JAKO INNY (patrz np.: Burszta 1992). Gdyby to różnica między MY a ONI miała być dla etnologii konstytutywna, etnologia przestałaby istnieć w mo­ mencie upadku czy przy próbie fundamentalnej krytyki binarnej koncepcji znaku. Nie dzieje się tak, ponieważ strukturalną jedność dyscyplinie zapewnia różnica sama, która jest obecna tak w klasycznym znaku binarnym, jak i w jego zdekonstruowanej postaci.Modele znaku są z kolei metaforami, na których wspierają się wszelkie wyobrażenia, a jak od dawna dowodzą etnolo­ dzy: „metafory są silniejsze od faktów". Modele znaku są przeniesione dalej, często więc krytyka nie docierała do źródeł określonego dyskursu, na modele języka - np. w przy­ padku podobieństwa będziemy mieli do czynienia z odpowiedniością słów i rzeczy - oraz na całość kultury. Każda krytyka obecnych wyobrażeń na temat kulturowych wizji świata, musi więc odwoływać się do owej metaforyczności modeli znaków. Każdy problem, próby jego rozwiązania, każda etnologiczna metodologia są ograniczone i określane przez stojącą za nimi koncepcję znaku i wynikające z jej przyjęcia określone wybory metody i strategii osiągania wyznaczonego celu oraz zakresu przedmiotowego badanejrzeczywistości. Dzięki całej poststrukturalistycznej humanistyce, a głów­ nie dzięki Foucault i historii idei, szczególnie w odniesieniu do historii pojęć, dekonstrukcji, możliwe stało się zaistnienie etnologii krytycznej i interpretacyjnej na spójnym gruncie tradycji dyscypliny, a niejako zewnętrznej krytyki literackiej. Dopiero to, co Foucault nazywa „przesunięciami i transfor­ macjami pojęć" pokazało, że aparat narzędziowy jakim posługują się etnolodzy ma ważność jedynie w ramach konkretnych momentów i środowisk w jakich się ukon­ stytuował i trwał oraz, że ma ważność jedynie w odniesieniu do reguł używania go. Poza tym kontekstem staje się pustym naczyniem na bezwartościowe, ad hoc tworzone typologie, jest „porządkowaniem obcych i nieregularnych faktów w zna­ jome i uporządkowane kategorie" (Geertz 1988, s. 1). Jednak bez fundamentalnej krytyki znaku binarnego nie byłoby takie 75 �rozszerzenie pola poznawczego etnologii w ogóle możliwe. Foucault, wypowiadając się na temat historii jest bliski temu co można by powiedzieć o etnologii przed przełomem strukturalistycznym (co uczynił w pierwszej części Works and Lives Geertz): „historia w swej tradycyjnej postaci starała się 'upamiętniać' zabytki przeszłości (w etnologii: 'zabytki kul­ tury ludowej/obcej" - M.B.), przekształcić je w dokumenty (co równało się ubraniu w 'znane i uporządkowane kategorie') oraz zmuszać do mówienia owe ślady, które same w sobie często nie są werbalne lub mówią w milczeniu co innego, niż zdają się mówić. Dzisiaj historia jest tym, co odsłania [...] zbiór elementów, które należy wyodrębnić, podzielić na grupy, zwaloryzować, ułożyć w związki, połączyć w całości" (Foucault 1978, s. 269-270). Chodzi o to, aby nie tylko odnieść się do wewnętrznej struktury badanych zjawisk, do ich własnych reguł opisu (interpretacji) rzeczywistości, lecz także 0 pytanie co spowodowało, że dane zjawisko-tekst kultury wygląda tak a nie inaczej, co zakłada istnienie tak a nie inaczej ukształtowanego tekstu. Oczywiście można tak jak Rorty nie zgodzić się z tym, że tekst (także tekst kultury) „już" posiada wewnętrzną spójność, jakąś daną mu od początku naturę, a mimo to nadal lektura Foucault (ponieważ nie pyta on w zasadzie o sens, o znaczenie) nie zawęża etnologicznych horyzontów poznania, lecz je poszerza oraz daje etnologom możliwość, bez opuszczania etnologii, autolektury, co zamie­ rzam w dalszej części artykułu wykazać. Przejście od interpretacji martwych zjawisk - zamkniętych w niezależnych od podmiotu formach pojęciowych języka (tj. np. totemizm, małżeństwo czy tradycja), do ich wewnętrznej struktury, do pytań o ich usytuowanie w dyskursie, w jakim są używane, o zjawiska które je warunkują, do których odsyłają, czyli poprzez które uzyskują taką a nie inną waloryzację w obrębie danego dyskursu, to podstawowe zadanie jakie stawia przed historią idei Foucault, a które powoli zaczyna być realizowane przez etnologów. Warto w tym miejscu przypo­ mnieć, że poszukiwanie zgodności z sensem a nie sensualnie pojmowaną rzeczywistością jest istotą mitu, tym co zbliża aż do utożsamienia („każdy dyskurs to bricoleur") dyskurs nauki 1 dyskurs mityczny (Stomma 1986, s. 131) - zabieg czytania kultury dosłownie jest od razu jej niezrozumieniem, wręcz pominięciem. Jest to dyrektywa metodologiczna, która stała się elementem zacierania różnicy przedmiot-podmiot, naturakultura, fakt-teoria itp., a więc elementem detronizacji znaku klasycznego. Pociągnęła za sobą konieczność rewizji i relaty­ wizacji podstawowych pojęć wyjaśniających, pojęć za pomo­ cą których nauka opisywała przedmioty swoich zaintereso­ wań. Konieczność takiego zabiegu jest tym bardziej koniecz­ na, iż „nie jest trafne sformułowanie, że w ciągu dziejów zmieniają się wizje tej samej rzeczywistości. Celniej byłoby powiedzieć, że wraz z każdym z dyskursów szaleństwo (tu można podstawić, każdy inny element danego dyskursu - przyp. M . B.) jest czym innym" (Foucault 1987, s. 7). To dyskurs decyduje o tym w jaki sposób będziemy rozumieli kategorie opisu rzeczywistości, a zatem w jaki sposób tę rzeczywistość będziemy interpretowali. Stosunki władzywiedzy powodują, że podstawowe kategorie opisu (elementy danego dyskursu) są wypadkową sił i napięć pomiędzy zmiennymi, a nie stałymi relacjami łączącymi je ze światem. „Foucault przekonywująco pokazuje, że w różnych momen­ tach swoich losów ludzie odmieniali zasadnicze kategorie. 3 76 w ramach których odbywało się porządkowanie stosunków zachodzących między nimi a rzeczywistością, że odmieniali episteme, określając tym i siebie i rzeczywistość dla siebie" (Foucault 1987, s. 11). Stwierdzenie to, w etnologii obecne raczej w sposób migotliwy, ma dla naszej dyscypliny poważ­ ne konsekwencje. Lévi-Strauss zauważa, zwracając uwagę na wewnętrzny rodzaj sił kształtujących określone formy kul­ turowe, że znaczenia w myśleniu mitycznym są osiągane dzięki różnicy, lecz ta nie ustanawia się raz na zawsze, a więc i znaczenie ma raczej „chwilowy" a nie stały charakter. Jest krótką tożsamością, z której wynika kolejna różnica: „mit nigdy nie przekazuje słuchaczom ściśle zdeterminowanego znaczenia. Proponuje on siatkę, określaną wyłącznie przez wewnętrzne reguły konstrukcji. Dla uczestników kultury stanowiącej źródło mitu siatka ta nadaje sens nie samemu mitowi, lecz całej reszcie: to znaczy obrazowi świata, społeczeństwa i jego historii, której członkowie grupy mają bardziej lub mniej jasną świadomość, jak również roz­ ważaniom, narzucającym się w związku z tymi przedmiota­ mi" (Lévi-Strauss 1993, s. 242-243). Jeśli np. idzie o dyskurs wokół tradycji, to idąc za Foucault, nie należy traktować samego zjawiska jako formę stałą i niezależną od innych treści kultury, od wcześniej przyjętych bazowych założeń kultury. W szczególności nie jest niezależna od tego w jaki sposób o tradycji się mówi i pisze, ale i nie jest formą wyłącznie zmienną, pełną natomiast rozłamów, nieciągłości oraz zależności od procesów mityzacji, a więc i przemiesza­ nych porządków logiki znaku (każdy dyskurs jest wypad­ kową sił wokół i wewnątrz niego działających). Koniec z wrzucaniem do jednego wora na modłę dyluzjonistyczną zjawisk „podobnych", ze spłaszczaniem kultur do prostych i stałych relacji. Mnogość jaką wprowadza Foucault w bazo­ we pojęcia etnologii jest pierwszą prawdziwą na tym gruncie rewolucją, do dziś zresztą nie w pełni zaadoptowaną. Rewolu­ cja nie oznacza jednak zmiany totalnej, czy wręcz zupełnego oderwania od tradycji dyscypliny. Przecież to właśnie dzięki historii idei etnologia odnajdując nadal swój przedmiot w różnicy, w obcości , w innym typie myślenia, staje przed problemem zasadniczym (a co ważniejsze, w świetle propo­ zycji Foucault potrafi sobie z nim poradzić) - obszar różnic rozciągnął się poza obcość terytorium, języka, kultury - nie­ ciągłość i różnica znajdują się także wewnątrz tego właśnie języka, który przyszło etnologom krytykować, którym przy­ szło się im posługiwać, a także w samej praktyce badań terenowych. Hasło wywoławcze nowej etnologii brzmi: „etnologia jest częścią zjawisk, które opisuje". Pojęcia wy­ pracowane przez etnologów dla opisania przedmiotu ich badań, są tak samo zmienne jak sama etnologia czy historia kultur opisywanych oraz dają się zastosować do kultury własnej badacza: „aparat pojęciowy antropologii daje się zastosować do różnego typu społeczeństw i procesów. Hipo­ tezy etnologiczne nie ograniczają się więc do tzw. społe­ czeństw plemiennych" (Buchowski 1995, s. 188). „Jest to ostrzeżenie dla tych, którzy chcieliby jeszcze udawać, że odnajdują i określają definitywnie struktury: opowiadając o nich, nie tylko będziecie opowiadać zawsze o czymś innym, ale w każdym wypadku nie będziecie w stanie ich ufundować, ponieważ język, który rości sobie prawo do ich fundowania, jest tym samym językiem, którego złudzenia chciałyby zdemaskować struktury" (Eco 1996, s. 342). 4 5 �1 Przełom epistemologiczny' , który opisał Foucault w Les mots et les choses, jest jednocześnie fundamentem scalającym cały współczesny dyskurs na temat obcości, inności, ponieważ wyznacza zasadniczą nieciągłość, różnicę między my a oni, która nie jest wyłącznie strukturalną różnicą wewnątrz opisy­ wanego przez etnologów i psychologów uniwersalnego umys­ łu, lecz także różnicą zewnętrzną określającą stosunek nauki do myśli mitycznej. Etnolog nie pracuje już wyłącznie z własną sytuacją zróżnicowania na ja-nauka, on-myśl mitycz­ na, lecz zróżnicowanie rozciąga się do wewnątrz na przedmiot badań oraz własną sytuację - Ja badacza jest także zróż­ nicowane na nierozłączne „Ja-podmiot" i „Ja-przedmiot" wiedzy, Prawda, którą etnolog odkrywa nie należy już do przedmiotu, „nie jest zdeponowana w jakimkolwiek miejscu - ani w osobie analizowanej, ani w osobie analizującej, ani nawet w ich relacji: jest ona bez miejsca, nie ma formuł" (Eco 1996, s. 340). Kiedy Ja-przedmiot staje się częścią obcości i różnicy, okazuje się, że ta złożona sytuacja jest podobnie skomplikowana jak, badane do tej chwili, kultury zewnętrzne. Geertz postuluje więc, „aby widzieć siebie pośród innych jako lokalny przykład lokalnie danych form ludzkiego życia, przypadek wśród przypadków. Stąd bierze się tolerancja umysłu, bez której obiektywizm jest jedynie samozadowole­ niem, a głoszone hasła tolerancji zwykłą blagą. [...] Antyantyrelatywista Geertza jest badaczem, który - uwikłany w różnorodność kultur - widzi zarazem tożsamość świata kultury symbolicznej. Jego zadaniem nie jest zachwalanie lub potępianie konwencji, które podlegają wartościującemu oglą­ dowi, ale namysł nad podstawowym paradoksem antropologii: jednością myśli symbolicznej jako procesu i różnorodnością efektów owej myśli w postaci odmiennych czynności i obiek­ tów kulturowych. Jednak etnografia myślenia w ramach anty-antyrelatywizmu to nie tyle postawa poznawcza, ile specyficzny udział w kulturze" (cyt. za: Burszta 1995, s. 198). Etnolog uwikłany został (tzn. był, ale tym razem uwikłanie jest jego świadomym wyborem określonej postawy metodologicz­ nej) w praktyki dyskursywne („udział w kulturze"), które w złożony sposób wpływają na jego wyjaśnienia. W sprawo­ zdaniu z konferencji The making of ethnographic texts (Clifford, Marcus 1985, s. 267) Marcus i Clifford piszą, że celem zgromadzonych wystąpień było m.in. poznanie praktyk za pomocą których konstruowane były teksty etnograficzne, retoryki opisu międzykulturowego, zmiennych historycznie kontekstów władzy i wiedzy, a więc zastąpienie odległego przedmiotu, przez przedmiot-podmiot bez opuszczenia ram dyscypliny. Historia idei spowodowała, że etnolog odnalazł siebie w polu sił, w którym do tej pory starał się sytuować wyłącznie obiekt swoich zainteresowań, „wiedza antropologi­ czna nie dotyczy de facto innych, ale generowana jest przez wzajemną definicję nas i innych i stąd właściwie ma charakter autobiograficzny; jest antropologią personalną w sensie do­ chodzenia do, mylnie roszczącej sobie uprawnienia epistemologiczne samowiedzy. «Antropologia jest częścią samej sie­ bie. Każde twierdzenie dotyczące kultury jest także twier­ dzeniem o antropologii, a samowiedza dyscypliny jest w ko­ nieczny sposób związana z rozwojem antropologii wiedzy». Tak więc sąd o kulturze obcej jest zakorzeniony w odpowied­ nich przesądzeniach własnej kultury badacza i być może z tego powodu antropologia jest w sposób nieunikniony «karuzelą ctnocentryzmu»" (Burszta 1992, s. 48-49). Todorov postuluje nawet, aby porzucić samą dychotomię My - Oni, wykazując, że niejednokrotnie niejeden z Nich jest bardziej podobny do Mnie niż niejeden z Nas (Strenski 1995, s. 1). Radykalne zerwanie z klasyczną teorią znaku dc Saussure'a, z etnologią opartą o model językoznawstwa związanego ze znakiem binarnym, prowadzi, i jest to jedyna droga przeobrażeń, do najgłębszej rewizji samego przedmiotu etnologii. Etnologia poddała dyslokacji zarówno swój przedmiot, metodę jak i cel. Właściwie dopiero antropologia strukluralistyczna pozwoliła na taką rewizję, również za względu na to, że zawierała w sobie pierwiastek ją rozkładający w postaci ujawnionej sprzeczności znaku binarnego. Ogłoszona w Les mots et les choses „śmierć człowieka" odsuwa możliwości interpretacji kultury przez pryzmat do­ świadczeń jednostki, przez jej biografię (motyw tak często obecny w badaniach nad „sztuką ludową") ze względu na metodologiczną niepoprawność, czy raczej wadliwość, oraz usuwa poza nawias badań etnologicznych cały nurt psychologizujący oraz biologizujący (socjobiologia, neocwolucjonizm) , ze względu na mijanie się z celem etnologii, którym ma być wyjaśnianie kultury przez kulturę (zgodność z sen­ sem). Język i kultura, bez względu na to w jakich formach funkcjonują (podobieństwo lub dualizm), są aparatem przy­ musu i jako takie przemawiają przez człowieka (podmiot umiera), możliwe jest więc już. wyłącznie konfrontowanie ze sobą kolejnych prawd wytworzonych, a nie konfrontowanie ich z jakąś zewnętrzną rzeczywistością. Foucault uskarża się na człowieka - „istotę «zdominowaną przez pracę, życie, język», czynniki wobec niego zewnętrzne i «starsze od jego narodzin*, «walące się na niego całym swoim ciężarem i przeszywające go, jakby był tylko i wyłącznie przedmiotem». Nauki o człowieku, zajmujące się «analizą finalności», ukazują nam człowieka «zniewolonego». «uwikłanego bez wyjścia w pozytywne treści języka, pracy, życia»" (Daraki 1991, s. 287)." 7 Wracając do samej dyslokacji przedmiotu etnologii, to mógłby on zostać wskazany przez wydobycie istoty, koniecz­ nych cech tego wszystkiego czym etnologowie się zajmowali. Levi-Strauss czyni to ujawniając za zmiennym porządkiem rzeczy, porządek o wicie istotniejszy, porządek który generu­ je konstelacje znaków pojawiających się na jego powierzchni (poprzez które może być w ogóle odsłonięty) - a więc porządek struktury operującej w obrębie podobieństwa i róż­ nicy. Te z kolei Foucault sytuuje poza „społecznościami etnograficznymi". Stąd przedmiot etnologii będzie teraz określony poprzez sposób docierania do ukrytego porządku, sposób jego wydobywania, przez określony sposób refleksji nad kulturą, a nie przez typ społeczeństwa. „Wszystko jest antropologią o tyle, o ile w analizie bądź interpretacji ujawnia się właściwa antropologom postawa, która jest ze swej strony postawą warunkowego ledwie wyrażania sądu o interesują­ cym nas fragmencie rzeczywistości" (Burszta 1996, s. 146). Etnolog traci swoją demiurgiczną otoczkę: „Antropolog winien tedy wiedzieć, że jego sądy są jedynie jednymi z wiciu możliwych na ten sam lemat, ale pokazywać, że la możliwość jest logicznie i teoretycznie prawdopodobna oraz merytorycz­ nie podbudowana" (Burszta 1996, s. 146). Ludwik Stomma, przedmiot etnologii lokuje w obrębie tzw. „kultury typu zamkniętego": „Tak zarysowana definicja klasycznej «kultury elnologicznej» [...] nie ogranicza pola zainlcresowań 77 �dziedziny - nawet w jej tradycyjnym pojmowaniu - do żadnego czasu, przestrzeni ani warstwy społecznej, pozwala­ jąc odnajdywać elementy izolacji świadomościowej równie dobrze w kulturze średniowiecznego chłopa inkaskiego, co w naszych współczesnych wysoko cywilizowanych, zindustrializowanych i zurbanizowanych cywilizacjach kręgu euro­ pejskiego" (Stomma 1986, s. 146). Ujawnienie podstawowych różnic, podstawowych aporii rządzących porządkiem fenome­ nalnym kultury, ujawnienie pod pozorem oczywistości i pew­ ności jaką daje nauka, porządku myśli mitycznej, lub formacji dyskursywnych operujących w obrębie obu porządków (mity­ cznego i naukowego) - pamiętając, że etnologia jest częścią świata, który opisuje, jest tym przesuniętym przez dekonstrukcję znaku binarnego przedmiotem, już wprawdzie wcześniej zapowiadanym przez Levi-Straussa w Antropologii struk­ turalnej. Ten ostatni dokonując wewnętrznej krytyki dotych­ czasowych stanowisk teoretycznych oraz dorobku faktografi­ cznego etnologii, zmienił radykalnie status tych stanowisk i dorobku. „Poglądy te definitywnie utraciły moc obowiązy­ wania, lecz wraz z tym przestały także być „poglądami do wyznawania i głoszenia", a stały się materiałem domagającym się ponownego opracowania i będącym zarazem podstawą tego opracowania. Po pierwsze dlatego, że stanowią z góry zadany przedmiot tego opracowania, po drugie zaś dlatego, że ich określoność wyznacza sposób tego opracowania, jego cel i zasadnicze cechy poszukiwanej strategii" (Rotter 1996, s. 100). Antropologia interpretacyjna jest (lub mogłaby być) więc już tylko dalej wyprowadzoną konsekwencją immanenlnej krytyki przeprowadzonej przez Levi-Straussa. Charakterystyczne dla historii idei śledzenie przełomów mentalnych, tych momentów wiedzy, które pozwoliły na zupełną zmianę sposobów postrzegania określonej rzeczywis­ tości*, jest w gruncie rzeczy częścią wrażliwości etnologicznej, dość solidnie ukrytej na korzyść wydobywania na jaw struktur wiecznotrwałych. Wiecznotrwałość, ciągłość i nie­ rozłączna z nią zmiana, tradycja to elementy pierwszoplanowe wiedzy etnologicznej od samych początków dyscypliny: „'Ciągłość i zmiana' oznaczają dwie stale występujące w kul­ turze opozycje. [ ...jefektywne badania nad kulturą można było rozpocząć dopiero z chwilą uznania faktu zmiany" (Sokolewicz 1969, s. 33). Pierwszym krokiem Foucaull, którego etnolog przeoczyć nie może, jest więc pozbycie się pozorów ciągłości: „Najpierw trzeba dokonać pracy negatywnej: wy­ zwolić się z całej siatki pojęć, z których każde stanowi swoistą odmianę idei ciągłości. Nie mają one zapewne wyraźnej struktury pojęciowej, niemniej ich funkcja jest oczywista. Takim jest pojęcie tradycji. Dąży ono do nadania szczególne­ go statusu czasowego zespołowi zjawisk następujących po sobie i zarazem identycznych (lub przynajmniej analogicz­ nych); pozwala odtworzyć rozproszoną historię w układzie tożsamości; upoważnia do usunięcia różnicy, właściwej wsze­ lkiemu początkowi, by kazać cofać się bezustannie w nieskoń­ czonym wyznaczaniu źródła; dzięki niemu można izolować, na tle nieprzerwanego trwania, zjawiska nowe i przypisywać zasługę stworzenia ich - oryginalności, geniuszowi czy decyzjom właściwym jednostkom. Takim jest również pojęcie wpływu, dające podporę - nazbyt magiczną, by dawała się poddać dokładnej analizie - fakuiin przekazu i komunikacji. Odnosi się ono do procesu o charakterze przyczynowym (nie tworząc wszakże żadnych ścisłych rozgraniczeń ani teoretycz­ 78 nych definicji) zjawiska podobieństwa i powtórzenia; łączy za sobą ponad czasem i przestrzenią - jak gdyby działał tu jakowyś ośrodek propagacji - elementy określone jako jednostki ludzkie, dzieła, pojęcia czy teorie. Takimi są także pojęcia rozwoju i ewolucji. Pozwalają zgrupować szeregi rozproszonych zdarzeń, związać je jedną i tą samą zasadą organizacji, podporządkować wszechwładnemu modelowi życia [...], odkryć - już w punkcie początkowym - obecność czynnika spajającego i zarys przyszłej jedności, zawładnąć czasem przez stworzenie nieprzerwanie odwracalnego związ­ ku pomiędzy jakimś początkiem a jakimś kresem, które nigdy nie są dane, które wciąż się aktualizując [...] Należy podać w wątpliwość owe gotowe syntezy, owe układy przyjmowane zazwyczaj bezkrytycznie, owe związki, których zasadność uznaje się z góry. Należy wypłoszyć niejasne formy i moce, za pomocą których przyzwyczajono się łączyć z sobą ludzkie wypowiedzi, wypędzić je z mroku, w którym panują. I za­ miast pozwalać na ich spontaniczne istnienie, trzeba raczej założyć, jeśli metoda ma być prawomocna, iż w pierwszej kolejności ma się do czynienia jedynie z populacją roz­ proszonych zdarzeń" (Foucault 1977, s. 44-45). Czy społeczeństwa nie-zachodnie mają prawo do bycia polem epistemologicznych rozłamów? W Pamiętniku znale­ zionym w wannie Lem opisuje sytuację, kiedy w ręce ludzi przyszłości wpada pamiętnik zamierzchłej cywilizacji (patrz: Lem 1961). Próba rekonstrukcji sposobu życia, myślenia zaginionych/innych przypomina, często pełne uproszczeń i przekłamań, rekonstrukcje odmiennych światów mental­ nych dokonywane przez etnologów. To „spojrzenie z oddali", przez pryzmat pamiętnika, odwraca postawione pytanie: należy się raczej zastanowić co nie pozwala nam dostrzec tych rozłamów. Odpowiedź oczywiście jest wkalkulowana w kon­ strukcję struktury wiedzy, tak jak ją widzi Foucaull. Dopóki dla świata ukształtowanego wokół różnicy potrzebny jest ten INNY. Antropologia istnieje dzięki różnicy (jest w sposób nieunikniony „karuzelą etnocentryzmu"), nie tylko ją bada lecz na niej się opiera, a więc stara się za każdym razem ją podkreślać i utrwalać, badać „marginesy", „obcość", „kul­ tury pierwotne", „prymitywne" czy „ludowe". Produkuje więc niejako obcych, wytwarza różnicę. Dopóki struktura znaku, konieczna dla funkcjonowania wiedzy, nie zostanie radykalnie podważona, dotąd nie można w sposób metodolo­ gicznie poprawny i racjonalny zamazać myślenia w katego­ riach obcości, odmienności i odnoszenia jej wyłącznie ku INNYM. Foucault pokazał bowiem, że wiedza, również ta oparta na doświadczeniu, tj. etnologia, zawsze wspiera się na koncepcji znaku, a ta wyznacza możliwe obszary poznania i faktycznie kieruje klasyfikowaniem faktów. Etnografia, jak dotychczas (w większości przypadków), nie uciekła binarnej koncepcji znaku, reprezentacji, więc nie udało się jej prze­ kroczyć progu taksonomii. Świetnie pokazuje to Geertz w pierwszej części Works and Lives, a także w komentarzu do jego teoretycznego programu interpretacji antropologicznej Paul Shankman: „Od strony programowej Geertz w swej pracy próbuje odwrócić antropologię od naśladowania nauk przyrodniczych w kierunku reintegracji z humanistyką. Ge­ ertz wysunął wniosek, że nauki społeczne zajmują się raczej znaczeniem niż zachowaniem ", szukając raczej rozumienia niż przypadkowych praw, i odmawiają wyjaśnień mechanistycznych charakterystycznych dla nauk przyrodniczych na 1 �rzecz interpretacyjnych. Zachęcił swoich kolegów, aby wzięli na serio możliwości analogii i metafory, aby rozważali ludzką aktywność jako tekst a działania symboliczne jako teatr. Innymi słowy zaprosił nauki społeczne do ponownej rewizji, o ile nie porzucenia, tradycyjnych wniosków, wyobrażeń na temat istoty ich intelektualnego przedsięwzięcia" (Shankman, 1984, s. 261)". „[...] pomiędzy uczonym, który poprzez rachunek dociera do niewyobrażalnej rzeczywistości, a ogó­ łem ludności pragnącej uchwycić coś z tej rzeczywistości, której matematyczna oczywistość zaprzecza wszelkim danym bezpośredniego poznania, myślenie mityczne na powrót staje się pośrednikiem, jedynym dla fizyków sposobem porozumie­ wania się z niefizykami" (Lévi-Strauss 1994, s. 7). Foucault pozwala też w pewnym stopniu uniknąć etnologii etnologów, czytania tekstów kultury na sposób czytającego, ponieważ punkt wyjścia etnologii jest zawsze generowany poza nią. Reguły budowy wypowiedzi, tworzenia tekstów kulturowych i ich interpretacji, tworzą trzon etnologii danego momentu historycznego, i tylko w odniesieniu do tego momentu mogą być właściwie odczytywane. Etnologia etno­ logów jest treścią pustą. Jednocześnie „historia idei" odsuwa możliwość waloryzacji, odniesień do jakiejś ponadkulturowej prawdy relatywizując ją do określonej episteme i ukształ­ towanych w jej obrębie określonych formacji dyskursy wnych. Nazywając - zawłaszczamy, otaczając fragment rzeczywis­ tości wiedzą, czynimy go przedmiotem władzy. Poznanie „obcego jest jego kolonizacją, oplataniem mikrofizyką władzy - wiedzy. Poczynając od oświecenia proces kolonizacji „dzikich" obrasta w instytucje, czego zwieńczeniem są pierw­ sze XIX-wieczne katedry antropologii. Wspomagany przez taksonomizujący każdy element życia społecznego empiryzm proces zawłaszczania obcości, podporządkowywania jej rac­ jonalnemu centrum nie domaga się od przedmiotu swoich zainteresowań realnego istnienia. Wystarczy, że istnieje tak, aby europejska tożsamość została utrzymana. „Inny" może (i w rzeczywistości jest) być ideą (por. Burszta 1996, s. 48-52, s. 144-145). Dopiero moment destrukcji znaku klasycznego, a więc i odejścia od empiryzmu taksonomii, pozwoli „innemu" na wspólne zamieszkiwanie świata z „nami". Foucault pisząc o roli rodziny w „radzeniu sobie z seksualnością",zauważa, że kazirodztwo jest elementem oswajania świata obcości, jest dowodem na imperializm stosunków władzy - wiedzy, którego etnologia jest także narzędziem: „Skoro przyjmiemy, że u progu każdej kultury stoi zakaz kazirodztwa, wówczas seksualność okaże się od początku czasów umiejscowiona pod znakiem prawa i prawodastwa. Etnologia, od dawna bez wytchnienia przepracowująca teorię transkulturowego zakazu kazirodztwa, dobrze się przysłużyła nowoczesnemu urządzeniu seksualności i wytwarzanym prze­ zeń teoretycznym dyskursom" (Foucault 1995, s. 98). Upada tożsamość dyscypliny oparta na radykalnej różnicy, wywołując gwałtowne reakcje tych, którzy nie potrafią w inny sposób jej utrzymać. „Inny" musi być „Inny" - „prymityw­ ny", „barbarzyński", „ludowy". „Bez poczucia obcości, a więc bez etnocentryzmu nie ma etnografii"(Mitterand 1994, s. 192). Co więcej sama etnografia potrzebuje własnych obcych do budowania lokalnych, „naukowych" tożsamości. Np. Lévi-Strauss musi być radykalnie przeciw diachronii, radykalnie za badaniami typu „etic" i od samego początku do końca musi być strukturalistą. Chociaż teksty Lé vi-Straussa, pominąwszy jego ostatnie wypowiedzi, które często nic znajdują odniesienia we wcześniejszych tekstach, nie dają podstaw do takich sformuowań. A jednak przemoc różnicy, wymóg który pozwala na określenie własnej tożsamości w języku różnicy jest silniejszy od „faktów". Jak refren mogłyby brzmieć wciąż powtarzające się: „metafory są silniejsze od faktów", czy „mit oto nie poszukuje zgodności z sensualnie pojmowaną rzeczywistością, lecz zgodności z sensem" (Stomma 1986, s. 131). Lévi-Strauss zastanawia się nad tym przedziwnym antropologicznym pędem ku obcemu, który ostatecznie jest poszukiwaniem własnej tożsamości: „jakie wyjście ma etnograf ze sprzeczności, która wynika z sytuacji, w jakiej dokonuje etnograf swego wyboru? Ma przed sobą, do swego rozporządzenia swoje własne społe­ czeństwo: dlaczego decyduje się nim pogardzić i zachować dla innych społeczeństw - wybranych spośród najbardziej oddalonych i najbardziej odmiennych - cierpliwość i oddanie, których przez swoją decyzję odmawia współobywatelom?". I od razu odpowiada: „Będąc widzem, a nie aktorem za­ chodzących przemian mogę łatwiej położyć na szale ich przyszłość i przeszłość, gdyż są tylko pretekstem do kontemp­ lacji estetycznej i rozważań intelektualnych, a nie stają już przed nami w formie moralnego niepokoju" (Lévi-Strauss 1964, s. 354-355). Antropolog jest nie tylko tłumaczem, ale i narzędziem ujarzmiania. Oczywiście nie jest to ujarzmianie, którego ośrodkiem jest konkretna instytucja, tak jak nie ma jednego, zdemonizowanego centrum władzy. Ujarzmianie jest funkcją języka, opisu, interpretacji. Wracamy więc do pierwszych rozważań Foucault, do systemu od którego chciał uciec rozpraszając go pomiędzy władzę a wiedzę, do języka i interpretacji, Nie istnieje żaden demon wladzy-wiedzy. W większości przypadków „obcy" („społeczności etnograficzne") zgadzają się na tą mikrofizykę, oczekują od antropologa konkretnej propozycji polepszenia ich bytu. Antropolog jednak, z zimną krwią „czyni swoją powinność", nie angażując się po stronie „przedmiotu badań" w imię naukowego obiektywizmu, przy­ znając jednak, że czyni to dla egoistycznego celu ostatecz­ nego jakim jest lepsze rozumienie własnej kultury. PRZYPISY 1 Styczność wynika z jedności struktury pola myślowego oraz jedności metody, co staram się wykazać w dalszej części artykułu. Dekonstrukcja znaku klasycznego nie oznacza powrotu na pozycje przedkartezjańskie. Nie oznacza też wypadnięcia etnologii poza obszar nauki w momencie zniesienia własnych podstaw. To raczej brak krytyki oznaczałby niemożność istnienia w po-naukowym, postmodernistycznym świecie etnologii „wieku nauki". 2 ] Dla Foucaulta władza i wiedza łączą się ze sobą w sposób uniemoż­ liwiający myślenie i mówienie o nich osobno: „Trzeba będzie także, zarzucić tradycyjne wyobrażenia, że wiedza rodzi się tam tylko, gdzie ustają związki z władzą i można j ą rozwijać jedynie poza jej nakazami, wymogami i interesami. Trzeba może zrezygnować z wiary, ze władza przyprawia o szaleństwo, zatem rezygnacja z niej jest jednym z warun­ ków, które trzeba spełnić, by zostać uczonym. Wypada raczej uznać, że 79 �władza produkuje wiedze (ale nie dlatego po prostu, że fawory żuje ją, gdy ta jej służy lub wykorzystuje, gdy jest użyteczna); że władza i wiedza wprosi się ze sobą wiążą; że nie ma relacji władzy bez skorelowanego z nią pola wiedzy, ani też wiedzy, która nie zakłada i nie tworzy relacji władzy. Stosunków w obrębie „władzy-wiedzy" nie da się zatem analizować wychodząc od podmiotu poznania, który jest albo nie jest wolny wobec systemu władzy; przeciwnie - trzeba uznać, że poznający podmiot, poznawane przedmioty i warunki poznania są raczej skutkami fundamen­ talnych następstw władzy-wiedzy i ich historycznych przemian. Krótko mówiąc - to nie działanie podmiotu poznającego tworzy wiedzę użyteczną dla władzy lub wobec niej opomą, ale władza-wiedza, procesy i walki, którym podlega i z których się składa, wyznaczają możliwe formy i dziedziny poznania" (Foucault 1993, s. 34-35). znaku, a w szczególności pojawienia się w naszej kulturze znaku binarnego. Konsekwencje tego faktu były dalekosiężne. Znak binarny z jednej strony utrwalił i uprawomocnił prymat poznania mate­ matycznego, z drugiej zaś strony zapewnił dyscyplinom pozamatematycżnym jedność strukturalną w obszarze poznania. W efekcie bez względu na to, czy dana dyscyplina konstruowała swoje poznanie zgodnie z wymogami myślenia matematycznego, czy też sytuowała się poza nim i niezależnie od niego, pozostawała w takiej samej przestrzeni poznawczej i w takiej samej konfiguracji strukturalnej. Znak binarny wyznacza sposoby i granice formowania wszelkich wypowiedzi naukowych - gdyż wszelkie wypowiedzi muszą uwzględniać reguły znaku - zapewniając im jedność epistemologiczną (Krakowski 1992, s. 9) * Próbą analizy dyskursu wokół tradycji jest artykuł Krzysztofa Piąt­ kowskiego Badacz wobec tradycji, zamieszczony w tomie Pożegnanie paradygmatu? Etnologia wobec współczesności pod redakcją Wojciecha Burszty i Jerzego Datnrosza. ' Przedmiot badań etnologii jest już przemieszczony z grupy, z okreś­ lonego typu społeczeństw, z terytorium, na poziom typu myślenia, który infiltruje zarówno społeczności stanowiące tradycyjny obszar zaintereso­ wań etnologii (tu „myśl nieoswojona" jest pozbawiona alternatyw poznaw­ czych), jak i społeczeństwo zachodnie, wraz z jego nauką. ° Przełom epistemologiczny opisany przez Foucaulta w Les mots et la choses. w sumie jako efekt nie zamierzony, nie chciany, efekt, którego Foucault wypierał się w kolejnych swoich pracach, tecz który jest fundamantalny dla zrozumienia formalnej struktury całości wiedzy (właśnie tej „całościowości", „fundamentalności" w gruncie rzeczy Foucault chce uniknąć), dotyczy „transformacji w obrębie koncepcji Tą konsekwencję można również odnaleźć w krytyce kierunków metodologicznych przed strukturatizmem u Claude'aLévi-Straussa w An tropologii strukturalnej. " Należy pamiętać, że rekonstrukcja struktury wiedzy dotyczy całości wiedzy, w tym także etnologii. • Dokładnie ten sam zarzut pod adresem ewolucjonistńw i dyfuzjonistów stawia na początku Antropologii strukturalnej Lévi-Strauss (przypis M. B). Wg Lévi-Straussa. gdyby było inaczej minęłyby się z celem (por. Lévi-Strauss 1970). " Tekst i ton artykułu jest w zasadzie polemiczny z propozycjami Geertza, nie zmienia to faktu, że można go w inny sposób, na użytek in­ nego tekstu wykorzystać, ponieważ stanowi dość dokładną prezentacje ogólnych poglądów Geertza na temat antropologicznej interpretacji kultury 7 10 B I B L I O G R A F I A Buchowski M . , 1995 Nieznośna lekkość metafor i ich dyskretny urok. [w:] Horyzonty ponowoczesnośa, i. Sójki (red.), Poznań Burszta W., 1992 Wymiary antropologicznego poznania kultury, Poznań 1993 Utracona niewinność'/ Rozterki antropologii postmodernistycznej, [w;] Poznańskie studia z filozofii nauki. Warszawa - Poznań 1995 Relatywizm i etnocenlryzm postmodernistycznie widziane, [w;] Między pragmatyzmem a postmodernizmem, A. Szahaj (red), Toruń 1996 Czytanie kultury. Łódź Clifford J„ Marcus G„ 1985 77ie making of ethnographic texts: Preliminary report. ..Current Anthropology", no 2. Daraki M . , 1991 Przezwyciężanie strukturalizmu. [w:] Wiek XX - przekroje. An­ tologia współczesnej krytyki francuskiej. Kraków Derrida J., 1992 Struktura, znak i gra w dyskursie nauk humanistycznych, [w:] Współczesna teoria badań literackich za granicą, t. 2, H. Mal­ kiewicz (red), Kraków 1992, s. 161-163 Eco U., 1996 Nieobecna struktura, Warszawa Foucault M . , 1977 Archeologia wiedzy. Warszawa 1978 Archeologia wiedzy, [w:] Drogi współczesnej filozofii, M.J. Siemek (red). Warszawa 1987 Historia szaleństwa, Warszawa 1993 Nadzorować i karać. Narodziny wiezienia. Warszawa 1995 Historia seksualności. Warszawa 80 Geertz C , 1988 Works and Lives. The Anthropologist as Author, Stanford Krakowski J.. 1992 Mathesis i metafizyka Studium metodologiczne przełomu kartezjańskiego, Wrocław Lem S . 1961 Pamiętnik znaleziony w wannie. Kraków Lévi-Strauss C , 1964 Smutek tropików. Warszawa 1970 Antropologia strukturama. Warszawa 1993 Spojrzenie z oddali. Warszawa 1994 Opowieść o rysiu. Łódź Mitterand H . 1994 Od etnografii do fikcji literackiej. „Pamiętnik Literacki", z. 1 Nycz R., 1995 Tekstowy świat. Warszawa Rotter K„ 1996 Struktura epistemologiczną etnologii w pracach C UviStraussa. [w:] Studia z filozofii współczesnej. R Różanowski (red), Wroc­ ław Shankman P, 1984 The thick and thin: on the interprétative theoreticat program of Clifford Geertz „Currem Anthropology", vol. 25, no 3 Sokolewicz Z. 1969 Etnologia, Warszawa Stomma L., 1986 Antropologia kultury wsi polskiej XIX wieku. Warszawa Strenski 1., 1995 The Ethics of Ethnocentrism, „Posmodern Culture", vol. 5, no 3 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/87e55d97d9b196d3b193a42188e84c03.pdf 66e1349b54a4bb4fdceec35362457737 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3310 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1985 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3103 Title A name given to the resource Summary of articles / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1985 t.39 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1985 t.39 z.3-4, s.253-254 Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text S U M M A R I E S * P E 3 Ю M Е SUMMARY OF ARTICLES A n t o n i Króli — P R O B L E M S OF C O N T E M P O R A R Y L E M K O C U L T U R E O N T H E E X A M P L E OF T H E M U S E U M IN ZYNDRANOWA T h e Regional M u s e u m of L e m k o Culture and W a r M e m o r y i n Z y n d r a m o w a , a village near D u k l a pass, has been r u n n i n g since 1908. T h e m u s e u m was established b y volunteer activists a n d t i l l полу has been w o r k i n g w i t h o u t any f i n a n c i a l help from the g o v e r n m e n t . A n u m b e r o f volunteers (Pawol Stefanowski, M i c h a ł D o ń s k i , Teodor K u z i a k ) founded the small museum i n an o l d L e m k o h u t . The ethnographic exposition is n o t large for i t numbers around 1500 exhibits w h i c h make np the recon­ structed f u r n i s h i n g o f the L e m k o < handier. T h e other part of the exposition commemorates the eomnion f i g h t o f Polish. Soviet a n d Chechoslovakian soldiers al D u k l a pass (the Leinkos f o u g h t in a l l these armies). The museum owes its particular character t o the e x h i b i t s . A p a r t from the Song and Dance Group . , k o n i k o w y m i / ' i t is the o n l y centre g r o u p i n g the Leinkos. Despite the fact t h a t there l i v e over 200 thousand Lemkos in Poland the}' do not posseoss ail}" status of n a t i o n a l m i i i o i i l y . What is more, the}' arc referred to as t h o U k r a i n i a n s , which is against their w i l l and national consciousness. Therefore, the Museum i n Z y n d r a m o w a acts as a substitute o f the n o n - e x i s t i n g L e m k o Society. There coine Leinkos b o t h from Poland anil abroad. T h o visitors are guided b y Teodor Goez, who has been \ o l u n f a r i l y r u n n i n g the museum f r o m the v e r y beginning. T h e a u t h o r propagates the idea to establish tho Society of Friends o f the Museum in Z y n d r a m o w a w h i c h could become a, legal p r o p r i e t o r o f tho Museum. I n t h a t case, i t w o u l d be possi­ ble to gain some f i n a n c i a l a.id t o m a i n t a i n a n d on large the museum. i n 1692 a p a r t o f the diocese o f the Greek-Catholic b i s h o p r i c A l t h o u g h the p a i n t i n g >n this area greately distinguishes itsolf w i t h certain regional peculiarities i t remains, howovor, w i t h i n the U k r a i n e c u l t u r a l t r a d i t i o n . I n the course o f 8ел-ега1 centuries the p a i n t i n g underwent stylistic transformations different for oaoh period. T h e a u t h o r b r i e f l y characterizes these transformations describing b u t the features i n his eyes t y p i c a l for given periods. I n this v i e w syst e m a t i z a t i o n of m o n u m e n t s is essential for d a t i n g p a r t i c u l a r ones, t h o u g h o n the other hand i t is encumbered w i t h subjoctive e v a l u a t i o n . This concerns m a i n l y the 15th and 16th century b u i l d i n g s , since there are prese^-ed no arehival materials telling us about the O r t h o d o x churches' decorations. The a u t h o r deals w i t h the p r o b l e m o f the influence o f other artistic means on icon p a i n t i n g basing himslef on iconographic analyses of chosen pictures. Angled i n suoh а луау they ргол'е the contacts between the local л\'01^1юрм and a r t i s t i c centres of B a l k a n countries and Russia from where there eame ieons, their copies and miniatures as iconographic patterns. The 17111 c e n t u r y , i n t u r n , showed a significant influence of western, and i n c l u d e d i n i t Polish, a r t . T h i s seems clear i n view o f t h o r o u g h transformations t a k i n g place i n the 17th­ -century p a i n t i n g i n the O r t h o d o x church a n d of direct contacts of the artists w i t h the decoration o f Catholic churches. The Polish influence is p a r t i c u l a r l y noticeable i n the 18th c e n t u r y ( p a i n t i n g ) . I t is largely due to the Polish influenee t h a t , m a i n l y i n the 19th c e n t u r y , icon p a i n t i n g loses its peculiar formal a n d p a r t i a l l y iconographic features. I t t h e n shows no stylo. How-ел-ег, i t has t o bo remembered t h a t this is a n a t u r a l phenomenon i n religious a r t c u l t i v a t e d as i f on m a r g i n of ther a r t i s t i c a c t i v i t y . T. R y s z a r d B r y k o w s k i — SOME NOTES O N T H E A R C H I T E C T U R E OF T H E L E M K O O R T H O D O X C H U R C H The L e m k o o r t h o d o x church as a t y p e o f wooden church architecture evolved i n tho 17th c e n t u r y a n d developed fully i n d u r i n g tho n e x t one. I t was i n Poland whore i t d i d exist for t h o longest t i m e for L e m k o wooden churches were raised t i l l the m i d - 1 9 t h c e n t u r y . T h e scholars dealing w i t h L e m k o c u l t u r e are of divergent o p i n i o n as far as the o r i g i n o f the t y p e o f the Church a n d i t s range are coneorned. Several types are t o bo d i s t i n g u i s h e d : N o r t - W e s t e r n ( P o l i s h side o f the Carpathians a n d S l o v a k i a ) , Southern ( S l o v a k i a ) , S o u t h - E a s t e r n (Mukaczew i n the trans- C a r p a t h i a n R u t h e n i a ) , N o r t h - E a s t e r n (tho P o l i s h Carpathians) a n d N o r t h e r n (tho P o l i s h Carpathians). T h e L e m k o o r t h o d o x ehurch is three-partite, w i t h a characte­ ristic body composed o f the q u a d r i l a t e r a l п а л е covered w i t h the b r o k e n t e n t r o o f лл1пеЬ, i n t u r n , is cimvnod w i t h the Baroque Ье11-1олуог. The i d e n t i c a l l y shaped choir, w h i c h is narrower and 1олуег, as ЛУе11 as the h i g h 1олл'Ог i n the f r o n t distinguish the L e m k o c h u r c h from other sacral structures of the Eastern Church. L e m k o churches wore p a i n t e d only f r o m the outside. T h e y were located on l o w hills or m o u n t a i n ' s slopes, and always surrounded by trees. I t m u s t be said t h a t they w'ero perfectly composed against the landscape. I n fact almost every L e m k o village could boast a c h u r c h w h i c h c o n s t i t u t e d for its i n h a b i t a n t s the centre o f ,,their w o r l d " . Therefore, tho Polish Lemkos r e t u r n i n g t o t h e i r f a m i l y lands at the b e g i n n i n g of the 1960s often started from г о п о л а Ы 1 ^ a c h u r c h . L i t t l e is k n o w n about founders and buildors o f L e m k o o r t h o ­ dox churches. One should d r a w a p a r t i c u l a r a t t e n t i o n t o w r o u g h t i r o n crosses, c r o w n i n g helmets, selni-bell-toлvors, free-standing towers and c h u r c h y a r d gates. The crosses which aro of unique beauty doseiwo a separate s t u d y . I n Poland there have s u r v i v e d 69 L e m k o o r t h o d o x churches w h i c h require special ca.ro a n d consideration adequate t o m o n u ­ m e n t s of the v a r i e d Polish c u l t u r e . T h e presont a r t i c l o is based on the author's w o r k „ L e m k o Woodon A r c h i t e c t u r e i n P o l a n d , Slovakia and Trans-Carpathian R u t h e n i a " published b y the Ossolineum. L o p a t k i e w i e z — CENTRES OF F O L K STONE­ W O R K I N CENTRAL LEMKO REGION A t the t u r n of the 19th c e n t u r y there wore active stonec u t t i n g centres i n several villages i n the B e s k i d N i s k i (Bartne, Przegonina, B o d a k i ) . T h e m a t e r i a l was b r o u g h t f r o m numerous shallow m i n i n g s o f sandstone i n Magurycz W i e l k i a n d Magura W a t k o wska. Thore were active зел-ега1 sculpture partnerships, the f i r s t of w h i c h was created i n the seeond h a l f of the 19th c e n t u r y . The article contains m u c h valuable i n f o r m a t i o n about the names and lh'es of partioular stonecutters (see the annex). Sinee tho m i d d l e of the 19th c e n t u r y parallel}' to u t i l i t a r i a n p r o d u c t i o n ( m i l l a n d h a n d m i l l stones, grindstones, Л У 1 К ^ 1 О 1 ^ ) there appeared sasral sculpture, ie. crosses, wayside shrines лу^Ь figures. A t the t u r n o f the c e n t u r y there existed seven shallow minings. R o u g h l y cut t o t h e a p p r o x i m a t e size of the sculpture the stone was t r a n s p o r t e d o n sledges or horse c a r t to the stone cutter's c o u r t y a r d . The stonecutter worked i n open air using hammer, steal broad ehisels forged b y local black­ smiths, and the so-called „ w i n k i o l " (see the i l l u s t r a t i o n s ) . E v e r y mine hod the so-called s h a n t y w h i c h is a sort o f sands­ tone chalet w i t h o u t a door, w i t h fire i n the m i d d l e and benches a r o u n d the walls. L e m k o s ' s t o n o o u t t i n g craft foil i n t o decay together w i t h the mass expel of the Lemkos i n the years 1944— 47. Z. S z a n t о r — SETTLEMENT FROM T H E SOUTH I N THE BESKID NISKI A N D SĄDECKI MOUNTAINS - R o m u a l d B i s k u p s k i —- T H E L E M K O I C O N P A I N ­ T I N G F R O M T H E 15th T O T H E F I R S T H A L F O F T H E 18th C E N T U R Y The author s y n t h e t i c a l l y presents the h i s t o r y o f icon p a i n t i n g since the 15th t i l l the first h a l f of the 18th century i n the L e m k o c o u n t r y w h i c h once c o n s t i t u t e d the л\ев1егп p a r t of t h e o l d O r t h o d o x bishopric of P r z e m y ś l a n d after the U n i a t e synodo Settlement i n tho Eastern a n d N o r t h e r n Carpathians луа.ч multiphase and m u l t i d i r e c t i o n a l ; moreover, i t goes back i n t o the prehistoric times. I n the areas o f the Beskid N i s k i and B e s k i d S ą d e c k i due to the topographical features there always predominated m i g r a t i o n f r o m the East. Intense settlement i n the m o u n t a i n areas took plaee between the 16th and 17th centuries. I t was i n this period t h a t the a c t u a l l y e x i s t i n g villages wore created. T h e i m m i g r a t i o n лл-as cuased b y the wcjrsening o f the s i t u a t i o n i n H u n g a r y . Most affected лл'оге the followers o f the O r t h o d o x church (since the 15th c e n t u r y ) a n d the village p o p u l a t i o n ( p a r t i c u l a r l y i n the 16th c e n t u r y ) . A t the same t i m e m o u n t a i n land owners i n the Polish a n d L i ­ t h u a n i a n C o m m o n w o a l t h w a n t i n g t o make their properties p r o d u e t k ' o t e m p t e d the settlers Л У ^ Ь convenient conditions. Moreover, the Valcohian L a w according t o which villages wero founded was very favourable. T h i s immigrationa.1 d i r e c t i o n is p a r t i c u l a r l y i m p o r t a n t for the c u l t u r e o f later L e m k o s ' c o u n t r y . I t accounts for strong c u l t u r a l similarities лл-ith К1ол ак1а (at the t i m e r e m a i n i n g w i t h i n H u n g a r y ) and differences between t h e m and settled i n the - 253 T �East Bojeks whose predecessors h a d come f r o m the N o r t h . The sacral a r t reveals Southern t r a d i t i o n s i n tho concept o f a tower placed over t h e entrance t o t h o L e m k o s ' church, v e r y popular i n Zakarpacio and Slovakia. One m a y also expect relations w i t h the centres i n the Southern parts o f the Carpathians, p a r t i ­ c u l a r l y the monasters i n Snina, K r a s n y B r ó d and B u k o v s k i e Horce near S t r o p k o v o a n d visible m a i n l y i n tho f i r s t phase o f the settlement (the 15th and 16th centuries). S. Leszczycki — T H E PHYSIOGNOMY PRE-WAR LEMKO VILLAGES OF THE The materials dealt w i t h i n the article come f r o m the years 1934—45. T h e y are the result o f the research carriod out under the d i r e c t i o n o f the A u t h o r authorized b y the Commision for the Research o f E a s t e r n Lands, L e m k o s ' section i n K r a k ó w . I t covered the area o f the Carpathian M o u n t a i n s between the Dunajec a n d tho Solinka and included 114 villages. The survey retained the pre-war a d m i n i s t r a t i v e divisions and names. The research t o o k account of the goographic location, econo­ m i c a l structure (culture, c u l t i v a t i o n s , use o f woods, etc.), t y p e of dwelling and f a r m buildings, life conditions. The article is a v e r y valuable source o f i n f o r m a t i o n . Moreover, it presents photo­ graphs f r o m the p e r i o d . S e w e r v n A. W i s 1о с к i — RUSENKO IWAN JURIJEWICZ I w a n J u r i j e w i c z Rusenko was b o r n i n the village K r a s n o (Krosno d i s t r i c t ) i n 1890. H e was a teacher i n the Polish villago L u t c z a t i l l 1946 w h e n he was resettled to the Western U k r a i n e . H e also earned his l i v i n g as a teacher i n the village K a r l i w k a (Tarnopol voivodeship i n the Soviet U n i o n ) . I t was i n the U k r a i n e where he began to create due to his nostalgia for his o w n c o u n t r y . H i s poems a n d drawings were about the Lemkos and their life. H e published t h e m i n the C a r p a t h i a n - R u t h e n i a n Calandar p r i n t e d b y the American-Canadian , , L o m k o s o j u z " a n d i n the „ K a r p a c a R u ś " w h i c h appears i n t h e West. I w a n J u r i j e w i c z Rusenko died i n 1960. Roman Reinfuss — LEMKOS, M Y FRIENDS R o m a n Reinfuss tells about his ,,adventure w i t h the L e m ­ k o s " , w h i c h has resulted i n a number o f significant ethnographic studies a n d r i c h d o c u m e n t a t i o n ho collected before as well as after the Second W o r l d W a r . The adventure began i n 1931 w i t h his t a l k w i t h a shephord w h o m he met i n the mountains. The friendly relations s u r v i v e d the w a r and post-war resettlement. I n the s t o r y about the people he has m e t Reinfuss tells m u c h about frankness a n d kindness o f the Lomkos and reveals character of the i n d i v i d u a l s , themselves representatives o f one n a t i o n a l group. Wojciech S a d o w s k i , J A N ŁABOWSKI. A FARMER AND PAINTER J a n Ł a b o w s k i was b o r n i n the village K r ó l o w a R u s k a i n J a n u a r y 8, 1945. H e came f r o m a L e m k o f a m i l y , w h i c h was resettled to Orzelec near G o r z ó w W i e l k o p o l s k i i n 1947. H e has graduated f r o m p r i m a r y school and n o w owns the 8-hectaro f a r m . The w o r k on the f a r m takes up almost a l l his t i m e and a t t e n t i o n , so does his f a m i l y ; nevertheless, according to what he says, p a i n t i n g is indispensable for h i m . W h o n p a i n t i n g — says Ł a b o w s k i — I discover beauty i n the surrounding w o r l d . H e started w i t h water-colour and now he paints i n o i l on w i g a n . H e makes brushes himself from h u m a n hair. The ethnographic gallery o f the D i s t r i c t Museum in Go.'zow is i n possession o f 21 pictures b y Ł a b o w s k i . Seweryn A. W i s 1о с к i — NOTES ON T H E BIO­ G R A P H Y O F N I K I F O R D R O W N I A K , C A L L E D ,,OF K R Y - ШСА"; NOTES A. J a c k o w s k i , J. J a r n u s z k i e w i c z — O N N I K I F O R ; A. J a c k o w s k i — ANDRZEJ BANACH'S „NIKIFOR". I t is a set o f articlos dedicated to a splendid , , n a i v e " p a i n t o r who died i n 1968, a n d was a L e m k o l i v i n g i n a famous Polish spar, K r y n i c a . N i k i f o r knew o n l y his m o t h e r ; the defect o f speech made hie contacts w i t h the surrounding people d i f f i c u l t . Since y o u t h he begged and p a i n t e d . A f t e r the war he was deported a n d afterwards r e t u r n e d to K r y n i c a where his w o r k met w i t h a g r o w i n g interest. H e gained his w o r l d w i d e fame thanks to the e x h i b i t i o n s i n L o n d o n , Paris, N e w Y o r k , Sao Paolo, T o k i o a n d Zagreb. W i s l o e k i discusses the artist's links w i t h his home and the L e m k o s i n K r y n i c a . B o t h J a c k o w s k i a n d Jarnuszkiewicz describe their encounters w i t h N i k i f o r , g i v i n g thus tho charac­ teristics o f his personality. The last of the articles is the review of Banach's book published i n Warsaw i n 1984. I t contains a groat n u m b e r of b e a u t i f u l illustrations w h i c h b r i n g f o r t h the figure o f the paintor. Jackowski's c r i t i c i s m , however, points to the fact t h a t the author does not discuss N i k i f o r ' s l i n k s w i t h tho L e m k o s ' c o m m u n i t y . A. K r o h — T H E LEMKO COUNTRY I N THE POETRY OF J E R Z Y H A R A S Y M O W I C Z Jerzy Harasynowicz's p o e t r y is d o m i n a t e d b y the L o m k o s ' theme. G i v e n an almost t o t a l lack of l i t e r a t u r e on tho L e m k o (both scientific and f i c t i o n ) , Harasymowiez's poems are for the Polish readers the o n l y source of knowledge about t h e i r country. I n the pooms of the 1950'one detects, f i r s t of all, nostalgy. There predominate picturesque descriptions of ruined O r t h o d o x churches, b u r n t d o w n villages, deserted comentaries. One can sometimes notice i n those poems a certain desdain for religious symbols and f a i t h , lack o f understanding o f the L e m k o s ' tragedy, a k i n d o f a p p r o v a l o f the s i t u a t i o n . T h o problems of l i v i n g L e ­ m k o and o f their lives appear o n l y i n tho poems published i n 1982 and 83 (Wesele rusałek — „ U n d i n e s ' W e d d i n g " a n d Cała góra barwników — „ A Heap o f P e r i w i n k l e s " ) . W e notice Harasy­ mowiez's self-admiration for his c r e a t i v i t y and c o n v i c t i o n t h a t i t is i m p o r t a n t for the Lemkes. The image o f t h e i r c o u n t r y emer­ ging i n Harasymowiez's poems does n o t reveal a n y d r a m a t i c featuros; i t is smooth and even false. I t w i l l change, perhaps, i n the poem, already promised b y Harasymowicz and called Lichtarz rusałek ( „ U n d i n e s ' Candlestick"), and dealing w i t h the d e p o r t a t i o n o f the Lemkos. Zofia Rzanter — THE ORTHODOX CHURCH I N P R Z Y S Ł O P A N D ITS R E N O V A T I O N I n 1981 and 1982 summer holidays there were organised volunteer actions to renovate the o r t h o d o x church i n the village Przyslop ( N o w y Sącz voivodeship). B u i l t i n 1756 b y the masters J a n and D a n y i l , the church is one of t h e oldest and most v a l u v b l e monuments i n the B e s k i d N i s k i m o u n t a i n s . I t was founded b y „ W i k t o r , the noble standardkeeper o f Makowsko ( ) " . The church was i n danger o f collapsing due to inappropriate maintaince and location. I was d u r i n g the r e n o v a t i o n t h a t the b u i l d i n g was liftod a n d straingtoned, parts of the floor and roof replaced and proper foundations l a i d . The area around the church was profiled. The iconostasis and i n t e r i o r furnishings were also renovated. More t h a n 150 people f r o m various students' scholarly groups and t o u r i s t clubs p a r t i c i p a t e d i n tho works, w h i c h were all volunteer, w i t h one exception only, t h a t is a carpenter master p a i d b y tho M i n i s t r y of Culture. The action i n question was analogous to tho ones carried out b y t h e F r e n c h organisation R E M P A R T . itself member o f I C O M O S . U n f o r t u n a t e l y , i n spite o f the fact t h a t the r o n o v a t i o n was completed efficiently and engendered a groat interest i n students' m i l i o u , none o f t h e state i n s t i t u t i o n s d i d p a y a n y a t t e n t i o n to our a c t i v i t y . PE3 Ю ME Ан т о н и К р о х — ПРОБЛЕМЫ СОВРЕМЕННОЙ К У Л Ь Т У Р Ы ЛЕМКОВ НА ПРИМЕРЕ МУЗЕЯ В ДЕ­ РЕВНЕ ЗЫНДРАНОВА В деревне Зындранова, расположенной вблзи Дук е л ь с к о г о п е р е в а л а с у щ е с т в у е т с 1968 г. Р е г и о н а л ь ­ н ы й м у з е й л е м к о в с к о й К у л ь т у р ы и п а м я т и воеыны>: лет. Музей создан по инициативе общественности и по сей день действует без в с я к и х ассигнований и помощи со с т о р о н ы г о с у д а р с т в а . Г г у п п а д е я т е л е й ( П а в е л С т е 254 ф а н о в с к и , М и х а л Д о н ь с к и , Т е о д о р К у з я к и др.) о с н о ­ вала небольшой музей, помещающийся в маленькой лемковской хате. Скромная этнографическая экспо­ з и ц и я М у з е я ( о к . 1500 э к с п о н а т о в ) о т о б р а ж а е т у б р а н ­ ство лемковской хаты. Вторая часть экспозиции по­ священа памяти совместной борбы польских, совет­ ских и чехословацких солдат (ламки воевали в р я д а х этих армий) за Д у к е л ь с к и й перевал. Н е о б ы ч а й н о с т ь М у з е я з а к л ю ч а е т с я не в его собра­ ниях, а в том, что Музей является единственным, на- �р я д у с А н с а м б л е м Песни и т а н ц а „ Л е м к о в ы н а " , цент­ ром, о б ъ е д и н я ю щ и м лемков. В П о л ь ш е п р о ж и в а е т с в ы ­ ш е 200 т ы с я ч л е м к о в , н о , н е с м о т р я н а э т о , о!ни н е имеют статуса национального меньшинства и причис­ лены к украинскому населению вопреки их нацио­ нальному самосознанию. Недостающий орган вроде Лемковского союза заменяет им Зындранова. Сюда п р и е з ж а ю т лемки из-за рубежа. Гостей опекает Тео­ дор Гоч, к о т о р ы й с самого начала руководит Музеем в порядке общественной нагрузки. Автор статьи предлагает учредить Общество Дру­ зей Лемковского музея в Зындрановой — организа­ цию, которая могла бы пользоваться правовым стату­ сом. О б щ е с т в о могло б ы с т а т ь з а к о н н ы м в л а д е л ь ц е м Музея, что представило бы возможность организовать п о м о щ ь д л я его с о д е р ж а н и я и р а с ш и р е н и я . Р ы ш а р д В р ы к ов с к и — РАЗМЫШЛЕНИЯ АРХИТЕКТУИРОЙ ЛЕМКОВСКИХ ЦЕРКВЕЙ НАД Лекозская перковь как тип деревянного церковного с т р о и т е л ь с т в ! с ф о р м и р о в а л а с ь в X V I I в. и о б е л а п о л ­ н о е р й з в и т и е в X V I I I в. Д о л ь ш е в с е г о с у щ е с т в о в а л а на польских землях, где лемковские деревянные ц е р к в и с т р о и л и с ь до с е р е д и н ы X I X в. Мнения и-'следователей расходятся равно относи­ т е л ь н о в о з н и к н о в е н и я этого типа строительства, к а к и его охвата. В ы д е л я е т с я несколько типов: северо-за­ падный (польская часть Карпат и Словакия), ю ж н ы й (Словакия), юго-восточный (Мукачев в Закарпатской Руси), северо-восточный (польские Карпаты), северный (польские Карпаты). Лемковскал церковь состоит из трех частей с ха­ р а к т е р н ы м массивом; его образует четырехугольный неф, покрытый ломаной шатровой к р ы ш е й , увенчан­ ной барочной колокольной башенкой, аналогично с ф о р м и р о в а н н ы й более узкий и низкий пресбитерий, а перед фасадом высокая башня, отличающая лемковс к у ю ц е р к о в ь от д р у г и х с а к р а л ь н ы х п о с т р о е к в о с т о ч ­ ного обряда. Л е м к о в с к и е церкви были покрашены только с внешней стороны, в н у т р и их не красили. С т а в и л и ц е р к з и на н е б о л ь ш и х в о з в ы ш е н н о с т я х или н а с к л о н а х гор всегда в о к р у ж е н и и д е р е в ь е в . О н и п р е ­ красно гармонировали с пейзажем. Фактически церкви строили в каждой деревне. Д л я жителей деревни она я в л я л а с ь центром „их мира". Поэтому возвращав­ шиеся в начале шестидесятых годов польские лемки часто начинали „номую ж и з н ь " с ремонта церкви. М а л о и м е е т с я д а н н ы х об о с н о в а т е л я х и с т р о и т е л я х л е м к о в с к и х ц е р к в е й . Особого в н и м а н и я заслуживают кованые железные кресты, венчающие купола, коло­ кольные башенки, отдельно стоящие колоколенки, во­ рота церковных кладбищ. Эти непревзойденные по своей красоте кресты з а с л у ж и в а ю т специального опи­ сания. В П о л ь ш е с о х р а н и л о с ь 69 л е м к о в с к и х ц е р к в е й , к о ­ торые следует о к р у ж и т ь т щ а т е л ь н о й заботой к а к р а з ­ новидность памятников польской культуры. Статья написана на основе труда, озаглавленного автором Лемковекая деревянная архитектура в Поль­ ше, Словакии и Закарпатской Руси. Издано в Оссолинеум. Р о м у а л ь д Б и с к у п с к и — И С К У С С Т В О Л Е М К О В Щ И З Н Ы ОТ В О Й П О Л О В И Н Ы X V I I I В. ИКОНОПИСНОЕ X V В. ДО П Е Р ­ Автор статьи синтетически представил, начиная с X V в е к а до первой п о л о в и н ы X V I I I века, историю р а з в и т и я и к о н о п и с и на т е р р и т о р и и Л е м к о в ш и з н ы , к о ­ торая составляла западную часть давнего православ­ ного епископства в П а р е м ы ш л е , а затем — после униатского синода (1692 г.) — греко-католичеокого епископства, Хотя живопись тех районов в значи­ тельной с т е п е т и о т л и ч а е т с я своего рода р е г и о н а л ь н ы ­ ми особенностями, то все ж е о н а составляет часть украинского культурного наследия. Н а п р о т я ж е н и и н е с к о л ь к и х в е к о в стиль этой ж и ­ вописи подвергался изменениям. Автор к р а т к о опреде­ л и л и х х а р а к т е р , о п и с ы в а я и с к л ю ч и т е л ь н о те ч е р т ы , к о т о р ы е , по его м н е н и ю , я в л я ю т с я т и п и ч н ы м и д л я данного периода. Систематизация строительного ма­ т е р и а л а с этой т о ч к и з р е н и я необходима д л я у т о ч н е ­ н и я д а т и р о в к и о т д е л ь н ы х о б ъ е к т о в , по в м е с т е с т е м о т л и ч а е т с я с у б ъ е к т и в н о с т ь ю оценки. Это в первую о ч е р е д ь к а с а е т с я п а м я т н и к о в с т а р и н ы X V в. и п е р в о й п о л о в и н ы XVI в., п о с к о л ь к у с того в р е м е н и не с о х р а ­ нились архивные данные, свидетельствующие об убранстве цзрквей. Опираясь на и к о н о г р а ф и ч е с к и й а н а л и з и з б р а н н ы х изображений, автор затронул проблему воздействия других х у д о ж е с т в е н н ы х центров на ж и в о п и с ь лемков. Проведенный с этой т о ч к и з р е н и я а н а л и з создает возможность установить наличие контактов местных мастерских с художественными пентрами балканских стран и Руси, откуда поступали иконографические образцы в виде икон, их копий и миниатюр. Н о в X V I I в. с т а л о з а м е т н о з н а ч и т е л ь н о е в л и я н и е западного искусства, в том числе поьского. Это вполне естественно, если учесть к р у п н ы е перемены в ж и в о ­ п и с и В о с т о ч н о й ц е р к в и X V I I в., а т а к ж е в о в р е м я непосредственных контактов художников и более близкого ознакомления иконописцев с декором като­ лических костелов. В л и я н и е польского искусства осо­ бенно' з а м е т н о в ж и в о п и с и X V I I I в. В б о л ь ш о й мере под влиянием польского искусства живопись эта т е р я е т о с о б е н н о в X I X в. с в о й с т в е н н ы е ей ф о р м а л ь ­ ные, а т а к ж е частично иконографические черты, ли­ ш а я с ь своеобразия своего стиля. Притом следует от­ метить, что подобное явление было повсеместным в искусстве религиозного харатера, которым .выда­ ю щ и е с я д у д о ж н и к и з а н и м а л и с ь л и ш ь от с л у ч а я к с л у Ч1Ю, т а к с к а з а т ь , м и м о х о д о м . Т а д е у ш Л о п а т к е в и ч — НАРОДНОЕ КАМНЕ­ ТЕСНОЕ ПРОИЗВОДСТВО В ЦЕНТРАЛЬНОЙ ЛЕМКОВЩИЗНЕ В нескольких деревнях Нижних Беекид (Бартне, Пшегон'инна, Бодаки) на переломе X I X и X X вв. существовал крупный центр камнетесного производ­ ства. Сырье добывали из многочисленных посчаных карьеров, р а с п о л о ж е н н ы х в полосе Магурича В е л и ­ кого и Магуры Вонтковской. С с а р д и н ы X I X в. н а р я д у с п о т р е б и т е л ь с к и м п р о и з ­ в о д с т в о м ( м е л ь н и ч н ы е ж е р н о в а , б р у с ы , т о ч и л а и т.п.), стала развиваться религиозная скультура. Создаются кресты, придорожные часовенки с резным декором. На переломе веков существовало 7 карьеров. Камень, обколотый в форме близкой планируемой скультуре, доставляли санями или подводами каменотесу. Каме­ нотес работал под о т к р ы т ы м небом, п о л ь з у я с ь молот­ ками, широкими стальными резцами, работы местных кузнецов, а т а к ж е т а к наз. „ в и н к л я м и " (ср. и л л ) . В к а ж д о м карьере имелась так называемая „калиба'', то есть род песчаного ш а л а ш а , без дверей, с к у з н е н ы м г о р н о м по с е р е д и н е и д е р е в я н н ы м и с к а м ь я м и в д о л ь стен. Автор статьи описывает историю очередных с к у л ь п т у р н ы х обществ. Первое было основано во вто­ р о й п о л о в и н е X I X в. С т а т ь я с о д е р ж и т много ц е н н ы х сведений, к а с а ю щ и х с я личного состава обществ и био­ г р а ф и и о т д е л ь н ы х к а м н е р е з о з (см. п р и л о ж е н и е ) . Л е м ксвское камнерезное производство пришло в упадок в 1944—1947 гг., Е С В Я З И J массовым выселением лемков. 3 оф и я Ш а н т ер — ЗАСЕЛЕНИЕ И СОНДЕЦКИХ БЕСКИД С ЮГА НИЖНИХ Заселение Восточных и Северных Карпат велось в о л н о о б р а з н о во многих н а п р а в л е н и я х , н а ч и н а я с д о и ­ сторических времен. На территории Н и ж н и х и Сондецких Боскид с самых р а н н и х времен наблюдался, в связи с резьбой местности, особенно сильный приток н а с е л е н и я с юга. Усиленно стали заселяться горные районы в X V — — X V I I I в в . В то в р е м я в о з н и к л о б о л ь ш и н с т в о су­ щ е с т в у ю щ и х по сей д е н ь д е р е в е н ь . П р и т о к н а с е л е н и я был в ы з в а н все у х у д ш а ю щ и м с я внутренним п о л о ж е ­ нием Венгрии. Особенно ухудшалось положение пра­ в о с л а в н ы х ( н а ч и н а я с X V в.) и д е р е н е н с к и х ж и т е л е й ( о с о б е н н о в X V I в.). В т о ж е в р е м я в г о р н ы х р а й о н а х Речи Посполитой землевладельцы стремились освоить свои земли и сооблазняли поселенцев б л а г о п р и я т н ы м и условиями, а т а к ж е выгодным в а л а ш с к и м нравом, на основа которого строились деревни. Такое направление поселенчества оказалось осо­ бенно в а ж н ы м для позднейшего развития лемковской культуры. Этим объясняется тесная к у л ь т у р н а я связь со С л о в а к и е й ( п р и н а д л е ж а в ш е й в рассматриваемый период к Венгрии) и р а з л и ч и я по с р а в н е н и ю с сосед- 255 �ними г в о с т о к а б о й к а м и , п р е д к и к о т о р ы х прибыли главным образом с севера. К сакральном искусстве примером прочности ю ж н ы х традиций является кон­ цепция башни над входом в лемкоескую церковь, по­ всеместно распространяемая в Закарпатье (Закарпат­ ская область) и в Словакии. Можно т а к ж е полагать, что с у щ е с т в о в а л а связь с иконописными центрами в южной части Карпат, особенно с монастырями в Снине, К р а с н о м Бродзе и Буковской Горце близ Стропкова, п р е ж д е всего в н а ч а л ь н о й ф а з е заселения ( X V — X V I вз.). С т а н и с л а в Л е щ и ц к и ЛЕМКОВСКОЙ ДЕРЕВНИ — ОБЛИК ДОВОЕННОЙ Рассматриваемые в статье материалы датируются 1 9 3 4 — 1 9 3 5 гг. О н и б ы л и с о б р а н ы п о д руководством а в т о р а по п а р у ч е п и ю К а м и о с и и н а у ч н ы х и с с л е д о в а н и й Восточных Земель, Лемксвское отделение в Кракове; исследования велись на территории К а р п а т между Дунайцем и Солинкой. Исследования охватывали 114 деревень, причем исследователи придерживались до­ военного административного деления и довоенной но­ менклатуры. В исследованиях учетиы географическое положе­ н и е д е р е в н и , ее м е с т о р а с п о л о ж е н и е , э к о н о м и ч е с к и е от­ ношения (животноводство, земледелие, лесной промы­ с е л и т.д.), т и п ы д о м о в и х о з я е т в е н н ы х построек, условия жизни населения. Текст является ценным фактографическим материалом. Приложенные снимки п р и н а д л е ж а т к тому ж е периоду времени. С е в е р и н РУСЕНКО А. В и с л о ц к и — ИВАН ЮРЬЕВИЧ И в а н Ю р ь е в и ч Р у с е п к о р о д и л с я в 1 8 9 0 г. в д е р е в н е К р а с н а , К р о е п е н ь с к о г о п о в и т а . Д о 1 9 4 6 г. о н б ы л у ч и ­ телем в польской деревне Лютча, затем был выселен в Западную Украину, в деревню Короливка, Тарнопольского воеводства (СССР). Тоскуя за родним краем, Русепко стал писать сти­ хи и рисовать, п о с в я щ а я свое творчество л е м к о в с к о й тематике. Он п у б л и к о в а л свои т р у д ы в К а р п а т о р у с ском календаре, издаваемом аме,рмканско-канадским „Лемкосоюзом" и в газете „Карпацка Русь", издавае­ м о й н а З а п а д е . Р у с е н к о у м е р в 1 9 6 0 г. Р о м а н Р ей нф у с с — МОИ ДРУЗЬЯ ЛЕМКИ Роман Рейнфусе рассказывает историю своего „приключения с Лемковщизной", результатом которо­ го я в л я е т с я р я д в а ж н ы х э т а и о г р а ф и ч е е к и х трудов, а т а к ж е б о г а т а я д о к у ж е н т а ц и я , с о б р а н н а я д о .и п о с л е войны. Приключению положила начало встреча в го­ рах с овчаром, которая состоялась в 1 9 3 1 г. З а в я ­ з а в ш а я с я тогда м е ж д у ними д р у ж б а продолжалась в г о д ы в о й н ы и во в р е м я в ы с е л е н и я . П о в е с т в о в а н и е о в с т р е ч а е м ы х тогда д ю д я х свидетельствует о привет­ ливости и радушии лемков. Автор подчеркивает ха­ рактерные черты отдельных лиц, я в л я ю щ и х с я пред­ ставителями одной и той ж е национальной группы. В о й ц е х ПАШЕЦ И С а д о в с к и — ЯН ЖИВОПИСЕЦ ЛАБОВСКИ, ХЛЕБО­ Я н Л а б о в с к и р о д и л с я 8 я н в а р я 1 9 4 5 г. в д е р е в н е К р у л ё в а Руска, в семье лемков. В 1 9 4 7 г. с е м ь ю в ы ­ селили в Ожелец близ Гожова Велькопольекого. Ян Лабовски окончил начальную школу и в настоящее время ведет 8-гектаровое хозяйство. Свободного от работы и семейных забот времени у него остается н е ­ много, т е м н е м е н е е он у т в е р ж д а е т , ч т о рисование я в л я е т с я д л я него н е о б х о д и м о с т ь ю , что это з а н я т и е помогает ему о т к р ы в а т ь красоту о к р у ж а ю щ е г о мира. О н (рисует г л а в н ы м о б р а з о м п е й з а ж и в т о н а х з е л е н и , белизны и бронза. Он начал с акварелей, а сейчас рисует м а с л я н ы м и к р а с к а м и на ж е с т к о м портняжном п о л о т н е . К и с т и Л а б о в с к и и э г о т о в я е т сам иэ л ю д с к о г о волоса. В этнографическом отделении Гожовского Окруж­ ного музея находится собрание работ Лабоеского, на­ с ч и т ы в а ю щ е е 21 к а р т и н у . С е в е р и н А. В и с л о ц к и — Д О П О Л Н И Т Е Л Ь Н Ы Е ДАННЫЕ К БИОГРАФИИ НИКИФОРА ДРОВНЯКА, Н А З Ы В А Е М О Г О К Р Ы Н И Ц К И М ; А л е к с а н д р Я цк о в с к и, Я д в и г а Я р н у ш к е в и ч — О НИКИФО - 256 Р Ё ; А. Й ц к о в е к й НАХА — ,.НИКИФОР" А Н Д Ж Е Я БА­ Сбор|нИ1к с т а т е й , п о с в я щ е н н ы х л и ч н о с т и умершего в 1 9 6 8 г. в ы д а ю щ е г о с я „ н а и в н о г о " х у д о ж н и к а - л е м к а , проживавшего в известном польском курорте К р ы нице. Н и к и ф о р знал только свою мать. Порок речи чрезвычайно мешал ему общаться с окружением. С ю н ы х лет Н и к и ф о р нищенствовал и занимался ж и ­ вописью. П о с п е I I в о й н ы он б ы л в ы с е л е н , а позднее снова в е р н у л с я в К р и н и ц у , где в ы з ы в а л все б о л ь ш и й интерес. В ы с т а в к и за рубежом, в Лондоне, П а р и ж е , Н ъ ю Йорке, Сан Паулу, Токио и Загребе создали ему миро­ вую славу. Вислоцки. п и ш е т о с в я з и х у д о ж н и к а с его р о д н ы м д о м о м , со е Д е д о й л е м к о в в К р ы н и ц е . Я ц к о в с к и и Я д в и ­ га Я р н у ш к е в и ч п и ш у т о соих в с т р е ч а х с Н и к и ф с р о м , характеризуют его личность. Ц и к л статей завершает р е ц е н з и я н а к н и г у Б а н а х а , и з д а н н у ю в 1 9 8 4 г. в В а р ­ шаве. Книга содержит прекрасный богатый иллюстра­ тивный материал, который близко знакомит читателя е л и ч н о е т ю х у д о ж н и к а . О д н а к о Я. Я ц к о в с к и у п р е к а е т а в т о р а к н и г и в том, что он не у п о м и н а е т о с а я з а х Н и кифора с лемковской общественностью. А н т о н и К р о х — ЛЕМКОВЩИЗНА ЕЖИ ХАРАСИМОВИЧА В ПОЭЗИИ В поэзии Е ж и Харасимовича доминирует лемковская тематика. Ввиду почти полного отсутствия лите­ ратуры, затрагивающей лемковекую проблематику (равно научной, к а к и беллетристической), с и х и Х а ­ расимовича часто я в л я ю т с я для польского читателя единственным источником сведений о Лемкозщлзпе. В стихах п я т и д е с я т ы х годов доминирует носталь­ гия. В т и х преобладают ж и в о п и с н ы е описания п р е х о ­ дящих в упадок перквей, с о ж ж е н н ы х обезлюдевшлх деревень, покинутых кладбищ. Иной раз в стихах проскальзывает нотка пренебрежения к религиозным символам и верованиям, непонимание трагической судьбы лемков, своего рода примирение с существу­ ющим положением вещей. Проблемы оставшихся при ж и з н и лемков и их судьбы появляются л и ш ь в сти­ х а х , и з д а н н ы х в 1 9 8 2 г. и 1 9 8 3 г. ( „ С в а д ь б а р у с а л о к " и „Гора барвинков"). В них словно чувствуется вос­ х и щ е н и е собственным творчеством и уверенность, что оно играет существенную роль д л я Л е м к о в щ и з н ы . Образ Ломковщизны, возникающий при чтении Х а ­ расимовича, л и ш е н трагизма; он смягчен и порой со­ всем н е в е р е н . Б ы т ь м о ж е т образ этот станет и н ы м , когда выйдет из печати, обещанная Харасимовичем поэма „Подсвечник русалок", п о с в я щ е н н а я теме в ы с е ­ ления лемков. 3 оф и я ЦЕРКВИ Ш а нт е р — РЕМОНТ ПРИСЛОПСКОЙ В о в р е м я к а н и к у л а 1 9 8 1 — 1 9 8 2 гг. б ы л а о р г а н и з о в а ­ на о б щ е с т в е н н а я к а м п а н и я по ремонту старинной ц е р ­ кви в местности Прислуп, воеводства НОЕЫ Сонч. Ц е р к о в ь эта б ы л а построена в 1 7 5 6 г. м а с т е р а м и Яном и Даниилом. Она принадлежить к старейшим памятникам Н и ж н и х Беокид. Основателем церкви был „вельможный пан Виктор, хорунжий из Маковска(?)". Ввиду плохого месторасположения и недосмотра церкви грозило полное разрушение. Во время ремонта здание церкви было поднято домкратом и иыпрямлено, часть сруба и полы заме­ нили новыми, заложили крецкий фундамент. Терри­ торию вокруг церкви н а д л е ж а щ и м образом п р о ф и л и ­ ровали. Иконостас и передвижное оснащение интерь­ ера законсервировали. В общем, в ремонтных работах п р и н и м а л о у ч а с т и е с в ы ш е 150 ч е л о в е к — ч л е н о в с т у ­ денческих научных кружков различных специаль­ ностей и туристских клубов. Работы выполнялись в порядке общественной нагрузки, только мастерплотник был оплачен В1аршавским М и н и с т е р с т в о м куль­ туры. К а м п а н и я по р е м о н т у б ы л а а н а л о г и ч н а кампании, проведенной французской организацией „РЕМРАРТ", которая является членом „ICO-MOC". Надо отметить, что немотря на т щ а т е л ь н о проведенный ремонт и ж и ­ вейшее участие в работе студенческих кругов нр одно государственное учреждение не проявило интереса к нашей деятельности. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/683a2c377ecc15d4e5d4ff68cee5bba1.pdf 3b1d447ff7585803cc69822f08387ecb Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3315 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1984 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3107 Title A name given to the resource Wizje Ludwika Holesza / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1984 t.38 z.1-2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1984 t.38 z.1-2, s.13-18 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jackowski, Aleksander Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Aleksander Jackowski WIZJE LUDWIKA HOLESZA Jego malarstwo nazywają naiwnym. Ale 1 jeśli mówić naiwności, t o o d n i ó s ł b y m ją n i e d o o b r a z ó w lecz d o d o chęci p o z n a n i a t o g o , co b y ł o , l u b t e g o , co i s t n i e j e p o z a ziemską cywilizacją. się n a u k o w c y , Przywykliśmy chemicy badają d o t e g o , żo n a u k ą naszą zajmują p i e r w i a s t k i , geologowie z i e m i . A l e co m a r o b i ć g ó r n i k z a f a s c y n o w a n y o postawy, dzieje przeszłością, s k o r o linki. ,,A to było t a k i e miejsce, jakby jaka wyspa szczęśliwa n a ś w i e c i e , b o D o l i n a , o s ł o n i ę t a o d w i a t r u ze w s z y s t k i c h s t r o n , kazała s z y b c i e j róść t r a w o m i d r z e w o m . " 2 kieh poza j a k człowiek" i ptaków, których Wśród paproci „wiolDolinką „nigdzie n a ś w i e c i e n i e m a " c z u ł się n a j l e p i e j . K o c h a ł t o m i e j s c e . w n i m ukrytych Szukał skarbów zbójeckich, o których opowiadał m u n i g d z i e , w żadnej księgarni, a n i b i b l i o t e c e p u b l i c z n e j n i e może d z i a d e k . Czasem b r a l nożyk do ręki i z k o r y l u b kawałków d r e w ­ znaleźć książek przedstawiających w i z j e e p o k i , w której p o w s t a ­ n a strugał p t a k i . Już n i e pamięta, c z y właśnie w t e d y , czy później wał węgiel. Górnik — Holesz wszyst­ g d y wracał w m a r z e n i a c h do D o l i n k i — dawniej myśl, a b y ją namalować. Pociągała go m u z y k a . P o l a t a c h w s p o m i ­ t y m określeniu nał: „Czasem było m i s m u t n o . N a j s m u t n i e j w t e d y , g d y j e d e n mój kim myśli i wyobraża wyglądać. N a i w n e , jest samodzielne dotarcia do c z y t a , co m o ż e , alo p r z e d e sobie j a k t o wszystko musiało j e ś l i się j u ż u p r z o m y p r z y szukanie prawdy, istniejących i to nie tyle wiadomości, co próby k o l e g a przyniósł s k r z y p c e , co m u j o ojciec kupił, a l e m n i o n a w e t wyobrażenie nie pozwolił dotknąć. J a n i c n i g d y n i e miałem prócz tego nożyka przez przez s o b i e , co i j a k m o g ł o b y ć . T a naiwność j e s t w i s t o c i e jak magia) istnienie wynikiem wiary praw wyobraźni, pizyrody, w które t a k a b y znane logiczną można strukturę sposób p r z y c z y n o w o - s k u t k o w y . R z e c z (podobnie świata, przewidzieć n a m f a k t y wiązały przyszła m u d o głowy w wysiłkiom się ze s o b ą t y l k o w t y m , że do s t r u g a n i a ptaszków. W faktów roboty p r a c o w a ł o d ś w i t u d o n o c y , n a k s z t a ł c e n i e się b r a k ł o i czasu najbardziej 3 chciałem mieć l a t a c h o k u p a c j i został w y w i e z i o n y przymusowe do Niemiec. razem „Myślenie z bratem na o Ptasiej się b a l e m , c z y j e j n i e o k a l e c z y l i , c z y n i o w y p ł o s z y l i z n i e j p t a ­ ków. Zaraz j a k wróciłem poszedłem t a m i ucałowałem nię i fantazję. trawę." przejawia n i e t y l k o w myśli c z y słowie, ale i w w i z j i p l a s t y c z n e j . Sądzę, ż e n i e p o p e ł n i ę b ł ę d u d o s z u k u j ą c się t r z e c h ź r ó d e ł fantazji, Holeszowskiej t r z e c h c z y n n i k ó w , które m o g ł y określić j e j c h a r a k t e r . Są t o : p o p i e r w s z e — p a s j a p o z n a w c z a , d o c i e k l i w o ś ć , n i e skrę­ p o w a n a wiarą, biblijną koncepcją świata. P o d r u g i e — folklor Dolinie, t o , że muszę d o n i e j wrócić, t r z y m a ł o m n i e p r z y życiu. Ciągle i środków. M a j e d n a k o d dzieciństwa ciekawość świata, w y o b r a ź ­ J e s t t o p r z y t y m f a n t a z j a , która się wtedy Śniło m u się, że m a l u j e , śniły o b r a z y , D o l i n k a . w t y c h H o l e s z z n a n i e w i e l e . A l e skąd m a j e znać 1 Ż y c i e miał ciężkie, A s k r z y p c e i trochę f a r b do m a l o w a n i a . " wiosenną 4 W r ó c i ł w 1945 r . M i a ł w ó w c z a s 2 4 l a t a . Ożenił się, zaczął p r a ­ cować w k o p a l n i „Moszczenica". O m a l o w a n i u n i e było choć często dom. Zaczął stawiać w o Świerklanach t y m myślał. go Trzeba było n a kawałku Dolnych. W istocie najpierw ziemi, który były to mowy, wybudować żona dwa domy, miała naj­ śląski, j a k n p . m i e j s c o w o l e g o n d y o p o s z u k i w a c z a c h zbójnickiego p i e r w p r o w i z o r y c z n y , a b y b y ł o g d z i e mieszkać podczas s k a r b u i t p . Po trzecie — w ł a ś c i w e g o , t e g o „ n a całe ż y c i e " . P i e n i ę d z y m i e l i m a ł o , w s z y s t k o wrażliwość n a piękno p r z y r o d y . N a piękno t o wrażliwy był o d dziecka. Chodził z k r o w a m i sąsiadów d o położonej w pobliżu w s i , t a k zwanej Ptasiej Do­ więc robił s a m , p o p r a c y w budowy k o p a l n i . „ B u d o w a ł e m dziesięć l a t , mówił. Żona była obarczona r o d z e n i e m , a j a s a m robiłem ceg- 13 �łę, potem drzwi, wypolałem, murowałem ściany." S a m robił 5 okna, meble. P e w n e g o r a z u znalazł w szybie wyraźnie odciśnięty był ślad kawałek jakiejś węgla w rośliny, którym paproci — jak sądził. Zainteresowało go t o , wkrótce znalazł więcej t a k i c h ska­ m i e l i n ze ś l a d a m i z a m i e r z c h ł e j myślałem jak to dawniej przeszłości. „ 1 w t o d y sobie p o ­ b y ł o , że i t a myśl n i e dawała m i s p o k o j u . " dów. N a papierze woskowanym, 6 musiał istnieć inny świat Zbierał o d c i s k i roślin, owa­ który miał zawinięte śnia­ w danie odrysowywał w z o r y z większych brył i gromadził w d o m u . Usiłował na podstawie tych sobie j a k wyglądała z i e m i a rosły o g r o m n e jawie. fragmentów dziejów wyobrazić w epoce karbońskiej, k i e d y jeszcze l a s y , p a p r o c i e . W y o b r a ż a ł t o s o b i e w e śnie i n a Wyobraźnię ma konkretną, umysłowość racjonalną, bez c i e n i a m e t a f i z y k i , częstych u górników zainteresowań g i j n y cli czy okultystycznych. Postanowił swoje wizje reli­ ,,Kar- b o i i s k i e " namalować. Ale n a j p i e r w trzeba było ukończyć d o m . Pierwsze z pokostem. sobie czarno-białe Żona sam, z dala krowiego obrazy malował m u stare mieszając prześcieradło, l u b końskiego włosia. Kiedy już w y k o ń c z o n y i s k o ń c z y ł y się n a j w i ę k s z e k ł o p o t y żona może już uznała, że k i l k a olejnych farb — zająć sadzę pędzle się m a l o w a n i e m . dom I erze karbońskiej był finansowe, Kupiła mu zieloną, czerwoną, fioletową, żółtą i b i a ­ łą. „ A l e , m ó w i H o l e s z , n i c t o j e s z c z e n i e w y c h o d z i ł o , b o w zrobił były bardzo kolorowe w t e d y poprosiłem żonę o 24 zestawy drzewa świecić. f a r b za 220 złotych, żeby były warszawskie, Boga, t y l e pieniędzy, a d z i e c i o m t r z e b a n a c h l e b dać. M i e l i ś m y już piątkę naszych artystyczne, i musiały dzieciaków olejne. (...) Żona Zona mówi: sprawiła Bój mi się jednak wielką niespodziankę. Myślała t a k : n i e p a l i , n i e p i j e , d o k n a j p y nie — chodzi... I kiedyś, j a k wróciłem z pracy, zamiast obiadu n a s t o l e s t a ł y f a r b y . J a k t o f a r b y z o b a e z 3 ' ł e m —• z a p ę d z e l k i wziąłem i próbuję wychodziło gamę kolorów wydostać. od razu, chyba dlatego, I mnie że f a r b y m n i e to jakoś polubiły." 7 �I I . 1. L u d w i k H o l e s z z r o d z i n ą , k a d r z f i l m u . . G ó r n i k m a l a r z " ; i l . 2 — 4 . P r z y r o d a k a r b o n u , o l e j / p ł y t a p i l ś ń . , p r z e d 1 9 6 8 г.; i l . 5. E r a karbońska, olej/płyta pilśń.,; w y m . 2 4 5 x 3 6 5 e m , 1 9 6 8 . O b r a z n a ścianie p o k o j u w m i e s z k a n i u m a l a r z a M a l o w a n i e absorbowało j o g o m y ś l i , oglądał zebrane s k a m i o liny (w 1967 r. widziałem i c h u niego p o n a d 150) i usiłował s o b i e w y o b r a z i ć , c o się d z i a ł o p r z e d 2 3 0 m i l i o n a m i l a l . „ M y ś l a ł e m s k ą d się w z i ą ł n a s z ukła.d s ł o n e c z n y , t e r o ś l i n y , n o s k ą d ? Prze­ Koledzy wyśmiewali Poszedł wówczas powiedział — się do R y b n i k a ciekawe. z niego, przestali do Muzeum. Zaniósł obrazy go odwiedzać. Dyrektor, redaktorowi Właśnie o n , E d w a r d P o p p e k napisał p i e r w s z y plastyk, „Nowin". artykuł o Hole- cież o z l o w i e k a w t e d y n i e b y ł o . W i ę c k t o j e zasiał, B ó g ? N o n i e , szu. więc niedziałek idę do k o p a l n i , a o n i m n i e n i e widzą, odchodzą n a j a k to było? więc i m a l o w a ł e m . " Chciałem 8 I t e n szyfr odcyfrować. t a k t w o r z y ł się ś w i a t Myślałem Holesza. 9 Ale: „Ludzie przeczytali b o k . Zabolało m n i e „Nowiny" w niedzielę, a w p o ­ t o bardzo. Dlaczego? Zazdiościli, czy co? 15 �П . 7. W i z j a ż y c i a n a i n n e j p l a n e c i e , o l e j / p ł y t a p i l ś ń . , w y m . 6 0 x 8 0 c m , 1 9 7 3 г.; i l . 8 . E p o k a k a r b o ń s k a I X , o l e j / p ł . ; i l . 9 . Upadek Ale malować przestałem. ery karbońskiej. Jednak ciągnęło Pojawienie mnie. rzeźba, w y s . 25 c m , o k . 1968 r . się ssaków, Żona mówi, i d l a t e g o j e g o k o n c e p c j e m o g ą się n a m w y d a ć n a i w n e . N i e t y m a l u j j a k i n n i , l a n s z a f t y . N i e b a r d z o m i t o leżało, t o n i e t o , sobie Poppek, są W ż e się marnuję.. W i ę c z n ó w z a c z ą ł e m t e m o j e końcu P o p p e k tawiono w lepiej wiedział, n i e ? " Muzeum. Holesz stał się 1 0 znany, więcej kupowali, brali i szybciej. na Zaczął się w i d a ć g d y się j o z e s t a w i a rannie, listki, kłącza, wystawy. Musiał powtarzać. wys­ przyrównywano go d o O c i e p k i . Zaczęli przyjeżdżać d z i e n n i k a r z e , obrazy malować. Wkrótce obrazy kolekcjonerzy, więc malować Pierwsze obrazy, z późniejszymi, były m a l o w a n e paprocio były małe, niomal sprawy, cząstkowe, tych to usiłuje tworzenie syntezy naiwnego jakby w motyle. tej fazie malowania patrzył nieco z bliższej stwory, powiększał, odległości n a swój i m a g i n o w a n y k a r b o n . F a r b a kładziona jest szybciej, starannie szych (ił. 8). Zmieniła czarno-białych i się gama kolorystyczna. Po późniejszych w dominującej T mi mniej pierw­ tonacji nim sobie, Wobec że tego, a zewnętrzną Ponieważ swym istnieje torze w ziemia przestrzeni ukonkretnienia obraźnia zaczęło eię u Holesza z potrzeby przemyśleń. M y ś l inspirowała konkretyzowała się w obrazie. t o g o , co n a m a l u j e , ponieważ g o t o w y wizualnego wyobraźnię, Zawsze był z przez razem, a by wy­ ciekaw jądro kula stworzeniami." kulą, kurczy która się się w o l n a ziemska powoli i między przestrzeń. porusza Wystarczy się po jednak, że przypadkiem t ę s k o r u p ę i cała w o d a z o s t a n i e w e s s a n a d o ś r o d k a . co mówi Holesz o epoce karbońskiej, którą pachnie. zieleni. Malowanie i Jest Konsekwen­ cją b ę d z i e z a n i k ż y c i a n a z i e m i n a s k u t e k b r a k u w o d y . . . A wieczór i się ktoś, z poszukujących r o p y n a oceanach, przebije zielono. czerwieni ognistą kosmicznej. dzisiaj, w gamie — ilości elementów narodziło skorupą z i e m i t w o r z y przyciąganie, słonko n i e świeciło, c i e m n o rozegrane była dedukowal, — obrazy dziejów. doszedł d o t e g o , żc z a p a n o w a ł n a d i n n y m i f i o l e t ó w , o r a n ż u i u z u p e ł n i a j ą c y c h j o z i e l e n i i b i e l i , p o j a w i ł y się już n a długie l a t a — naukę g o n i e m o g ł y zjeść i n n e s t w o r z e n i a , b o j a k i n a c z e j b y p r z e t r w a ł n i c się j e d n a k n i e d z i a ł o , w i ę c elementy ,,W szystko przez obraz d o d z i s i a j . P r z e z l a t a w s z y s t k o się z m i o n i a ł o , c z ł o w i e k s t o p n i a ­ boz planów bliższych i d a l s z y c h Wszystkie z niedostatecznej zdaje hipotez to stygnie. płazy, logiczny jego człowiek mógł być n p . chrabąszczem i mieć swój pancerz, przeciętą o s t r y m s k a l p e l o m — gady, zweryfikowano zbudować ewolucjonistę; Wyobraził t e j roślinnej k u r t y n i e się p o d s t a w ą sta­ misterne, H o l e s z zaczął wprowadzać w tę gęstwinę jakieś d z i w n e n i e zawsze faktów całość p r z e d s t a w i a ł a p ł a s k o , f r o n t a l n i e m a l o w a n ą g ą s z c z , j a k b y (il. 4). W ż e f a k t y , k t ó r e stają świeciły, które bo Rosły ściągały otaczały naszą do ciemności, j a k m a c i e j k a , wtedy ziomi miały inny kolor, u l t r a f i o l e t przez planetę... T a k a jest moja sobie t o wyobrażam, ale c h y b a t a k w t e d y mogło obraz inspirował jego w y ­ Oczywiście Holesza oto „Wtedy było n a z i e m i , rośliny n i e b y ł y j a k one w Rośliny maluje: musiał także co n a ciągle kłęby fantazja, być." zainteresować się pary, tak 1 1 kosmos. obraźnię i myśl. W i z j e k a r b o n u n i e wyczerpywały jogo zainte­ Nie resowań. Powiedziałem o jego pasji poznawczej. gdyby cywilizacją, w y c h o d z i też myślą k u przyszłości. J e s t więc wśród miał szanse studiów, m ó g ł b y zostać n a u k o w c e m , f i z y k i e m , geo­ m a l a r z y n u r t u naiwnego („innogo") podobnie j a k Ociepka i Sówka, logiem, reprezentantem k i e r u n k u , który m y , z zewnątrz, m o ż e m y 16 przyrodnikiom, filozofom, ale Holesz wykształcenia nie miał t y l k o w i ę c m a l u j e co b y ł o , ale i co m o ż e b y ć p o z a naszą zak- �т �waliiikować miasta jako science-fiction. przyszłości, niepodobne zagrażało założone Maluje na więc ' l o t y innych kosmiczne, planetach, „całkiem do naszych. T a k i e w których człowiekowi n i e będzie żadne niebezpieczeństwo. (...) Człowiek jest przeżyć 4 0 0 , 500 łat, t y l k o że d z i s i a j jest z a c h w i a n a w p r z y r o d z i e : t l e n się w y c z e r p u j e aby ten <lom polskiego zdolny równowaga o d t y c h wybuchów, o d spalin, W inteligencji" wizją kosmiczne twórczą, miczne różnią inspirowaną mieszczą się w śladami ramach były skamielin, natomiast schematów kos­ komiksowych, ob­ r a z ó w s c i e n c e - f i c t i o n , f i l m ó w . Ilość w z o r ó w jest t a k a , że praca wyobraźni samo­ malarza polega n a selekcji, a nie tworzeniu d z i e l n y c h w i z j i . Różnica jest także w t r a k t o w a n i u przestrzeni. Jak w już powiedziałem „Karbon" n i m głębi, planów obrazach w przestrzeni jest płaszczyznowy, malarskich, tymczasem ludzie, gwiazdy, kratery, maszyny trójwymiarowej, w w nie kosmicznych przedstawione ujęciu Przestrzenne w drewnie. są perspektywicznym, jednak inne nie wizji, znakiem, W zarówno funkcje symbolizuje. niebo. niż w węglu j a k i w obrazy. Rzeźba nie pozwala zmusza Malarstwo mają ilustruje, n a opowieść, n a d o skrótu p l a s t y c z n e g o , wykonane drewnie, rzeźba przedstawie­ d o posługiwania się symbolom. pomalował ją rzeczywistości. Ciekawo reprodukowana obok, olejno, są k o m p o z y c j e Ale w obrazach face, t u zaś tworzą którą należy oglądać, obracając n a m wciąż a b y bardziej przedstawiająca skiej. zywała pojawiały ciekawą się z epoki się z p r o f i l u te podejmują stworzyć gactwem naszej wanej czaso-przestrzenną, profile uka­ ( i l . 9). poszczególne motywy pomnik węglowi, gospodarki. który „Trzeba jest hołd obrazów, symbo­ jednak największym bo­ węglowi" m ó w i . N i e c h się l u d z i e z a s t a n o w i ą , c o się z ł o ż y ł o n a powstanie węgla. otrzymał w oraz niech zdobią mój takiej i publikacji, z- B H Z Ponadto ewidencji a mnie, o nie obrazów „ D e s a " , że jego poinformował zenie pytania obrazy że: namalo­ 1979 r. edznakę Zasłużonego Działacza Kultury odznakę Zasłużonego w rozwoju Województwa Ka­ towickiego, — za swój t r u d górniczy o t r z y m a ł w Pracy — 1976 r. Order Sztandaru I Ikl., w 1982 r . d o c e n i o n o go n a w e t n a m i e j s c u , i otrzymał d y p l o m zasłużonego d l a g r o m a d y Świerklany Dolne. w R F N list z gratulacjami o d ó w c z e s n e g o k a n c l e r z a H e l m u t a S c h m i d t a , że c ó r k a W e r o n i k a , p o d w p ł y w e m ojca też m a l u j e , r o b i niezłe l i n o r y t y , z p a s j i spo­ łecznikowskiej uczy dzieci rysunku r o l n i k a . N i e podał, że m i a l 9 w y s t a w i conajmniej 1 zagranicą kowie, całkiem Dla Rybniku, w już w okolicznych Klubach indywidualnych w kraju ( w R F N ) , że p r a c o j e g o z n a j d u j ą kolekcji solidnego B y t o m i u , Zabrzu, Zimmerera. wieku, zaczął Nie pedał, budować... się Kra­ żo mimo trzeci d i m dzieci. P R Z Y P I S Y B . Surówka, W y s t a w a obrazów L u d w i k a Holesza, „Malarz „Dziennik Z a c h o d n i " , K a t o w i c e , 6.03.1970 A n d r z e j N i e d o b a , . Wizjoner z Ptasiej Doliny, „Tygodnik K u l t u r a l n y " , 17.08.1980 r. 1 naiwny", j-w. j-w. U r s z u l a B i e ł o u s , Węglowe rzeźby, „ T y g o d n i k K u l t u r a l n y " , 25.06.1972 r. W y w i a d n a g r a n y przeze m n i e w 1967 r . U . Bielous, j . w . W y w i a d mój z 1975 r . M . P o p p e k , Górnik i malarz, „ N o w i n y " n r 6, R y b n i k , 1 9 6 8 W y w i a d mój z 1975 r . U . Bielous, j . w . j.w. 13 W y w i a d m ó j z 1 9 7 5 r . 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 1 1 „Chcę wyrzeźbić w węglu d i n o z a u r y , s y m b o l t a m t y c h , o g r o m dom." 1 3 Chcę, 1 2 F o t . : J . Tworek i l . 1 ; J . Świderski i l . 2—9 I I . 10. B r y ł a węgla z o d c i s k i e m p a p r o c i , znaleziona w k o p a l n i , kolekcja L u d w i k a Holesza 18 Wie że moje i rzeczy 1 0 j a k d o m 10 p i ę t r o w y , przed 2 składać nyoh b y ł cieślą g ó r ­ już n i e p o p r a w i a , karboń­ lizujące epokę, w której powstawał węgiel. H o l e s z chce także 26 krajów. l u b w skrócie e n w ręku rzeźbę, t a k a b y się do z drewna surowego, n p . stwory kompozycję zmieniające zbliżała A rzeźby w węglu, m a t e r i a l e miękkim, łatwym w obróbce? Rzeźby tego było, i wystaw, 2000. Na m a l u j e zawsze o d lewej s t r o n y do p r a w e j — człowieka, liście n a p i s a n y m sposób". w zbiorach muzealnych w : Warszawio, d r e w n i e wykonał a u t o p o r t r e t , swoją głowę, n a t u r a l n y c h rozmiarów, swój i t d . odpowiedział, ponad do na N i e p c d a l , że o t r z y m a ł p o w y s t a w i e są t a k ż e r z e ź b y H o l e s z a , z w ł a s z c z a Rzeźby, — „Eden zakupy prowadził, dużo ma c o z r e s z t ą n i e z m i e n i a f a k t u , iż s p u t n i k i w y g l ą d a j ą j a k d z i e c i n n e b ą c z k i w k r ę c a j ą c e się w oraz namalował poszły przychodzie z a p r a s z a ł m n i e d o p r z y j a z d u . M a l u j ę , p i s a ł „Stwoi wystawy, 1 2 się o d k a r b o ń s k i c h , t a m t e będą górnika. niczym), malował p l a k a t y B H P i t d . W ogromne Obrazy do którego 1979 r , H o l e s z przeszedł n a e m e r y t u r ę . Zresztą już wcześ­ rokiem toorię, z ksiąg n i e w y c z y t a ł e m . . . " jak muzeum, j a k było i podziwiać t r u d zw; kiego n i e j o t r z y m a ł w k o p a l n i lżejszą pracę ( p r z e d t e m g i n i e d r z e w o s t a n . I g d y b y n i e t a e r a karbońska, która zostawiła z a p a s y t l o n u , t o b y dziś ż y c i e ustało. M a m taką swoją" był l u d z i e oglądać — �Ewa Korulska „NIKIFOR, OCIEPKO I JA". O STANISŁAWIE ZAGAJEWSKIM i S t a n i s ł a w Z a g a j e w s k i u r o d z i ł się 2 0 . 0 0 . 1 9 2 7 r . w Warszawie. M i a ł dwa- l a t a , k i e d y m a t k a pozostawiła, go p o d d r z w i a m i koś­ cioła ś w . B a r b a r y , p o l e c a j ą c spędził w Kościelnym opiece B o g a Zakładzie w i ludzi. botniczy wórzu Dzieciństwo Ciechocinku, później, od i zamieszkał przy Było boret. w maleńkiej u l . Prostej. t a m miejsce komórce stojącej na pod­ , tylko na prymitywne T a m ' zaczął rzeźbić w ł ó ż k o , stół i t a ­ g l i n i e , dla. s i e b i e , z absolutnym 1 9 3 5 r . b y ł u sióstr E l ż b i e t a n o k w G r a b i u k . T o r u n i a i t a m r o z ­ przekonaniem, począł naukę więcej czasu przyjął pracę nocnego d o z o r c y w m l e c z a r n i . Rzeźbił Domu Brata Był wet w szkole, potem w 1939 r. przeniesiono Alberta w Warszawie, pomocnikiem kucharza, gdzie pełnił różne ogrodnikiom, posługi. introligatorem, na­ zdecydował się zdolności na u c z y ł się w manualne i od dziecka chętnie lepił zawód murarza Szkole Rzemiosła i dekoratora. w Warszawie, w 1949 r . Przez dwa poczem pra­ cował j a k o m u r a r z p r z y r e k o n s t r u k c j i Starego M i a s t a , budowie t r a s y W - Z i M D M . D l a n i e z b y t silnego, n i s k i e g o chłopca wyczerpującą, g l i n y . Z d o b i ! je z r o b i o n y m i z d r u t u , p r z e n i ó s ł się w i ę e d o P r a c o w n i Instytutu guzików były wręcz więc bez trudu. dziedzinie Musiał j e d n a k otwory. Kiedyś kilka na Prostą. znakomite. Byłem Zagajewski wstrząśnięty, obdarty, duże ptaki brudny, zaroś­ praca nięty. N a jego barłogu szron. Wszędzie rzeźby. W y n i ó s ł je do f o t o g r a f i i , chciałem kupić jedną. „ N i e p o t o P a n Jezus dał m i talent, w surowej i koralików p a ­ Konserwa­ swe zwłaszcza mieć Sztuki. Poszedłem zwrócono uzdolnienia, Aby m i e s i ę c y n a s z a f i e , w r e s z c i e k t o ś z o r i e n t o w a ł się i w y s i a ł j e d o ceramiki, go powołanie. zaniósł k i l k a m a ł y c h p t a s z k ó w d o „ Z a c h ę t y " . T a m leżały uwagę przyjęto właściwe n i e z w y k ł e p t a k i , małe i duże, dochcdząco d o m e t r a , z c j i Z a b y t k ó w . M i a ł r e k o m e n d a c j ę ze S z k o ł y , w k t ó r e j n a jego t o jego l e m k a m i ( k w i a t a m i ? ) , które wtykał w specjalne duże z g l i n y różne k o g u t k i , p t a s z k i , zwierzątka. D l a t e g o była do krawcem. ,,Miał lata go że j o s t opuścić h o t e l r o ­ powiedział, koguty, w żebym zamian go sprzedał". za potrzebny Ałe dzieciom m u drut, cekiny, dawał korale i g u z i k i . Co k i l k a miesięcy przychodził d o I n s t y t u t u i s p o k o j n i e , 19 1 ��z godnością żądał, a b y j u t r o przysłać f o t o g r a f a , ponieważ będzie szek śpiewa, kukułka c z y coś. I „walić" niem, kiem rzeźby. N i e gotowe, W Był by swym miał miejsca rzeźbić niego i książki najważniejsze: wieść S c h u l z a Kamień pełno p o w i n o w a c t w o ze życie, rozpierał który Moje kilkoma, książkami. Benvenuto życie a l b u m Michała Anioła Czytał cierpienie. ją w i e l e Celli- oraz razy, z g e n i a l n y m Włochem. Był mały, złamanym rzeźbienia, młot­ nosem, utykał n a nogę, g o t a l e n t , chęć r z e ź b i e n i a . tłumaczył, najbardziej ale śpiewem „Jak Leonardo, i więc nowe. d o b y t k u nie miał n i c , poza t a m W i t Stwosz, brzydki, i g l i n y , rozbijał każdy artysta odpowiada jego „Jest musi byłem młody Postać piękna, mi ptak się pozostał." twarze twarz—maska śniły. diabła Z Bliskiego (...) teraz to j u ż n i e m a m t y c h s n ó w . D l a t e g o , że j a k c z ł o w i e k t w o r z y , p r a ­ po­ c u j e , t o n i e m y ś l i . J a k się n i e p r a c u j e , t o c z ł o w i e k d o ś ć c z ę s t o m y ś l i . J a k p r a c u j ę , t o w o g ó l e n i e m y ś l ę , n i c m i się n i e p r z e d ­ stawia (we śnie), żadna zjawa." MARZENIA 75 sposobów talentowi". to t a k ja,kby t o n p t a k trzepota­ I ciężkie wybrać taki, „Dwunastu Pokazałem j e g o dzieła w C e p e l i i . Z w o ł a n o specjalną naradę, n i e gada. czuł krępy, miał Wschodu. odpędził wiedziano Szopka to Apostołów (...) Betlejemska pierwsze marzenie. o d dzieciństwa A chciałem drugie zrobić — Boże co o rzeźbach t y c h sadzić. Z a c h w y c i ł y rzeźbiarzy i architektów. N a r o d z e n i e . N i e n a okres Świąt, t y l k o n a cały r o k i t o wielkości Postanowiła n a t u r a l n e j . Płaskorzeźby — Z w i a s t o w a n i e , j a k A n i o ł się u k a z a ł , niemowlęcia przez i dano m u pomóc Cepelia. pokój, a później Przyjęto go na konwojenta dzięki d y r . K a r n k o w s k i e m u otrzymał mieszkanie we Włocławku Zakładzie Ceramicznym i pracę w (1972 k i e r o w a n y m przez jak w kompozycjo, c i ą g ł y m t r a n s i e , d z i e l ą c czas n a l e p i e n i e kogut­ kościele. W monialnie przez p r a c y m a często s y t u a c j o k o n f l i k t o w e , bezcere­ wyrzuca kolegów sprawę W Mater z wymiaru Chrystusa ciekawo kursach — figurki, „prywatne" jego modelowane rzeźby. Jest nie­ Kopernika, robi te­ wyobrażenia t e m a t y , które poruszają tematów, Chopina, wrażenio aż d o bólu konwulsyjnie ujęcia wykręcone zwierzęta, sugerowanych Pana rysować. prace. Najlepsza Ogród Oliwny. na kon­ Twardowskiego. Jego wiem mniej Bo j a k się projektuje to trzeba człowiek j a k a może być jest pierwsza myśl. długo zmienia (...) Już m a m p r z y s z y k o w a n e r o z m a i t e rośliny, p a l ­ m y , k a k t u s y , s k a ł y e h c ę p r z y s z y k o w a ć . T a m skał n i e b y ł o , a l e chcę umieścić też zarośla, s t r u m y k — u p i ę k s z y ć , w z b o g a c i ć a r c h i ­ t e k t u r ę t e g o o g r o d u . D u ż o p t a k ó w c h c ę u m i e ś c i ć (...). E w a n g e l i a m ó w i , że A n i o ł powiedziane, największe Biczowanego; Rzeźbi próby zdają talentu. k o m p o z ^ сjaeh wyobraźnię. ptaki, swoje r e l i g i j n a , żarliwe, ekstatyczne Dolorosa, jego cepeliowskie t r u d n y , s z c z ę ś c i e , że j e g o o p i e k u n o w i e wielkich matyka pieca i wstawia zdyscyplinowany, sobie z J a już t o p r z y c h o d z i myśl nagła, m o m e n t a l n i e . N i e myśleć, k ó w w Zakładzie ( n i e n a w i d z i t e j pracy'.), rzeźbicnio i modlitwę w Heroda. więcej j a k t o m a być, a reszta, t a k i e l u k i , t o w y c h o d z i w p r a c y . Bo г.). Z a g a j e w s k i rzeźbi o d tego czasu coraz większe pracuje niego pomordowano podaje że k r z y ż . S t a r y m Testamencie jest J a chcę umieścić j e d n o i d r u g i e , kielich, a w żeby n i e b y ł o s p r z o c z n o ś c i . . . B ę d ą m i e l i całą m ę k ę , j a k k o r o n a c i e r ­ n i o w a , krzyż, 3 gwoździe — czy kruk, zabrakło trzech Apostołów, Judasza koguta, było, ptaki ale t o było i c h więcej, ale złodziej ukradł, i przybili dwie nogi razem. rozmaito. Małpki, p a l m y , kokosy. wszystko (...) M a m już j a k o diabła chcę przedstawić. M a m jedno, ja to chcę T a m t a k nie przedstawić." dzieła, m i s t r z o w s k i e i jednocześnie nieokiełznane, p r z y w o d z ą n a m y ś l b a r o k hiszpański, rzeźbę ceramiczną renesansu, ale wszystkim genialną żyje w ten rodzaj pozaczasowej architekturę ciężkich Gaudiogo. ekspresji, S a m twórca, warunkach. W która mimo p o k o j u m a swój przede cechuje pomocy, barłóg, l a t najbliższym jego towarzyszem 6. Paw V, g l i n a w y p a l a n a , p o l e w a w y s . 54 c m , 1964 r. ciemnozielona, stół, wszędzie glina,, spiętrzone, j e d n a n a d r u g i e j k o m p o z y c j e . kilkanaście II. Przez b y l pies, „Pe­ / r e ł k a " . Z a g a j e w s k i o p i e k u j e się c h ł o p c a m i , k t ó r z y m u p o m a g a j ą w pracy, mogli się za otrzymane uczyć pieniądze i mieli funduje i m stypendia, zapewniony obiad. Połowę aby pieniędzy d a j e n a t a c ę w k o ś c i e l o , s a m o b y w a się t y m , oo s t a n o w i m i n i ­ mum egzystencji. Każdego roku wyrusza na pielgrzymkę do Częstochowy. W o s t a t n i c h l a t a c h w y r z e ź b i ł o g r o m n e o ł t a r z e . Są t o d z i e ł a z n a k o m i t e , najważniejsze mu w 1981 r. N a g r o d a w d o r o b k u Zagajewskiego. Przyznana i m . Brata Alberta stanowi najwyższy r d o w ó d u z n a n i a d l a jego twórczości religijnej. Ale wielki rzeź­ b i a r z , którego dzielą p o w i n n y zdobić M u z e u m N a r o d o w o , jest niedoceniany. bowiem Nawet „za s m u t n y " . filmu o n i m nie pokazuje wciąż się, jest 1 SNY „Śniły m i się t r z y k o n w i e z m l e k i e m , m l e k o było poroz­ lewane. T r z e c h nas było, mężczyzn, t a m t y c h n i e znałem. I szeliśmy t y l k o glos, j a k m ó w i ! — się z a s t a n a w i a m , j a k t o , t y l e m l e k a w y p i ć po jednej k o n w i przypadało. I zdaje, — się o b u d z i ł e m bo na (...) r ja każdego To mnie j e ś l i się n i e m y l ę , n i e c h c ę się w y w y ż s z a ć , a l e to b y l N i k i f o r , drugi Ociepko sły­ to mleko macie wypić. A się pierwszy a trzeci ja,." d o ś ć c z ę s t o ś n i ą m i się z a r o ś l a , w t y c h z a r o ś l a c h j a k i e ś p o ­ t w o r y , p a s z c z e j a k się r o z t w i e r a j ą , stawiłem w rzeźbach Ś n i ą m u się r a c z e j lęzie, piomok, smoki. T o wszystko przed­ i d o dziś p r z e d s t a w i a m . ' p r o j e k t y rzeźb niż r z e ź b y : obcięty tak żeby można c z y coś. 1 z t e g o g a d z a w i j a się d o o k o ł a — zrobić „ n o r m a l n e ga,ładne ptaszki u góry później pta­ 21 I' �I I . 7. Jeleń, g l i n a и-ypalana, w y g . 72 c m , i l . 8. Ptak, g l i n a w y p a l a n a , w y s . 67 c m , 1 9 6 3 г. I I . 9. Stwór, NATCHNIENIE „Najlepsza coś m ó w i ą jost — pierwsza t o jest druga myśl. „ A r t y s t a ściąga o d i n n y c h , alo z m i e n i a , dokłada. T a k i p o Potem myśl, t o już przychodzą człowiek t r a c i s z k o l e t o p o w t a r z a (...) u m n i e p o w t a r z a j ą się n p . o c z y , a l e t o n i e inni, jest to odmiana chęć powtarzają to samo. B o jest się u mnie. t w o r z e n i a . A t r z e c i a m y ś l t o już w o g ó l e n i o m a c o m ó w i ć . J a s y m b o l diabła, k o g u t — n i g d y n i o u t r w a l a m d r u g i e j m y ś l i (...) powiedział w Ogrójcu U mnie t y l k o pierwsza przypadkowe. m y ś l , (...) Przypadek — padek — to pierwsza n i g d y n i k o g o nie słucham. uajlopsze t o różnica t a l e n t e m . J a k się c z ł o w i e k n a u c z y są u m n i e j a k między rzeźby nauką to może powtarzać. A a przy­ myśl." artysta jest zrozumiałe. M o j a Słońce t a k z a c h o d z i , kogoś „Było takie pismo, „Panorama", o k ł a d c e r ę k a b y ł a w y b i t a (...) co 7 l a t w y c h o d z i ł o . Na i b y ł y m o j e pałce. J a m a m palec w kształt półksiężyca (...) t o wielcy ar­ w rodzinie musi da Vinci, Cellini, Matejko. legendy, często Opowiada wspomina o nich imiona Leonardo wymyślone mistrzów. przez „Jeden r z e ź b i ł , d r u g i m a l o w a ł , a j a w g l i n i e r o b i ę . N i e m a t a k , że m a ­ lepsze o d rzeźby c z y rzeźba w drzewie od gliny. (...) rzeźba w g l i n i e p o l e g a n a d o d a w a n i u , a rzeźba n p . w k a m i e n i u u j m o w a n i u materiału. G l i n a rośnie, rzeźbiąc w leja się, jak jaskółka. Wszystko glinie nak­ rośnie." „ T e n zawód, który j a robię t o najwięcej n a B l i s k i m dzie, w Grecji, Egipcie, R z y m i e . Wscho­ J a ż e b y m t a m poszedł, t o b y m miał trzecie miejsce n a świecie. P i e r w s z e t o m o ż e n i e , b o o n i mają doświadczenie''. „Ja drugi — rzeźbię, w t r z e c h s t y l a c h . P i e r w s z y starożytność, s t y l a n t y k u , t r z e c i — to styl barokowy, fantazja." B a r o k oznacza wielość elementów, dekoracyjność. A n t y k z n a c z y t y l e co ekspresyjność ( „ b o l e ś ć , t w a r z w y k r z y w i o n a — to antyk, t o p r a w d z i w a s z t u k a . , p o g a ń s k a " ) , a f a n t a z j a —• t o , co u w a ż a z a swoje 22 własne. praca jest jest zagadkowa. Tu trzeba tylko rebus." cierpliwość, k o n i e c z n y jest spokój. S a m , k i e d y ale i ocenia, uważnie i z d y s t a n ­ j a k b y były to rzeźby ( i ł . 1 1 , 14) „ T o n a j l e p s z a m o j a rzeźba,. M a m t r z y Piety. t o m i się n a j l e p i e j podobała. c z y ć , b y ł a z a p ł a s k o r o b i o n a . (...) Pieta Drugą chciałem Naj­ znisz­ Ściągałem o d Michała Anioła. Michała A n i o ł a była b a r d z o s p o k o j n a , j a k b y n i e cierpiała. Ściągałem też z rzeźby w Muzeum Narodowym w Warszawie. Duża, d w u m e t r o w a , piękna, X V I H - s t o , X I X - s t o w i e c z n a rzeźba. arytstą." M i s t r z o w i e Zagajewskiego t o W i t Stwosz, Michał Anioł, na nim kur « Pieta tyści mają t a k i palec. Co 300 l a t , 50-te d z i e c k o larstwo że ( P i o t r ) z a p r z e s i ę t r z y r a z y innego. mniejsza siebie to OŁTARZE ARTYSTA być w i e l k i m się ś w . P i o t r a . kogut Chrystus prace." krzywy, i Wąż Bo nie tylko komentuje co w t e n d z i e ń z r o b i ł , c o j e s z c z e z r o b i . . . i w s z y s t k i e s w o j e m y ś l i (najmniejszy) zaparcia wąż naśladownictwo. mówi o swoich pracach, patrzy n a fotografie sem, myśli kształtu. A l b o n i e jest szukać, t o j e s t j a k z a g a d k a , z a w s z e w y b i e r a ł z a c h ó d . S p o k ó j , d z i e ń się c h y l ą k u w i e c z o r o w i . t a k n i e jest gorąco... a r t y s t a sobie To z a p i e j e . " .,y...) m ó w i ą m i , ż e b y m r o b i ł p r o s t o , g ł a d k o . A l e t o i t a k Konieczna „ Z a c h ó d słońca. T o największe n a t c h n i e n i e . K a ż d y wkłada w te swoje g l i n a w y p a l a n a , 1962 • 9 �10 Tam w i d a ć boleść, I z y , r u c h y ciała, przemawiają. Michała Anioła To ś c i ą g a ł e m . B o j a k j a r o b i ę n p . Pietą m i e ć p i ę ć , sześć n a w o t z uiej i dziesięć t a k i c h rzeźb i z każdego ściągam. N i c n i e ujmuję, t y l k o dodaję. A i t o muszę coś to oczy, w e l o n , włosy, Dałem m u 4 tysiące, to było dużo. J a u s t a otworzyłem, (uczeń) m ó w i , że j a r o b i ę straszydła. A l e W a r z , odczuwa Jak boleść, s t r a c h — zamknięta, spokojna, t a k a t w a r z n i g d y n i e będzie t o boleści Uczeń n i o mógt odnaleźć „zamodelowanej" żeby w Wykrzywione, barokowe. To Chłopiec m i zamodelował wymaga dużo (postać M a t k i pracy (...). Boskiej i Chrystusa). rzeźbie Zagajewskiego. się k r z y c z e ć . R a n a on cierpi, piękna. nio widać." c h a r a k t e r , u k ł a d c i a ł a . Ż e b y t o n i e b y ł t a k i słupek j a k l u d o w o , było która przoz otwarte siebie usta n a dłoni C h r y s t u s a j a k o t w a r t e Piety wydają usta. Łzy 23 �I �grubo, raczej rękach, fałdy skóry niż łzy. I nogaeh, To krople k r w i , Po lewej jak winogrona, krople k r w i : to n i e są kwiatuszki. stronie ołtarza fragmenty rajskiego i Ewa. I m i ę d z y liści i jabłek s p l o t y węża. U obraz piekła. Maski dołu — płaczące ogrodu: dużo przebijające spo­ poskręcano ciała krwawymi po p r a w e j s t r o n i e , otaczają półkolem Pietę. N a p r a w e j trzy kobiece krawędzi górnej, środkowej p a r t i i popiersia, dłonią ojusujo fragmonty w r a ż e n i e , że n a j b a r d z i e j i dekoracyjności. górnym mają nia rogu otwarte się r u c h ołtarzu W kiej, „pawia strzeń (...) Jioskiej (...) wzbogacić K i e d y chciał zrobić ołtarz z M a k s y m i l i a n e m K o l b o „Ale j a wołał t a k . Diabła przedstawiłem, t y l k o z fastyką, wiadomo biusty łapy i swastykę n a piersi. S z p o n a m i k t o . " Diaboł m a pta*si d z i ó b , rogi, w dłoniach prawym k o r o n y . M a k s y m i l i a n miał sen, opowiadał go k o l e g o m w obozie. z datą „ 7 I I T — V I 1 9 7 5 " w o wielkich lioaka pyskach przemawia, ,,te gady wtedy puszczy)". zmie­ Z koioi w wyrzeźbił z ptakiem pawia zo w z g l ę d u n a w i e l k o ś ć cały obraz. kawałek — Matki Bos­ Mały p t a k , j a k papuga a paw to zemujo być żarówkr." całą czy prze­ Pomysłodawcą Matki Zagajew­ trzyma W ogromne serce z obozowym się p o d s t a w ą kompozycji. („13 m n i e g a d i d i a b e ł t o j e d n o " ) , „Szponami „Matka bracie, jaką koronę sobie wybierasz? jest męka, c i e r p i e n i e , a biała chwalebność, niewinność, czystość. O n w y b r a ł t e d w i e . B o jodną g d y b y w y b r a ł , t o b y m o ż e i ś w i ę t y m nie był, byłby cierpiał i zginął j a k o więzień. A l e w y b r a ł t a k i e już było przeznaczenie nów górnym się". U wyciągają więźniów kopie dołu t r u p y pomordowanych, ogony z piekła śmierci „ a b y prawym rogu ołtarza hitlerowiec, scena których i twarzach albo ukra­ m u , g d y n i e b y ł w s t a n i e s a m upilnować dużej e k i p y . W t o n sposób „sprawdza, u t r a c i ł p r a w i e w s z y s t k i e e l e m e n t y o ł t a r z a Serca Pana „To Jezusa. p i e r w s z a m o j a p r a c a , m ó w i . O n m i się n i o p o d o b a ł , b o b y ł p ł a s k i , zupełnie tak jak mozaika. Tylko później zacząłem zmieniać, poprawiałem. Dodałem k w i a t y , rękawy, szaty ozdobne. m i a l kształt p e l i k a n a , n o g a kielicha to symbol Trójcy Kielich Świętej, p e l i k a n i t r z y m ł o d e . B y ł b a r a n e k , k i e l i c h , w k i e l i c h u b y ł opła­ t e k , w o p ł a t k u na,gie d z i e c i ą t k o , w c a ł o ś c i . A u r e l e ( a u r e o l ę ) m i a ł o , p t a s z k i n a d głową. N i e m o g ę strawić, że m i zginęło A t a k pilnowałem! specjalnie togo czterech ewangelistów (filmowcy). odwróciłem d o ściany... B y ł o (...) Ptaki m i też pokradli, do były t r z y w kształt krzyża ( n a d głową C h r y s t u s a ) . A u r e l a była b a r d z o d u ż a . Z r o b i ł a się l u k a , z m n i e j s z y ł o m j ą . I b y ł o 4 5 g ł ó w n a o k o ł o , z ptaszkami, kwiatami — baroku albo (...) żeby dodać a n i j e d n a nie została." T e bogactwa, głowy m u jo ukradziono. Pozostał fragment (il. 12). W wielkie, z głową j e g o t w a r z y u d e r z a j ą c e są o c z y — smiertolnie religijności, rozdał, sprzedał Chrystusa szeroko otwarto, ( i l . 13). „ T o najlepsza przerażone. Z u p e ł n i e i n n a j e s t t w a r z Frasobliwego m o j a praca, mówi Zagajewski m i a ł e m w y k o n a ć Chrystusa ( t o s a m o p o w i e d z i a ł o Piecie). w Ogrójcu. A l e zrobiłem Ja Frasobliwego. P o d s t o p a m i m a d i a b ł a , w ę ż a . P o b o k a c h (z p r a w e j ) K a i n i A b e l j a k o l e w , p o l e w e j A d a m i E w a . I j a b ł k a t a m są, d r z e w a o w o c o w e i bazie. Pierwszy g r z e c h , k t ó r y C h r y s t u s o d k u p i ł . (...) m a s k i , t o t y l k o t a k (...) te głowy, t a k w całości j e s t c i ę ż k o z r o z u m i e ć . T e n m i się n a j l e p i e j p o d o b a , t o j e s t n a j l e p s z a m o j a p r a c a j a k a m o ż e b y ć . T u są b ł ę d y , w k a ż d y m o ł t a r z u są b ł ę d y . K a ż d y j e d e n m i a ł błędy i Michał Anioł i L e o n a r d o i każdy poprawiał. A l e p o p r a w k i psują." ,,(...) u g ó r y t e g ł o w y t o p r z y p a d k o w o d o d a n e , n a p r ę d k i e g o , b o pierwsze z g i n ę ł y . T e g ł o w y m i się n i e p o d o b a ł y i d a l e j n i o p o ­ dobają. B y ł y głowy, ale o d m i e n n e , z p t a s z k a m i . R o z l o c i a l y się." Postać klęczącego Chrystusa, otaczają zwiorzęta, p t a k i , g a d y . O b o k s y m h o l i e z n y c h j u k lew czy k o g u t , r o z m a i t e s t w o r y o d z i w a c z n y c ł i ' k s z t a ł t a c h „ m ó w i ą , żo t e z w i e r z ę t a t o n i e p a s u j ą d o r e ­ I I . 1 2 . O ł t a r z , Serce Pana Jezusa, stawiający głowę C h r y s t u s a w duszo nio były potępione". — trzech czy W powieszonych jeszcze r a b i a l e m . A d a m a i E w ę chcę r z e ź b i ć . T e ż b ę d z i e p a w . " Stłuczone obronę m^szkarj- ..Wąż t o jest diabeł. K w i a t y , bazio zrobiłem. Zginęły, ale p o d o - rzeźby. dwie, c d B o g a " . P o d s t o p a m i Dzieciątka p t a k -— o r z e ł , s y m b o l P o l s k i . T r z y m a n a p i s „ P o d T w o j ą Matka giną — razie w y b i o r ę s o b i e d w i e . I usłyszał g ł o s M a t k i B o s k i e j , że c z e r w o n a t o dziobie często lewą dlaczego m a m wybierać jedną, j a k m o g ę d w i e ? I w t a k i m którego d z i o n e , często n i e p o w t a r z a l n e . W i e l e zginęło p o d c z a s kręcenia f i l ­ Boska c z y p r a w ą s t r o n ę ? b i a ł ą c z y c z e r w o n ą ? A o n się z a s t a n a w i a B o s k a d e p t a . Dzieciątko t r z y m a p a w i a za o g o n . P a w w t r z y m a o g o n g a d a . M a t k a B o s k a m a p o d s t o p a m i gadu. i k s i ę ż y c " . numerem. lewej ręce t r z y m a ł a białą koronę, a w d r u g i o j ' czerwoną. I p y ­ t a ł a się d o n i e g o : ашо1ол\1> o s k r z y d ł a c h j a k p a w i e Zagajewskiemu żeby szponiaste pochwycił maleńką, nagą k l ę c z y , j a k Frasobliwy, kocha złapał g a d a radzono było p t a k z ptaków, s y m b o l miłości"; nie n i e stf.l żeby doda­ m u , a b y zrobił pracę realistyczną, pokazał obóz, b a r a k i , d r u t y . uciekamy Piw rzeźby, t y l k o wałem." skiego o Madonnę z Dzieciątkiem i może z p t a k i e m , b o Zagajewski ptaki. t o dzieło s z t u k i , nie ujmowałem postać w o k u l a r a c h . K o l b e b y ł L u d w i g Z i m m e r o r , k t ó r y prosił z ptakiem robić żeby było j a k o l u d o w e z D z i e c i ą t k i e m (z n a p i s e m „ P o l s k a " n a s z a r f i e ) p o d a j e m u d w i e potwory v. o k u m i a ł a wyszła. Zacząłem nie ekspresji umieściłem i n n y , to b y zajmował na zależy m u n a dw-u o f o k t a c h : Matka żeby obramował wszystkie niechętnie, odnoszę (w s t o s u n k u do zamkniętej „ b o t o najpiękniejszy tylko: są t e zrobił sym­ Zagajewski. poszczogółnych paszcze bo t o b a r d z i e j nazwanym ze s t a r o ż y t n o ś c i t w a r z e , - m a s k i ? Pierwszą ołtarzy Piecie umieścił A płasko­ podtrzymujące „ t o ż e b y rzeźb;-., b y ł a e d m i e n n a " , m ó w i Kiedy Ale to nieprawda, zwierzęta." łzami ołtarza s y l w e t k a k o g u t a z w i e l k i m , o t w a r t y m d z i o b e m — b o l z a p a r c i a się ś w . P i o t r a . W rzeźby ligijności. zamówienie: „później zacząłem robić t e t w a r z e , b o m i p i e r w s z a barokowo." jabłek, wśród n i c h z r g u b i e n i A d a m potępionych, ,,te bąble n a żadne fragment przed­ kwietnej aureoli. żyją". �П . 1 3 . O ł t a r z Vhryshu) Frasobliwy. Wokół postaci Kolbego napisy w kajdanach", „Okupacja" „ M ó w i ą , że t e z w i e r z ę t a t o n i e p a s u j ą d o r e l i g i j n o ś c i . A l e t o n i e p r a w d a , ze są t e w s z y s t k i e z w i e r z ę t a " . „Święty", „Oświęcim" i „Boże, O ł t a r z e , z g o d n i e ze w s k a z ó w k a m i i c h t w ó r c y n a l e ż y t a k i e , k t ó r o są s y n t e z ą j e g o s t o s u n k u d o w ł a s ­ nej twórczości, d o siebie j a k o 26 czytać chętnie wymyślone przez siobio l e g e n d y , t a k i e które pragnąłby wyrzeźbić, albo artysty. LEGENDY ratuj". scena p o scenie, j a k przypowieść w o b r a z a c h . Z a g a j e w s k i opowiada „Polska starożytności „ C h c i a ł b y m p o k a z a ć u c i e c z k ę d o E g i p t u . (...) p r z y zacłiodzie słońca d o c h o d z i l i d o m i a s t a . N i e m i e l i g d z i e się s c h o w a ć , śladowcy pod w byli bardzo blisko. I Chrystus z rodziną o s i k ę . T e n z a c h ó d słońca i t o w s z y s t k o . gałęziach osiki) zaczęła kukać, wrócili skryli Kukułka się prze­ się (ukryta prześladowcy. �II. I 1 4 . O l t i U - z Pieta, Dzieciątko glina. 1975 r. „ T e g a d y mają otwarte p r z e k l ę ł o p t a k a , że n i e b ę d z i e d z i e c i s w o i c h w a ć , żo z d r a d z i ł a m i e j s c e paszcze cho­ bo t o b a r d z i e j przemawia, wtedy z m i e n i a się, j e s t ruch' „ M i e s z k a ł w pałacu. I t a m b y ł kościół, t a k z w a n a k a t e d r a . P r z y z a c h o d z i e słońca w i d z i a ł w s z y s t k o , j a k l u d z i e w y c h o d z ą , w c h o d z ą schronienia." do t e j k a t e d r y . I myśli — m ó g ł b y m t o zniszczyć, ale t o t y l e w i e ­ „Król wiada z Dawid. To wielkim takie moje przejęciem, kwestie, które przypisuje zmyślone." Zagajewski niemal postaciom aktorsko opo­ wypowiadając z opowieści. N i e pozwala k ó w b u d o w a n e . T o są c h r z e ś c i j a n i e , m a j ą w o l n ą s i l n ą w o l ę i t a m chodzą. (...) Król z a s t a n o w i ł się, aż do tej k a t e d r y , a t a m wszystko któregoś d n i a wybrał s o b i e p r z e r w a ć , b a r d z i e j gra,, n i ż m ó w i . O p o w i a d a o k r ó l u , k t ó r y s k l e p i e n i a , w s z y s t k o . Z a s t a n o w i ł się, p o c o c z ł o w i e k d a j e morzył którego n i e zna, t y l e o wielkości. B y ł potężny, bogaty. I był niewierzący: się było rzeźbione, ławki, ołtarze, Bogu piękna." 27 �W kościele król s p o t y k a małego chłopca, k t ó r y w t a j e m n i c z a go w podstawy wiary chrześcijańskiej. Opowiada mu również o a u t o r z e psalmów, które zachwyciły pogańskiego króla — D a w i ­ P o t e m chłopiec m a l u j e p o r t r e t w i ę ź n i a : „ D z i a d , n i e o g o l o n y , zaniedbany, spędził król D a w i d . W całe życie w więzieniu. I to jest właśnie k o r o n i e , z i n s t r u m e n t e m , umieścił p o b o k u go- dzie. I n a w r ó c o n y król ogłasza k o n k u r s n a p o r t r e t Króla D a w i d a . laska, t z w . a m o r k a i ptaszka. I pokazuje m u — Z j e ż d ż a j ą się a r t y ś c i z c a ł e g o ś w i a t a . P o s t a n a w i a w z i ą ć u d z i a ł w Dawidem! k o n k u r s i e także ó w chłopiec z k a t e d r y . J e s t b i e d n y , bez j a k zmieniają szaty, r u c h y , t r o n ! K r ó l popatrzył, zobaczył obraz, matki, N i e poznajesz g ł o d n y , b o s y . J e s t z i m a , a. o d l e g ł o ś ć d o pała.eu u r a s t a ( k o ś c i ó ł m i a l powiedział b y ć w i d o c z n y z j e g o o k i e n ) d o m a g i c z n y c h t r z e c h d n i d r o g i . Chło­ To był Leonardo — to siebie 1 — arcydzieło! da Vinci." jesteś k r ó l e m a l e j a k j a się Został malarzem zmieniłem, nadwornym. 2 piec w y r u s z a , p r z e k o n a n y , że m a t a l e n t o d B o g a , k t ó r y n a t c h n i e go, a b y stworzył najlepszy p o r t r e t D a w i d a . Punktuałnieo północy, w lesie, zjawę — z chłopiec słyszy bicie dzwonów. Jednocześnie n i e zjawę, postać z b r o d n i a r z a , właśnie więzienia, w którym spędził całe życie. Chłopiec P R Z Y P I S Y widzi wypuszczonego rozmawia 1 2 Cytuję t e k s t o p r a c o w a n y przez A . Jackowskiego. Tekst opracowany na podstawie rozmowy. z n i m i a b y g o pocieszyć r y s u j e j e g o t w a r z , obiecując m u sławę — I „będziesz w i e l k i , będziesz królem D a w i d e m " m ó w i do niego. F o t . : J . S i c r a c z M e w i c z , U . 1, 1 0 — 1 4 ; J . Świderski, i l . 2 — 9 , 15 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/f91cabff508dc8d849a75749f7defa8a.pdf 087214c2aa4a18a64ec839b61a731f8e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:4554 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1963 Subject The topic of the resource tradycja ludowa natura Kurpie przyroda krajobraz Puszcza Zielona wizja świata Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:4233 Title A name given to the resource Tradycyjne poglądy na piękno przyrody w wypowiedziach chłopów Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1963 t.17 z.2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1963 t.17 z.2, s.97-109 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Olędzki, Jacek Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text U. 1. „Ptaszek", wycinanka, 24 X 30 era. Wyk. w 1954 r. Stanisława Staśkiewicz, Strzałki, pow. Ostrołęka. II. 2. Rozalia Bednarczyk ze wsi Dylewo, pow. Ostrołęka, z palmą wykonaną na Niedzielę Palmową w 1960 r. Jacek Clądzki T R A D Y C Y J N E P O G L Ą D Y NA W WYPOWIEDZIACH CHŁOPÓW K RPIOWSKIEJ P U S Z C Z Y W literaturze etnograficznej przyjęto szukać źródeł nieprzeciętnych uzdolnień plastycznych ludu wiejskie­ go w sferze wrażliwości estetycznej twórców, w pre­ dyspozycjach wewnętrznych, czy jakimś właściwym ludowi światopoglądzie artystycznym . Sądy takie utrzymują się po dzień dzisiejszy, przy czym trudność ich uzasadnienia względnie odrzucenia polega na tym, iż zbyt mało poświęcono Sfetychczas uwagi 1 1 Por. Seweryn Udziela, Poczucie piękna ludu ropczyckiego, „Wisła", t. I I I , 1889, s. 19—20,24; Euge­ niusz Frankowski, Sztuka ludu polskiego, „Mono­ grafie artystyczne", t. X V I I , Kraków 1928, s. 5—6; tenże, Sztuka ludu w Polsce — Malowanki, „Mono­ grafie artystyczne", Warszawa — Kraków 1928, s. 4; tenże, Sztuko ludowa, „Wiedza o Polsce", t. 5/III, s. 345,357; Tadeusz Dobrowolski, Śląska rzeźba w drzewie, Wydawnictwo Muzeum Śląskiego w Kato­ wicach, dz. I , t. I , 1930, s. 6,12; Ksawery Piwocki, Zagadnienie metody w badaniach nad sztuką ludową, „Lud", seria I I , t. X 1931, s. 2,7,9—12; tenże, Z badań nad powstawaniem stylu ludowego, „Przegląd Współ­ czesny", 1936, s. 95; Karol Iwanicki, Figura Chrystusa Frasobliwego, Warszawa 1933, s. 11; Mieczysław Gładysz, Góralskie zdobnictwo drzewne na Śląsku, Kra­ ków 1935, s. 7—16; tenże, Zdobnictwo metalowe na Śląsku, Kraków 1938, s. 2—8; Stanisław Dąbrowski, Pisanki lubelskie, Lublin 1936, s. 6—7; Tadeusz Se­ weryn, Polskie ?nalarstu>o ludowe, Wydawnictwo Muzeum Etnograficznego w Krakowie, nr 10, Kraków 1937, s. 66—74; tenże, Sztuka ludowa w Polsce (ka­ talog wystawy), Kraków 1948, s. 23—24; Marian Morelowski, Hafty ludowe Wołynia, „Rocznik Wołyński", t. V I I , 1938, s. 3—4,8; Kazimierz Moszyński, Kultura ludowa Słowian, cz. I I , z. 2, Kraków 1939, s. 733— 760; Józef Grabowski, Wystawa krakowska malar­ stwa i grafiki ludowej, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa", 1948, nr 6/7/8, s. 10,20,35—46; tenże, Zagadnienie stylu ludowego, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa", 1948, nr 9/10, s. 3. P I Ę K N O PRZYRODY ZIELONEJ �szczegółowym badaniom nad interesującym nas za­ gadnieniem. Tak np. jedyna znana mi w naszej literaturze próba ogólnej charakterystyki wrażliwości estetycznej ludu na piękno przyrody, podjęta przez K. Moszyńskiego , opiera się na kilku zaledwie wy­ powiedziach chłopów oraz paru ogólnych spostrzeże­ niach, których dostarczyli badacze albo nie wnika­ jący w złożony charakter przedmiotu , albo też tylko marginesowo a nawet przypadkowo o niego za­ haczający . Taki stan wynika w głównej mierze z obiektyw­ nych trudności, jakie wyrastały przed badaczem podejmującym kilkadziesiąt czy kilkanaście lat temu próbę badania niniejszego przedmiotu. Już Cz. Piet­ kiewicz zwracał uwagę, jak szczelnie współcześni mu chłopi ukrywają wszelkie wewnętrzne doznania, których nie sankcjonowałby surowy, konieczny praktycyzm życiowy, względnie (można by dodać) jakieś wyższe racje np. wiary . Stąd trudności w wywo­ łaniu spontanicznych reakcji na piękno, zwłaszcza przyrody, i uzasadniony krytycyzm wobec progra­ mowych indagacji opartych o kwestionariusz pytań . Wydaje się, że dzisiaj, kiedy w obyczajowości wsi dokonują się głębokie, gwałtowne przeobrażenia, 2 3 4 5 fi 2 Por. Kazimierz Moszyński, Kultura ludotoa Sło­ wian, cyt. wyd., s. 733—742. Por. informacje Czesława Pietkiewicza, prze­ kazane listownie K. Moszyńskiemu, oraz dane za­ mieszczone w przypisie pracy: N. Ivanickij, Materiały po etnografii vologodskoj gubernii, r. 1890, s. 118. (K. Moszyński, Kultura ludowa Słowian, cyt. wyd., s. 737—739). Takim źródłem jest: M . Gładysz, Góralskie zdobnictwo drzewne na Śląsku, Kraków 1935, s. 37. Autor dokonał pionierskiego dzieła dostarczenia pierwszych, opartych na wnikliwych, naukowych pod­ stawach badawczych, danych o poglądach estetycz­ nych górali śląskich. Poświęcił jednak uwagę, zgod­ nie z tematem pracy, poglądom estetycznym oraz podnietom twórczym, dotyczącym zdobnictwa w drze­ wie, nie zajmując się wrażliwością estetyczną w szer­ szym zakresie, w tym również na piękno przyrody. Jednak autor przytacza wypowiedź, w której infor­ mator wyznaje, iż rzeźbienie w czasie surowej zimy przywodzi mu na myśl miłe wspomnienia letnich, gwiaździstych nocy. Wyznanie beskidzkiego górala 3 4 98 następuje znaczne rozluźnienie tych wszystkich krę­ pujących osobowość chłopa reguł. Warto również zwrócić uwagę na konsekwencje zaniku, względnie znacznego osłabienia antagonizmów klasowych, czy antagonizmów między wsią a miastem. Pewne postawy i poglądy przestały uchodzić za synonim pogardzanej przez chłopa jaśniepańskiej lub nawet miejskiej lekkomyślności, niefrasobliwości itp. Należy wreszcie dodać, że dysponujemy dzisiaj bez porównania do­ skonalszym aparatem naukowej dokumentacji (zapis na taśmie magnetycznej, filmowej itp.). Wszystko to sprzyja odrobieniu istniejących zaległości w zajmu­ jącym nas przedmiocie. Dane, które pragnę przedstawić w niniejszym opracowaniu, stanowią rozszerzenie materiałów publi­ kowanych już w „Polskiej Sztuce Ludowej" . Przed­ stawiają one częściowy rezultat badań prowadzonych cd dłuższego czasu na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej . Celem ich było prześledzenie, na przestrzeni ostatnich kilkudziesięciu lat, zależności między osiąg­ nięciami artystycznymi a wrażliwością estetyczną u jednostek starszego i młodszego pokolenia . Przedstawienie całokształtu wyników badań wy­ kracza poza określone ramy szkicu i dlatego, zastrze7 8 9 często było wykorzystywane jako jeden z dowodów wielkiej subtelności doznań estetycznych chłopów pod wpływem piękna przyrody. Powołuje się na nie rów­ nież K. Moszyński, op. cit., s. 741. Czesław Pietkiewicz, Kultura duchowa Polesia rzeczyckiego, Warszawa 1938, s. 258—261. Por. K. Moszyński, Przedmowa do pracy: M . Gładysz, Góralskie zdobnictwo drzewne na Śląsku, Kraków 1935, s. V; Cz. Pietkiewicz, op. cit., s. 258. Por. J. Olędzki, Wypowiedzi rybaków kurpiow­ skich o wyglądzie ryb, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa" 1959, nr 1/2, s. 73—75; tenże, Rybołówstwo na terenie kur­ piowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od końca XIX do połowy XX w. w pracy zbiorowej Kurpie — Puszcza Zielo­ na, Tradycje historyczne a problem regionu, t. I , „Biblioteka Etnografii Polskiej", 1962, nr 5, s. 140—141. Badania przeprowadzono w ramach stałej pracy w Zakładzie Etnografii I H K M PAN w Warszawie. Zebrane materiały znajdują się w Archiwum Zakładu i stanowią jego własność. Określeń — starsze i młodsze pokolenie uży­ wam w znaczeniu ogólnym. Do starszego pokolenia 5 8 7 8 9 �gając sobie prawo powrotu do podjętego tematu, obecnie ograniczę się jedynie do przedstawienia ma­ teriałów zasygnalizowanych w tytule. Będą to wypowiedzi wyłącznie ludzi starszych 0 tym co uznają za piękne lub brzydkie w otaczają­ cym ich świecie przyrody. Ograniczając się do wy­ powiedzi informatorów urodzonych nie później niż przed 1920 rokiem, można mieć pewność, że roz­ patruje się poglądy stosunkowo najściślej związane z okresem pełnej żywotności tradycyjnej twórczości plastycznej, a więc najbardziej reprezentatywne dla działających w tym czasie twórców, których wysokie osiągnięcia artystyczne dobrze są znane. Badania prowadzone były głównie we wsiach położonych w centralnych partiach Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej — w miejscach, gdzie najżywiej zachowała się tradycyjna twórczość plastyczna. Przy wyborze informatorów zwracano uwagę na ich umie­ jętności. Wybór więc padał najczęściej na znane tkaczki, wycinankarki i in. Nie pominięto jednak 1 tych, którzy potrafili tylko np. zdobić jaja, czy lepić figury z ciasta (byli to najczęściej mężczyźni). Do celów porównawczych zebrano także wypowiedzi miejscowych rzemieślników — kowali i cieśli oraz osób nie zajmujących się żadną dziedziną tradycyjnej twórczości plastycznej. Badaniami objęto reakcje estetyczne na: pory roku, dnia i nocy, krajobraz (jego konfiguracja i szata zewnętrzna), florę (drzewa, krzewy, kwiaty ogrodowe i polne), faunę (zwierzęta leśne, ptaki, owady i ryby), zwierzęta hodowlane (konie i krowy) oraz wygląd człowieka. Uzyskane wypowiedzi noszą niestety często piętno badań prowadzonych w oparciu o kwestio­ nariusz pytań. Chociaż pochodzą od różnych osób, niekiedy zbudowane są podobnie, a w swej tonacji wyrażają jakąś wspólną postawę człowieka jndagowanego znienacka ,w sprawach, nad k t o ^ h i i nie zawsze miał możność się zastanawiać . Oczywiście najbardziej przydatne byłyby wypowiedzi sponta­ niczne, nie wywołane umyślnymi pytaniami badacza. Na tę formę badań nie było jednak odpowiednich warunków (np. konieczność długotrwałego przebywa­ nia w badanym środowisku i to w charakterze jego członka). Zresztą i w takich warunkach nie byłoby pełnej gwarancji, że we wszystkich interesujących nas sprawach można by bez ingerencji zdobyć po­ trzebny materiał. Pozostaje jeszcze do wyjaśnienia przyjęta zasada doboru przedstawianych tekstów wypowiedzi. Mijałoby się oczywiście z celem podanie całego ich zestawu, tak obszernego, jaki udało się zgromadzić . Wiele bowiem wypowiedzi nie różni się ani pod względem wyrażonego w nich stanowiska, ani użytej argumen­ tacji. Nawet forma ich często jest zaskakująco zbież­ na. Z drugiej jednak strony, ze względu na znaczenie tych wypowiedzi stanowiących mało dotychczas wy­ korzystane źródło w literaturze przedmiotu, nie byłaby chyba celowa zbytnia ich selekcja, prowadząca do podawania tylko najbardziej charakterystycznych przykładów. Należy też mieć na uwadze, iż przepro­ wadzając analizę poglądów estetycznych grupy ludzi w ten sposób, że kolejno omawia się ich stanowiska wobec tych samych konkretnych dziedzin — gubi 10 11 zaliczam urodzonych w okresie od siedemdziesiątych lat X I X w. do dwudziestych lat X X w., a do młod­ szego — urodzonych w okresie od dwudziestych do czterdziestych lat X X w. Oczywiste jest, że okreś­ lony wiek osoby badanej nie może stanowić wystraczającego wskaźnika — z jakim należy wiązać go etapem czy rodzajem przeobrażeń zachodzących w l u ­ dowej kulturze duchowej. Trudno bowiem wyznaczyć jakieś ścisłe granice dla tych przeobrażeń, jak też przyjąć, iż u każdego człowieka przebiegają one jednakowo. II. 3. Izba Rozalii Skrodzkiej podczas konkursu na wnętrze chaty kurpiowskiej w 1949 r. Swidborek, pow. Ostrołęka. 11. 4. „Leluja", wycinan­ ka, 20,8 X 11,8 cm. Wyk. Marianna Bałdyga, Wach, pow. Ostrołęka. II. 5. „Zielko", wycinan­ ka. Wyk. w 1960 r. Ewa Rydel, Charciabałda, pow. Ostrołęka. się w jakimś momencie obraz indywidualności auto­ rów, która może wyrażać się w niejednolitej skali doznań wobec estetycznych wartości poszczególnych przedmiotów czy zjawisk. Dlatego też starałem się, aby cytując po raz pierwszy informatora przytoczyć jak największą ilość jego wypowiedzi i to dostatecz­ nie reprezentatywnych. POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO PORY DNIA, NOCY I ROKU Starzy Kurpie przyjmują istnienie dnia i nocy jako odrębnych stadiów cyklicznych przemian czaso­ wych, nie łącząc ich w jedną — tak jak my to widzi­ my — dobę. Inaczej też, nieraz krańcowo różnie ustosunkowują się do dnia (pory odpowiedniej do pracy i wszelkich czynności życiowych), i inaczej do nocy, która nie jest tak pożyteczna. Ścisłe uzależ­ nienie organizacji dnia pracy na wsi od naturalnego 10 „Nie miałem na względu, którna rybka strojniejsa. Gdyby cłek wiedział, ze będzie go kto o to pytał, to by sobie powyglądał co piękniejse". Wy­ powiedź 79-letniego Władysława Nasiadki (pełniejsze dane w przypisie 15). n w wyniku przeprowadzonych badań zgroma­ dzone zostały odpowiedzi na kwestionariusz zawiera­ jący ok. 50 pytań. Wywiadem indywidualnym obję­ tych zostało ogółem 40 osób. W niniejszej pracy wy­ korzystane zostały w pełni wypowiedzi 17 informa­ torów. 99 �porządku, jaki wyznacza wschód i zachód słońca, determinowało w jakiś sposób charakter tradycyjnych na Kurpiowszczyźnie postaw wobec swoistego piękna dnia i nocy, a także pór przejściowych — poranku i wieczora. Dzień, jak mówią Kurpie, rozpoczyna „rano", „ranek", „poranek" lub „zaranek", czy też „zeranek". Tych dwóch ostatnich nazw używano dawniej najpowszechniej, Dzień kończy i noc rozpoczyna „wie­ czór" (używa sie też określeń „na wiecór" i „podwiecór"). Oto zestaw najczęściej spotykanych wypowiedzi na temat tych pór: „Najmilsy i najpiękniejsy, to jest zaranek, bo Pan Bóg daje cłowiekowi na cały dzień dobre. Dał przeżyć noc i do roboty dzień, zeby się przerobiło". (Stefania Samsel) „Rano je najładniej bo cłowiek wyspany i tseźwy. Wiecorem to jus nie tak ładnie, bo cłowiek zmęcony." (Marianna Bałdyga) „Poranek najprędzej podziwiam, bo wypocętam, raźna jakaś do roboty. Najgorsa je przed wiecorem, bom najcięzsa, ręce, nogi bolom z całego dnia mdleją." (Stanisława Staśkiewicz) „Z rana je piękniej, bo to rosa w te koraliki się zebrała. Ziemia wtedy paruje, rosa wychodzi, urodzaj sie okazuje, wtedy wsystko wychodzi na wiezch, a to jest kozyść. A na wiecór, to nawet ten ptak jek zrywa sie z gniazda, to zaśpiewa az z rana." (Władysław Nasiadka) W wypowiedziach tych ujawniają się reakcje wy­ łącznie na praktyczną przydatność określonych pór dnia, wprowadzających człowieka w stan większej lub mniejszej sprawności fizycznej. Nie zawsze też informatorzy umieją dostatecznie jasno to wyrazić. Mężczyźni, którzy na ogół lepiej niż kobiety znają drobne tajemnice przyrody (procesy wegetacyjne dokonujące się na przestrzeni dnia), bardziej szczegó­ łowo uzasadniają swoje stanowiska. Dlatego też wszystkie te wypowiedzi podkreślają wartości, jakie wnosi poranek, natomiast o wieczorze, jeśli się już mówi, to tylko w kontekście nadchodzących z tą porą fizycznych utrudzeń ciała i zamierającego w przyrodzie życia. Ale zdarzają się wypowiedzi innego rodzaju: „W zaranku, to ślicnie rosa ładny zapach daje i ładnie wiecorem, bo zapach z drzew, a w południe, to nie, bo słunko grzeje i trzeba sie schować." (Marianna Zalewska) „W zaranku najlepiej, psyjemnie, to je rosa. słonko bystre świeci, cichutko, a w południe to gorącka trzeba spać się położyć. Wiecorem niebo najstrojniejse, wtedy są na niebie ołtarze, a rano to słońce jesce śpi, to ołtarzów nima. Ja łubie do nieba popatseć ale zaranek najładniejsy." (Rozalia Skrodzka) 12 13 14 15 10 17 12 Stefania Samsel, ur. 1916, zam. w. Browary, pow. Ostrołęka. Niezamożna, nauczyła się wycinać w szkole, znalazła w wycinankarstwie dodatkowe źródio zarobku. Umie tkać i haftować. Marianna Bałdyga, ur. 1885, zam. w. Wach, pow. Ostrołęka. Zamożna. Uprawiała z zamiłowania wszelkie rodzaje tradycyjnej twórczości plastycznej. Dzięki zdolnościom wokalnym i świetnej znajomości pieśni często organizowała wesela. Stanisława Staśkiewicz z domu Poręba, ur. 1912 w Tatarach, pow. Ostrołęka. Średniozamożna. Umie tkać i lepić figury z ciasta. Władysław Nasiadka, ur. 1883 r., zam. w. Strzał­ ki, pow. Ostrołęka. Niezamożny. Nie posiada żadnych zdolności plastycznych, długie lata spędził na emi­ gracji zarobkowej w Ameryce. Marianna Zalewska, ur. 1893, zam. w. Łyse, pow. Kolno. Średniozamożna. Potrafi wycinać, malo13 14 15 18 100 Ujawnia się tutaj, chociaż w sposób bardzo nikły, odczuwanie efektów wizualnych czy powonieniowych, które się wiążą ze zmianami pór dnia. Jednak po­ dziwianie uroków zachodu czy wschodu słońca jest ogółowi zupełnie obce. Tylko ci, którzy w jakiś sposób zetknęli się z innym środowiskiem lub mieli lepsze warunki życiowe, pozwalające na korzystanie np. z książek, znajdują zadowolenie, i to niewątpliwie estetyczne, w podpatrywaniu tworzących się na nie­ bie, jak to mówi jedna z informatorek, „ołtarzy". Niekiedy staje się to dla nich prawdziwą potrzebą. Ale takie doznania u starszych ludzi należą do wy­ jątkowych. Wszystko bowiem, co dokonuje się w przyrodzie pod wpływem zmian pór dnia, a nie ma chociażby pośredniego, korzystnego lub niekorzyst­ nego wpływu na codzienne sprawy bytowe, uchodzi ich uwagi, nie wywołując tym samym jakichś doznań estetycznych. Stąd też bierze się obojętność większości tych ludzi na uroki nocy, nawet księżycowej, gwiaździstej. „Ja w nocy nie patse za widokami, nigdzie nie wychodzę, bo jek się połoze, to zeby strachy chodzili, zeby mnie wynieśli, to sie nie obudzę. Mozę tam być księżyc najsykowniejsy, cały w pełni, nie mam takiego upodobania, zeby głowę do niego jak pies zadzierać." (Marianna Zalewska) „Nie miałem tego zaletu, zeby popatseć na gwiaz­ dy i podumać. Nie zajmuje się tym, nie łubie patsyć na gwiazdy. Nie miałem casu dumać. A jest tu taki sąsiad, to on mówi, ze się na tym nawet wyznaje." (Władysław Nasiadka) Przy tym nastawieniu jakieś znaczenie może mieć tylko to, czy noc jest wietrzna czy cicha, widna albo ciemna, jednym słowem — o ile utrudnione jest wówczas poruszanie się po świecie. „Łubie tylko cichą noc, spokojną taką i widną, kiedy księżyc pokazuje drogę i wiatru nie ma, bo wiatr tylko drogi naddaje... A jak juz idzie burza to śmerć, to jus śmerć dla mnie. Nawet jek same błeskawice, to koniec świata. Nie łubie na to patrzeć, wcale nawet nie patrzę, bo to jakby cały świat się palił, jakby na palący świat się popatsył". (Stanisława Olender) W ocenie pór roku najpopularniejsze wśród star­ szego pokolenia Kurpiów jest stanowisko polegające na uznawaniu piękna wiosennego, w najlepszym razie również wczesnego lata, przy zdecydowanej niechęci wobec tego wszystkiego, co wnoszą do życia w przyrodzie jesień i zima. Interesujące są motywy takiego stanowiska: „Najładniejsy to maj, cerwiec i jesce lipiec z pocątku, a potem sie robi smętnie. Na wiosnę i wczes­ nym latem wtedy na łąkach kwiatuski, żytko sie zieleni, wtedy świat istnieje. Potem robi sie saro, drzewka juz nie rosną, a w sierpniu to juz sara godzina. Przy końcu roku, to jakby do grobu wloz, nie ma nic wyglądu, świat sie ogołusa." (Stanisław Koprek) 18 19 wać jajka, lepić figury z ciasta, tkać. Umiejętności te wykorzystywała tylko dla własnych potrzeb. Rozalia Skrodzka, ur. 1880, zam. w. Swidwiborek, pow. Ostrołęka. Pochodzi z rodziny leśnika. Ojciec jej cieszył się opinią człowieka światłego — czytającego książki. Z zamiłowaniem uprawia wy­ cinankarstwo dla siebie i dla innych. Umie tkać, ma­ lować jajka, lepić figury z ciasta. Prowadzi wesela, zna dużo pieśni. Stanisława Olender, ur. 1919, zam. w. Strzałki, pow. Ostrołęka. Średniozamożna. Jej matka była znaną wycinankarką. Sama wycina w związku z za­ potrzebowaniem z zewnątrz. Umie tkać, robi bardzo piękne pisanki, lepi figury z ciasta. Stanisław Koprek, ur. 1897, zam. w. Klimki, pow. Ostrołęka. Gospodarz zamożny. Umiał doskonale pleść koszyki, zajmował się trochę ciesiołką. 17 18 19 �POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO KRAJOBRAZU Kurpiowska Puszcza Zielona to — jak wiadomo — rejon równinny, gdzieniegdzie urozmaicony ledwie widocznymi wzniesieniami moren polodowcowych, które Kurpie nazywają „górami", z jedną niewielką pozostałością dawnej puszczy koło wsi Czarnia, poza tym teren tu i ówdzie pokryty młodym, sosnowym lasem, kępami olszyn w miejscach podmokłych, wszędzie zaś indziej piaszczystych, nieurodzajnych pól, które sąsiadują niekiedy z polanami lub pasmami łąk, ciągnącymi się ponad korytami dosyć rozwiniętej sieci rzeczek i strug. Można w tej okolicy wynaleźć bardzo piękne miejsca, gdzieś u wysokich brzegów Pisy lub Narwi, na duktach uroczyska leśnego Surowe-Czarnia, czy nawet tam, gdzie tylko pola i łąki tworzą krajobraz. Te wyróżniające się zakątki nie znane są jednak ogółowi mieszkańców Kurpiow­ szczyzny. Przeważająca ich większość orientuje się jedynie w tym krajobrazie, który otacza wieś lub który można dojrzeć z drogi do kościoła czy poblis­ kiego miasta. II. 6. „Lalki", wycinanka. Rydel, Charciabalda, pow, Wyk. w Ostrołęka. 1961 r. Ewa „W maju najpiękniej, najprzyjemniej pachnie wszystko. Późniejsa pora to coraz gorsa, coraz cięzsa, wrzesień najgorsy, kopanie, mus siedzieć na polu... Wiosna to najpiękniejsa, bo najweselsa, wtedy sie wsystko rozwija i pierwszy miesiąc lata ładny, a po żniwach, to tak naprawdę, to już powietrze i słońce inaczej chodzi. Zima to najgorsa, noc i noc i noc." (Rozalia Bednarczyk) Podobnych wypowiedzi można by przytoczyć wiele. Przewija się w nich pogląd, iż miarą piękna pór roku jest związana z nim większa lub mniejsza żywotność roślinności. Wyrażeniu go służą określenia: „do życia powstaje", „rodzi się", „wszystko się roz­ wija", „wychodzi na wierzch", „zieleni się", „kwitnie" lub „ksitnie", „wszystko pachnie" i wtedy „świat istnieje", „świat ma wygląd", „jest wesoły" — inaczej niż wówczas gdy „nadchodzi sara godzina", „noc", „jakby do grobu wloz", bo „wsystko omdlone", „smęt­ ne", „świat sie ogołusa", „drzewka nie rosną". 20 Wypadki reagowania na piękno pory jesiennej i zimowej zdarzają się bardzo rzadko. Uwrażliwienie w tym kierunku zasadza się jednak zawsze na wąskim kręgu doznań. Jednostki obdarzone tą wrażliwością obojętnie przyjmują np. zmiany barw roślin z na­ dejściem jesieni, czy walory wizualne ośnieżonej ziemi, również sam śnieg, szron i mróz (np. na szybach) nie zaprząta ich uwagi. „Najlepiej mi się podoba wiosna, bo wszystko do życia powstaje, a lato wsystko bardziej omdlone. Jesień tez mi się podoba, bo wtedy cłowiek bardziej zamyślony. Jak zima ostra, az skierki idą, to mi się podoba, a jak taka rozlazła to nie. Wiosna, to radość taką w sercu u cłowieka sprawia, bo wsystko takie rozmaite, żywe — bardzo wzniosłe." (Anna Kordecka) 21 20 Rozalia Bednarczyk, ur. 1888, zam. w. Dylewo, pow. Ostrołęka. Średniozamożna, zajmowała się tkac­ twem na zbyt i własne potrzeby. Potrafi stroić palmy wielkanocne. Anna Kordecka, ur. 1895, zam. Myszyniec, pow. Ostrołęka. Siostra Rozalii Skrodzkiej, patrz przypis 17. Kilkuletni pobyt w Warszawie nauczył ją wysoko 21 Z drugiej znów strony, prawie każdy z informa­ torów miał w swym życiu okazję zetknięcia się z krainami o zupełnie odmiennym wyglądzie, nieraz uchodzącymi w powszechnej opinii za najpiękniejsze. Było to za czasów ich młodości, kiedy wędrowali na prace sezonowe do sąsiednich wsi mazurskich i war­ mińskich, kiedy udawali się na wieloletnią emigrację zarobkową do Ameryki i w czasie ostatnich wojen, które zawiodły wielu do najdalszych zakątków świata (kraje dawnej Rosji, Chiny). Jeśli poświęcam uwagę temu wszystkiemu, to wyłącznie z myślą o właściwej interpretacji wypo­ wiedzi, w których nie zawsze znajduje pełne odbicie charakter ziemi kurpiowskiej. „Jakie tam zdrojowcyska w tej Francyji, a góry, góra a na niej jesce góra, a na wierzchu woda rznie do góry. A trawy jakie wysokie. Na kamieniu rosło i na górze, bo tam zdrojowcyska. Taka trawa ze przejść trudno. Ale mnie sie tu podoba. W naszych stronach jest równo i tak zagajone, tak jakby umaione, a w insych, to tak smutno nie ma lasów..." (Wł. Nasiadka) „Ja to taki wzrok mam bystry, ze w ksiunzce przez papsier zidze co na trzeciej karcie napsisane. Wszyśćko dojźre lepsiej niz drugi przez liornetke. Jek po morzu jechalim do Ameryki, to na przodku mnie kapsitan postaził żebym mu meldował. To azem go zadziwił! To je u mnie z przyrodzenia taki talent, bodaj zreśtą może i scego innego. Mnie wszyśćko enteresowało, zawdy s e wszyśćkiemu prze­ glądałem. Drugi to taki ślamazarny nic go nie enteresuje albo psije za duzo. Jek tam my byli, to ja chodził sobzie na te niebotycne góry, dzie takie skały byli świecące jek srebro. A te góry to tekie, ze można iść, iść, stale iść i jej nie minie — z chmurami stojo złącone. Ale po mojemu, to w nasych stronach natura jest doskonalsa od Pana Jezusa przystepniejsa cłoziekoziu dana. Dla mnie, to nie ma jek w nasych stronach. Juz za rzyką jest nie tak ładnie, chociaż gleba urodliwa, góry sie tam ciungną dzie nie pójdzies. Dla mnie tam je widok wyględny dzie równo." (Apolinary Waśkiewicz) ; 22 „Gdzie równina, to m i się podoba, jek byłam w Ameryce to widziałam góre, to jek obłok, ale to na prawdę śkaradny widok. A jek równo, gdzie cenić znane przez nią dziedziny twórczości: tkactwo, hafciarstwo, wycinankarstwo. Pracowała dla muzeów i miłośników sztuki ludowej. Apolinary Waśkiewicz, ur. 1883, zam. w. Waszki, pow. Kolno. Niezamożny. Zajmował się ciesiołką, potrafi lepić figury z ciasta. 22 101 �spojrzy jekby jebko kulnął — to pięknie." (Waleria Brodzik) Wszyscy informatorzy dostrzegają piękno wyłącz­ nie w krajobrazie równinnym. Tym jest on piękniej­ szy, im bardziej wyrównany. Wszelkie natomiast nierówności terenowe uznaje się za szpecące. Widoki najpiękniejszych gór przyjmowane są często ze szczerą odrazą, najwyżej zaś z pewnym zaintereso­ waniem ich niezwykłą formą, dziwnością szaty, ale zainteresowaniu temu nie towarzyszy zadowolenie estetyczne. Surowość krajobrazu, jego naturalne właściwości — bez porównania w mniejszym stopniu, aniżeli to wszystko co jest w nim dziełem człowieka — sta­ nowią przedmiot uwagi i pośrednio jakiegoś rodzaju doznań, które nas interesują. Wydawałoby się, że właśnie Kurpie, którzy jeszcze nie tak dawno wiele korzystali z wszelkich pożytków starej puszczy, ci ludzie nazywający się „puscakami" („my z puscy"), powinni posiadać szczególnie rozbudowany świat doznań estetycznych. Przedstawia się to jednak zupełnie inaczej. Wróćmy do wypowiedzi już cyto­ wanej. „Ale mnie się tu podoba. W nasych stronach jest równo i tak zagajone, tak jakby umajone, a w insych to tak smutno, nie ma lasów. Ale najlepiej łubie się tam popatrzyć, gdzie dobrze zagospodarzone, bujne zyto rośnie, kartofelki wyrosłe. Po mojemu zdaniu jek las w porządku zasadzony w rządkach, wtedy chęć cłowieka zbiera na niego popatrzeć, jek na to żytko cy kartofelki." (Wł. Nasiadka) Aby nie mieć wątpliwości, jak daleko ustępują w wyobrażeniach starszych mieszkańców Kurpiow­ szczyzny walory lasu walorom estetycznym zagospo­ darowanych pól, czy też sianokośnych łąk, niech świadczą dalsze wypowiedzi. „Gdzie jest równe pole, tak równiutko, jezioro, to najpiękniej. A gdzie góry, piaski, lasy jak tu, to nie chce się wracać nawet. Ale muso tu zyć gdzie góry choć to nieprzyjemnie. Dla mnie pole ze zbożem rozmaitym, potem łąka najlepiej mi się widzi, a na końcu to las." (Stanisława Staśkiewicz) „Równina to najsykowniejsa, bo cłowiek chodzi równo, i kuniom lżej, a góra to tak, ze z pieca na łeb. Pięknie je tam dzie żytko, kartofelki. To je dla mnie najładniejse, bo to Pan Bóg daje cłowiekowi do użytku. I siano w stogach ładnie się prezentuje. Las to jus nie to." (Franciszka Zisk) „Tam dzie rośnie zboże to najładniej i łąki tam dzie kwiatem pokryte tes ładnie wyglądają, i w lesie ładnie jak zapach grzybowy jest, ale najbardziej to pole ciesy i najsykowniejse jest." (Marianna Za­ lewska) „Jak jest taka równina, ze można puścić piłkę, to mi się najbardziej podoba, taki widok jest piękny, zachwycający. I taka wilca samotność tes mnie zachwyca, cłowiek wtedy jest bardziej zamyślony. W łąkach to się tak nie zachwycam jak w zbożu. Zboże to mnie zachwyca, bo to z tego jest chleb. Takie zęsiste bujne zboże to piękne." (Anna Kordecka) „Z górów co mi tam za kozyść z patsenia, równina, a to piękna, nie las i nie łąka, ale tam dzie jest ładne zboże, to i usionde se pod kłośki, popatse, po­ myśle jek ludzie żyją, to takie mam upojenie." (Ewa Rydel) 23 24 25 23 Waleria Brodzik, ur. 1884, zam. w. Stary My­ szyniec, pow. Ostrołęka. Z rodziny ubogiej. Już w dzieciństwie pracowała sezonowo we wsiach szla­ checkich w Przasnyskiem lub u gburów w Prusach. Umie tylko tkać. Praca zarobkowa nie pozwalała jej zajmować się innymi tradycyjnymi dziedzinami twór­ czości. Franciszka Zisk, ur. 1887, zam. w. Czarnia, 24 102 To, że wśród starszego pokolenia chłopów kur­ piowskich tylko zupełnie wyjątkowo uznaje się las jako składnik wzbogacający krajobraz, skłania do za­ stanowienia się nad konsekwencjami faktu tak bardzo późnego skolonizowania prawie nienaruszonego w swej naturalnej szacie obszaru, jakim była dawna Zagajnica, a dzisiaj Kurpiowska Puszcza Zielona. W wielu przecież wypadkach trud karczowania pusz­ czy i bardziej mozolnego przystosowania poleśnych terenów do uprawy ponosili jeszcze dziadkowie, a nawet ojcowie najstarszych z żyjących na terenie Kurpiowszczyzny ludzi. Wydaje się, iż z przytoczo­ nych wypowiedzi przenikają reminiscencje owej walki z lasem, którą musieli kiedyś stoczyć przod­ kowie dzisiejszych Kurpiów, a także radość, z jaką witali każde wyhodowane przez siebie zboże. Przedstawione wypowiedzi wyrażają przede wszyst­ kim jednak najbardziej osobiste stany doznań inda­ gowanych osób, różniących się na pewno cechami psychicznymi, niejednakowo pobudliwych, lecz jakże zgodnych w formułowaniu swych wrażeń. Jeśli więc nie istnieją jakieś istotne różnice w reprezentowanych postawach, świadczy to, jak bardzo podobne były warunki życiowe tych wszystkich ludzi, jednakowo uzależnionych w swym bycie od plonów jałowych, piaszczystych gleb. Tylko u nielicznych jednostek, które zakosztowały nieco lepszych warunków, nie skrępowanych surowymi regułami praktycyzmu ży­ ciowego, mogło dojść do wykształcenia się bardziej wielostronnie rozwiniętej wrażliwości. „Ja to straśnie wsystko miłuję, i pole, i las, i łąkę, ja na to wsysko patrzę i ładnie, nie mogę taksunku na to wyłożyć, bo to mi się wsysko jednako podoba". (Rozalia Skrodzka) POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO ROŚLIN (DRZEW, KRZEWÓW I KWIATÓW) Najczęściej spotykanym drzewem na terenie Kur­ piowskiej Puszczy Zielonej jest sosna („choja", „ C h o j ­ ka", „chujka"), a potem świerk („jeglija", „jeglaska"). Stanowią one zasadniczy drzewostan tutejszych lasów, rosną często w mniejszych lub większych skupiskach wokoło zagród, a nieraz samotnie wzdłuż dróg i w polu na ugorach. Inne drzewa iglaste, jak cisy, modrzewie, a nawet jodły, spotyka się dzisiaj na Kurpiowszczyźnie raczej wyjątkowo. Z drzew liściastych najwięcej chyba jest olszyn („olsyna"), które panują niepodzielnie w pobliżu strug i wszelkich miejsc podmokłych. W starych wsiach można spotkać okazy wiekowych dębów, częściej jeszcze lip, a także pięknie wyrośniętych jesionów („jasień", „jesień"), klonów („klun"), kasztanów („kaśtan"), akacji („agacja", „akacyja", „wakacja"), zmurszałych wierzb („zierzba"). Gdzieniegdzie w lesie, czy w polu lub w obrębie zagrody rosną samotnie brzozy („brzezina") i osiki („osa", „osina"). Warto jeszcze powiedzieć o drzewach owocowych. Kurpie hodują wiśnie („ziśnia"), rzadziej jabłonie („jebłoń", „jebłonecka", „jepko"), grusze (,kruska" rzadziej „krusa") i śliwy. Poza kilku wsiami, na całym obszarze Kurpiowszczyzny nie ma sprzyjają­ cych warunków glebowych do uprawy sadownictwa. Często w dużych kilkudziesięciohektarowych gospodar­ stwach jest zaledwie kilka słabo owocujących drzepow. Ostrołęka. Średniozamożna. Nie potrafi wycinać. Zdobieniem izby wycinankami zajmował się starszy o 20 lat brat. Potrafi tkać i lepić figury z ciasta. Ewa Rydel, ur. 1885, zam. w. Charciabałda, pow. Ostrołęka. Zamożna, współwłaścicielka tartaku. Mimo podeszłego wieku doskonale wycina. Potrafi tkać, umie malować jajka, lepię figury z ciasta, zna wiele miejscowych pieśni. 25 �H. 7. „Ofiara", świeca wotyw­ na z wyobrażeniem zwierząt hodowanych w gospodarstwie. Wyk. w 1960 r. Antonia Ci­ cha, Brzozowy Kąt, pow. Ostrołęka. II. 8. Fragm. tka­ niny „buronki". Wyk. ok. 1914 r. Marianna Zalewska, Łyse, pow. Kolno. wek wiśni. Inne natomiast drzewa owocowe, nawet przy znacznych staraniach gospodarzy, nie przyjmują się, a jeśli już uda się je wyhodować, owoce są mizerne, cierpkie lub kwaśne. Najbardziej chyba charakterystyczną (zarazem reprezentującą stosunkowo najwęższy zakres doznań estetycznych) bywa taka postawa w ocenie piękna drzew, w której za kryterium oceny przyjmowana jest wyłącznie ich pożyteczność. Uznanie, iż drzewo ,.ma wygląd", jest „wyględne", „strojne", „taka zeń strojnota", „ładne", „taka zeń ładnota" lub „prawdziwa strojnota" „prawdziwa ładnota", czy wreszcie że jest „mocno psiękne" — pokrywa się zawsze z uznaniem jego szczególnej przydatności w gospodarstwie. Nie­ którzy cenią więc klony, lipy, jesiony, dęby czy kasztany otaczające zazwyczaj stare zagrody i sku­ tecznie chroniące zabudowę przed piorunami, wiatrem, czy dostarczające cennego cienia w czasie upałów, a jednocześnie posiadające doskonałe drewno. Inni znów zwracają uwagę wyłącznie na drzewa owocowe, szczególnie grusze, śliwy i jabłonie, których smaczne owoce tak trudno wyhodować na tym terenie. Nato­ miast uwagi jednych i drugich uchodzi, nie wywołując żadnych przyjemnych doznań, widok drzew tak po­ wszednich na Kurpiowszczyźnie, jak sosny, świerki czy olszyny. Również te drzewa, z których surowiec jest lichy (wierzby, osiki) nie stanowią dla nich przedmiotu estetycznych doznań. A niekiedy nawet drzewa twarde, przy tym pięknie i wonnie kwitnące — akacje — budzą nawet swego rodzaju odrazę. „Najpsyjemniejse, to jabłonie i śliwy, bo owoc ną nich ładny, smacny jek dostojały. Teka jabłoń obwiesona jabłuskami, to prawdziwa strojnota. Dru­ gie drzewa to juz nie to, a na akacyje to nie łubie nawet popatrzyć, bo mi raz nogi do krwi pokalecyła." (Marianna Zalewska) „Ładne, strojne drzewa to wiśnie i kruski. A k l u ny, kaśtany, inne cuda, to nie robi mi różnicy, rośnie to niech rośnie. Z tych prostych drzew, to jesce łubie popatrzyć na cis, bo mi sie podoba jako tako, bo ma taki inny, niepodobny do insych wygląd." (Ewa Rydel) W przedstawionych wypowiedziach znajduje wyraz najbardziej skrajna postać omawianego stanowiska, zdarza się bowiem również spotkać z uznaniem za piękne tych przymiotów drzew, z którymi nie wiąże się jakieś bezpośrednie praktyczne znaczenie. „Drzewo jek sie rozwinie to każde ładne i ma wygląd, a jek liście opadną, to nieładne. Lipa najładniejsa. Niesiąc znijdzie, to zakście, ksiatki puchną i mocno ładnie pachną. A kaśtan i klun ładny — ma ładne zieloniutkie liście i sie rozkłada jek pa­ rasol. Jeglije, to najgorse, suche takie, jek się na ogień położy to trzaska. A osina, to jesce skaradniejsa, a mózio, co wiater jest. cy nima to ciungiem się ruchają. Mnie się to drzewo nie podoba." (Fran­ ciszka Zisk) „Brzezina, klony, lipa, lescyna, choina i sidwa, co ma niebieskie kwiatuski, mi sie straśnie podoba. Zierzby, osy, jeglije to mi sie za bardzo nie podobają dlatego, ze sie nie nadają nawet do opału. A lipa, klon i brzozy, to pozytecne. Z brzozy, to nawet leci jaśkoła — dobra na barsc gotować, i liście, i kurę 103 �« mają ładną. Z gałęziów dobre są miotły, to przyjemne, bardzo psiękne dzewa." (Anna Kordeeka) Nie ulega kwestii, że łatwy do dostrzeżenia (opa­ danie i wzrost liści) proces wegetacyjny drzew liś­ ciastych wywołuje u wielu informatorów doznania estetyczne. Stąd też m.in. tak wiele uwagi poświęcają oni właśnie tym drzewom. Wydaje się, że zawsze jednak u podstaw zainteresowania leży sama wartość materialna określonego drzewa, oraz to, w jakim stopniu wyróżnia się pod tym względem wśród i n ­ nych drzew, a to z kolei wyzwala reakcje na zalety jego budowy, kształtu korony, barwę kory i liści. Oczywiście pojęcie wartości materialnej czy pożytecz­ ności jest tu bardzo względne. Trudno bowiem byłoby nie przyznać tych zalet np. sośnie — drzewu stano­ wiącemu podstawowy surowiec w budownictwie (tra­ dycyjnym), sprzętarstwie itp. Nie chodzi tu jednak 0 „powszednią" pożyteczność czy zwykłą w a r t o ś ć . ' „Lescyna mi się najbardziej podoba i jesień i klon. Ale lescyna najładniejsa. przyjemna ozechy ma i dla­ tego, ze nasa wiara mówi, ze lescyna gdzie jest to piorun nie trzaśnie. Lescyna. to błogosławione, ka­ tolickie drzewo. Łono ma podstawę kształtną i gęste liście fajne." (Rozalia Bednarczyk). „Tu my jesteśmy obsadzeni samymi pięknymi drzewami, takimy drzewamy gdzie piorun nie uderzy. Jest lipa, lescyna i klon. Na lipie się Matka Boska objawiła w Świętej Lipce, pod lescyna skryła się z Panem Jezusem jek Herod ją gonił, a na klonie tez się objawiła ale w Grytwałdzie. To są wsystko ślicne, przepiękne drzewa. A są znów takie, co mi się nawet wyglądem swoim nie podobają, jek ta akacja, co ma kolce. Gdzie to rośnie, to przejść nie można. U nas rosła w ogródku, to wsystką powycinalim." (Stefania Samsel) 2 Podobnie jak w innych wypowiedziach na temat świata przyrody, tak i tu zdarzają sie wyjątkowo poglądy różne od wyżej przytoczonych. Wyrażają większą skalę doznań nie ograniczając się do katego­ rycznego uznawania za piękne tylko bardzo okreś­ lonych rodzajów drzew. ,.Są rozmaite drzewa, rozmaite scepy. Po drogach teraz posadzone sa wakacie, to tes stroine drzewa. Te jegliie, to takie powyrastane, to taka ładnota, dwadzieścia psieć metrów trzyma do góry. taka prawdziwa strojnota. Brzezina, to łuna tez strojnie rośnie i gałęzie ma jek leluja. Wsiskie drzewa są ładne, psiękne. a takie strupy, k^eceństwo Tdrzewa zniszczone przez człowiek — J.O ], to az żałość pa­ trzyć." (Rozalia Skrodzka) Z całości rozpatrywanego materiału szczególnie cenne są wypowiedzi wyrażające poglądy na piękno kwiatów, ponieważ daia nam wvobrażenif> o wrażli­ wości estetycznej ludzi z omawianego środowiska. Obiekt, zainteresowania nie ma bowiem w tym wyoadku ściśle ustalonych wartości utylitarnych, a jego piękno manifestuje się wyraźniej niż innych przejawów przyrody. Nie bede omawia' spotykanych na Kurpiowszczyźnie rodzajów kwiatów, czv to ogrodowych, czy pol­ nych, charakterystykę ich dają przytoczone niżej wypowiedzi. Wspomnę tylko o stronie zwyczajowej " Mogą odgrywać tu pewną rolę wierzenia, ja­ kimi otacza lud drzewa. Większości rosnących w kraju, w tym również na terenie Kurpiowszczyzny (brzoza, cis, dąb, olsza, jesion, osika) przypisuje się szczególne, nadprzyrodzone właściwości. Jest przy tvm rzeczą znamienną, iż z wierzeń tych wyłączona m.in. bvwa sosna. Por. Adam Fiszer, Drzewa w wie­ rzeniach i obrzędach ludu polskiego, Lwów 1938, « 3—17: Cezaria Baudouin de Courtenay Ehrenkreutz, Zwticzaie wiosenne ludu polskiego, odbitka z: „Wiedza 1 Życie", Warszawa 1927, s. 7—11. 104 zagadnienia — o wykorzystywaniu kwiatów do róż­ nych określonych celów. W tradycyjnej obyczajowości Kurpiów kobiety po­ czuwały się jak gdyby do obowiązku dbania o to, aby kwiaty rosły w ogrodzie (najczęściej przed domem) oraz w donicach (na oknach domu widocz­ nych od strony drogi i wejścia). W powszechnej opinii kwiaty znajdujące się w tych miejscach uważane były za widome świadectwo gospodarności domowni­ ków, a także dodrobytu panującego w domu, pozwa­ lającego na zajmowanie się czymś tak nie związa­ nym ze stałymi kłopotami dnia. Nie było zaś zwyczaiu ustawiania we wnętrzu demu bukietów żywych kwiatów. Sam zresztą charakter wnętrza nie sprzy­ jał temu zupełnie. Przystosowane ono było, przede wszystkim do zajęć gospodarczych, a następnie do spożywania posiłków i odpoczynku — głównie spania. Nie było w nim, jak wiadomo, ani sto u ustawionego centralnie, ani też szaf, czy stolików, które nadawa­ łyby się do udekorowania naczyniem z bukietem kwiatów. Co prawda, stół ustawiony w jednym z kątów izby, służący od jakiegoś czasu jako swego rodzaju ołtarz z figurą osoby świętej lub „pasyją", mógł być takim miejscem , ale wykorzystywano go przy rozmaitych -domowych zajęciach jako składo­ wisko przyborów np. do szycia, czesania, niekiedy kładziono nań chleb, to znów odstawiano przedmioty kultowe i wówczas służył do bardziej uroczystych posiłków. Dlatego też na stole tym kwiaty, jako przystrój przedmiotów kultowych, pojawiają sie sto­ sunkowo późno, kiedy coraz mocniej ugruntowuje się potrzeba należytej czci dla „świętego" miejsca. Zna­ mienne, że nie są to kwiaty żywe — z ogrodu, łąki czy lasu, lecz prawie zawsze sztuczne — własnej roboty lub zakupione na targu. Niewątpliwie wchodzi 1u w grę szczególne upodobanie do tego właśnie ro­ dzaju kwiatów, ale nie jest też bez znaczenia ich trwałość oraz wzgląd, że podczas korzystania ze stołu nie ma obawy rozlania wody, której wymagają kwia­ ty naturalne. ł 27 Kwiaty, obok rozmaitych ziół, czy w ogóle pewne rośliny występują dosyć często w ludowych obrzę­ dach jako niezbędny przejaw adoracji obiektów kultowych. Kurpie używają ich podczas dorocznych świąt do przystrajania figur i krzyży przydrożnych oraz wnętrz kościoła. Sposób, w jaki wite są w tvm celu bukiety, wieńce lub girlandy, nie świadczy by­ najmniej o jakiejś większej znajomości i umiłowaniu przez Kuroiów tego swoistego kunsztu dekoratorskiego. Inaczei już bywa w wypadku bardziej w aściwych kulturze ludowej obrzędów, jakimi sa np. na terenie Kurpiowszczyzny: w ązanie na polu „przepiórki" z. kłosów żyta i kwiatów polnych (odpowiednik — w innych stronach — plonu), wycinanie „marcinek" i strojenie bydłu rogów wiankami przed pierwszym wypasem, wicie ..zianusków" na Matkę Boską Zielną, czy nawet sporządzanie palm wielkanocnych. ł ; Należy jeszcze odnotować fakt, że w miejscowej tradvcii całkowicie obcy był zwyczaj wvkorzystvwam'a kwiatów iako darów — symboli uczuć dla bliskich lub osób. wobec których żywi się szacunek. Na Kurpiowszczyźnie nigdy dawniej nie składano kwiatów, ani osobom żywym ani umarłym. Często występujący w innych stronach tradycyjny zwyczaj przystrajania 27 Istnieje wiele powodów aby sądzić, iż stół ustawiony w kącie izby zaczął pełnić na Kurpiowszczvźnie funkcię domowego ołtarza dopiero od połowy X I X w . t j . od momentu przełamania na tym terenie powszechnego indyferentyzmu religijnego. Szerzej omawiam to zagadnienie w innym miejscu, por.: Artystyczna twórczość kowalska na terenie Kurpiow­ skiej Puszczy Zielonej od końca XIX w. do I woiwi światowej, „Polska Sztuka Ludowa", 1961, nr 4, s. 209. �mogił kwiatami czy owocami jarzębiny, kasztanowca lub głogu — tu nie był przyjęty. To, że nie wykorzy­ stywano kwiatów jako darów, byłoby faktem bez większego znaczenia w interesującym nas przed­ miocie, gdyby nie wielka popularność u Kurpiów, tak zresztą jak i u innych grup ludowych, zwyczaju obdarowywania się przy wszelkich okazjach rodzin­ nych, szczególnie zaś podczas zarękowin, wesela i chrztu — przedmiotami o wartościach material­ nych. Wydaje się, że podanie tych wszystkich uwag było konieczne, z wypowiedzi informatorów bowiem nie zawsze wynika dostatecznie jasno ich stosunek wobec piękna tych roślin. Szczegółowe opisywanie przez niektórych informatorów wyglądu kwiatów sugerowałoby np. znacznie rozbudowaną ich wrażli­ wość na kształt, budowę kwiatostanu, strukturę i barwę płatków, a tak w rzeczywistości nie jest. „Nagietki drobne, żółte, krozowate, takie jakby kto je pociepał, a w środku kocioulek, tak po żniwach lubi kścieć, to je cuć trupem — ale ładne ksiatki. Comber jakoś kścieje, chyba niebziesko. To to ładnie pachnie. Ale najsykowniejse, to orginy i różowe, i cerwone, i bziałe. Tutaj u nas to ich nie mają, je mają na Prusach i u ślachty. Orginy są ksiaty najładniejse, bo to jak podłoży pod nią gnoju (mają pod spodem takie kartofelki), to urosną duze, jest na co popatrzyć." (Franciszka Zisk) „Dawniej to rumianku nasieli, zeby pachniał, a z insych ksiatów to comber, taki zieluny i ma nie­ bieskie ksiatki, takie drobne jek konicyna. I saranki były. Najładniejse to pliściowe i cerwune i niebieskie, taki rozmaity kolor mają, jakie tylko farby. Te są ksiatki średniodrobne... Na łunkach to rośnie trzęsiunek, to tes ładny ksiatek, łun ma takie łopatki, jak urwać wiązkę, to łun nie postoi, łun zawse bandzie latał, a inse kukawki, białe, żółte ksiatki, co ich moc na łunkach to zbytecne:" (Ewa Rydel) „Kwiat kwiatowi nie równy, te co do ołtarza, to najpiękniejse — róże, tulipany, woska piwonia, lilia, to są duze kwiaty, to są kwiaty zachwycające. A są takie polne, to do nicego, do otłarza nie pasują." (Anna Kordecka) „Ładne kwiaty, to piwonia, chryzantema, bo ma duze dubeltowe kwiaty... Z tych, co na łąkach, przy struskach rosną, to mi jesce podchodzą niezapomi­ najki, jak wsadzić do wody to same rosną, ale to małe kwiatki." (Marianna Zalewska) „Georginie, lelje, astry, to fajne kwiaty. Georginie i lelje, to znać, ze kwiaty, je na co popatrzyć. U nas teraz na Kurpiach to przeważnie wysokie są kwiaty, a tych drobnych to nie sieją... Z tych co w domu się trzyma, to fortensja najładniejsa, bo co miesiąc inacej kście i kawaler albo gupi jaś to tes dobry, bo stale ksitnie." (Stanisława Olender) ,.Z dawności hodowalim saranki i nagetki-żółte, takie nieduże, co mają takie pazurki i siła zielunego. To byli takie zwykłe kwiatki... Astry, o to piękne, najpiękniejse są więkse i takie rozmaite." Tak więc tylko kwiaty hodowane w ogrodzie i w domu spotykają się z większym lub mniejszym, lecz zawsze zgodnym uznaniem dla ich estetycznych walorów. Natomiast jeśli chodzi o kwiaty z łąk — to już tylko bardzo nieliczne (np. niezapominajki, rumianek i „trzęsionek") cieszą się podobnym uzna­ niem. O kwiatach leśnych i rosnących na polach (najczęściej w zbożu) informatorzy nie wspominają. Leśne, podobnie jak większość kwiatów z łąk, są im pod względem estetycznym zupełnie obojętne, polne zaś uważane są za chwasty zagrażające plonom zbóż, co również wyklucza przyznanie im wartości estetycz­ nych. 28 29 28 Antonina Cicha, ur. 1900, zam. w. Brzozowy Kąt, pow. Ostrołęka. Zamożna, uprawia tkactwo, umie wycinać oraz lepić figury z ciasta i wosku. Znamienne jest bardzo, na jakie cechy kwiatów zwracają główną uwagę informatorzy i które z nich wywołują najżywsze reakcje. Jeśli chodzi o kwiaty hodowane — najważniejsza jest ich wielkość. Te, które są „duże", „dubeltowe", „znać że są kwiaty" — podobają się najbardziej. Kwiaty zaś „drobne", „małe", „średniodrobne" — choćby miały piękny za­ pach, barwę — zawsze ustępują dużym. Znacznie już mniejszy zachwyt wywołuje różnobarwne i długo­ trwałe kwitnienie. Jeżeli chodzi o takie kwiaty, jak niezapominajki, rumianek czy wspomniany „trzęsio­ nek", to ich specjalne przymioty, wyróżniające je od reszty kwiatów polnych wywołują uznanie. Może to być zdolność zachowania długo po ścięciu świeżego wyglądu, albo jakaś cecha szczególna, niezwykła, np. „trzęsionka", czyli drżenie delikatne zawieszonych kwiatostanów. Ładunek emocjonalny w ocenach piękna poszcze­ gólnych kwiatów nie jest więc jednakowy, nigdy jednak, jak mi się wydaje, nie jest tak znaczny, aby mógł świadczyć, że stosunek do kwiatów wyróżnia się bardziej od innych reakcji omówionych już wcześniej. „... Lubzie żółte ksiaty, rosną duze, o mój Boże jak to się zakście. U mojej mamusi to cały ogród za­ walony był ksiatami, różnego kalibru, i jasne, i po­ marańczowe, i żółte. Mnie sie rozmai+e spodobyły, małe i duze, rozmaite ksiaty i te co na łąkach, w ży­ cie, i w lesie kścieją. O Maryjo, jakie psiękne nieraz w lesie najdzie się. Jak bym ja ksiatów nie lubziła wszyćkich, to ja bym tych lelujów wycinała?" (Ro­ zalia Skrodzka). Na tego rodzaju żywą, a przy tym jednakowo silną reakcję na piękno wszelkich kwiatów (zarówno ma­ łych, jak dużych, ogrodowych i polnych), udało mi się natrafić — na ogólną ilość 40 przebadanych i n ­ formatorów — zaledwie w dwóch wypadkach. POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO OWADÓW, PTAKÓW I ZWIERZĄT LEŚNYCH „Są takie robaki trawniki cerwune i zielune, to pseciwne ludziom — kąsają. A w boru są duze ciązniki, śwecące, pomarańczowe, a łby mają złote. I są padalce siwe i znijiska. Są takie się nazywają krówki, jak kartofle, becą jek dzwon. Te paskudztwo co się komary zwą, to skoda o nich gadać. Mandle bziałe są, mają okrągłe, nawet ładne skrzydełka. Nad wodą żyją to walne robactwo — furane [fruwające], to dwóch sortów są bziałe i cerwune, są tez kuniaki srebrne, jak palice duze. Jest tego, a jest. Nie chce juz sobie ich więcej wspominać". (Rozalia Skrodzka) Oto najbardziej łagodne wyrażenie uczuć żywio­ nych wobec ogółu owadów, które nazywa się na Kurpiowszczyźnie „robastwem" lub „robakami". Wypo­ wiedź pochodzi od informatora wyjątkowo wrażli­ wego i tylko tym należy tłumaczyć jego powściągli­ wość w ocenie każdego z tych stworzeń. Zazwyczaj bowiem mówi się o nich tak: „O jakie są rozmaite robaki, o matko moja. Każ­ dego bym pantofla zdjęła i zabiła. Żadne mi się nie podobają wcale. Motyle to się ich boję, takie obrzy­ dliwe, to ja się ich nawet boję". (Anna Kordecka) Spośród owadów tylko trzmiele i pszczoły spoty­ kają się u starszych ludzi z na tyle życzliwym stosun­ kiem, aby można było mówić o wywoływaniu przez te stworzenia jakiegoś rodzaju doznań estetycznych. Ale nawet w wypadku pszczół, o których się mówi nie inaczej, jak „dobre robacki", „dobre robaki" itp., wszelkie zachwyty dotyczą w zasadzie tylko poży29 Na podstawie wypowiedzi informatorów wy­ mienionych w przypisach: 13,14,15,16,19,20 i in. 105 �II. 9. „Leluja", wycinanka. Wyk. ok. 3955 r. Marianna Zalewska, Łyse, pow. Kolno. tecznej dla człowieka ich pracowitości, nigdy zaś np. misternej budowy ciała, czy ogólnego wyglądu >. „... Iść do ula popatrzeć jak one pracują, jak przy­ chodzą obładowane na nogach, to drugie pomagają, a jak brzęcą — mają taki ucciwy rozdźwięk, ze się tylko ukłaść. Jak gryka zakwitnie, to jak one miód zbierają, do straśny dźwęk. Tam nie ma sporu, złości". (Teofil Nasiadka) Wypowiedzi o ptakach reprezentują bez porówna­ nia szerszy, bardziej rozbudowany zespół wrażeń. „Nic wcale się na ptactwie nie znam. Jeden wróbel i wrona co mi się pod nosem kręcą, to o nich mogę powiedzieć, ze skudne i bez żadnego nawet wyględu. Kiedyś to były bąki. Jek zabucał, to na mile było słychać. Były tez prukawki, to jek zaceły prukać w lesie, to jek jechał w kunie, to mu as ustały. Gile takie byli, co pod kołdunem ma pióra zielune i siwe, ale juz kilka lat go nima. Skonciś psylatywały jed­ wabniki. Na jesieni kalinę obsiadły, to walnie duze. Nie bace juz, cy miały kropki po sobie, cy jakiś psystrój miały. To były śwycące, ślicne ptaski". (Józef Slachetka) „Ładnych ptasków u nas dosyć ich jest, ale nawet nie wiem jak sie nazywają ... Sroka, o, ta jajka krad­ nie, kukułka ona tez niedobra, a dziencioł tes do nicego — śnierdzi. Dzieci raz go w gniździe wynaleźli to śnierdział paskudnie. Słowik on to jesce najładniej może śpiewać". (Stefania Samsel) „Jaskółki najbardziej jesce lubzie, a te wszystkie inne to skodniki. Sykowny jest jesce łubek, dzie przyjdzie, to dziubie, piórka ma takie cerwune kiele ocu i cubek ma. Ładny ptasek. Jastrząb, to strojny ale niedobry, jeg go lubić i chwalić, jek się jego urodą zachwycać jek on skudny jek pies". (Ewa Rydel) Stwierdzenia: „nic wcale się nie znam na ptac­ twie", „nie wiem jak się nazywają", przy tym rzeczy3t 31 32 30 Szerzej omawiam stosunek do pszczół w pracy: Tradycyjne wierzenia o pszczołach z Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej, „Literatura Ludowa", 1961, nr 4—6, s. 39—44. Teofil Nasiadka, ur. 1876, zam. w. Dębniki, pow. Łomża. Gospodarz średniozamożny, pszczelarz, nie uprawiał żadnej dziedziny twórczości plastycznej. 31 106 wiście nienajlepsza orientacja w przymiotach właści­ wych określonym ptakom („gil pod kałdunem ma pióra zielune i siwe") świadczą, że większej uwagi nie poświęcano tym stworzeniom. Stąd też duża róż­ norodność stanowisk jeśli chodzi o wskazanie ptaka pięknego. Oczywiście szkodników w ogóle nie bierze się w tym wypadku pod uwagę, chociażby były naj­ piękniej upierzone, ładnie śpiewały itp. Ich niepożyteczność wyklucza jakiekolwiek uznanie. Natomiast wśród ptaków, które nie szkodzą, każdy informator dostrzega dwa najwyżej trzy, które mu się podobają. Zależnie od okoliczności, w jakich miał z określonym ptakiem styczność, czy widywał go lub słyszał częściej albo rzadziej, rodziło się żywsze nim zainteresowa­ nie. Wówczas też powstawała reakcja na specyficzne dla „wybranego" ptaka przymioty. Mogła więc w grę wchodzić u jednych — barwa upierzenia, u innych — jakieś drobne szczegóły ogólnego wyglądu, czy wresz­ cie zachowanie — głównie śpiew. Oto zestaw wypowiedzi spotykanych najczęściej. Obok nich spotyka się inne, w których przejawia się już nie tak obojętny i przypadkowy stosunek do ptactwa. „Wsystkie ptoski ładnie śpiewają jek ciepło. Jek ciepło to każdy się weseli. Kukawki jak jest zaranek, to ślicnie śpiewają. Skowronek śpiewa, to wesoło na świecie. Łubki to dzie na chliwie albo na opasi zrobzi gniazdo, to ładny, pstry ptasek. Mnie się zdaje, ze każdy przyjemny sykowny, jek weźmie śpiewać. K r u ­ ki, a wrony, a jastrzębie mają ładne psióra, ale to niedobre, nieprzyjemne ptaki". (Marianna Strzemienna) . „Najgorse pożarte, niedobre, co żrą kurcaki, to się nazywają jastrzebzie, to ładne, strojne są, mają psiórka bręgowate. Drugie się nazywają seroki, siwe są. bzegi u sksydełek i ogony mają bziałe i krowatki bziałe mają, a łebki carne, to strojne ptaki, to jaj­ kami tylko żyją. kradną. A gołąbki, to ładnota, a grucą łuziut, łuziut. one strojne, a są gapy, co mają plecy siwe. a sksydła i oguny corne to tes strojne ptaki. Gołąbki, seroki i jastrzębie to najstrojniejse". (Marianna Bałdyga). Ptaki śpiewające wymieniane są w pierwszej koleiności i najczęściej. Śpiew skowronka i turkawki uchodzi przy tym za najpiękniejszy. U niektórych informatorów wywołuje on uczucie zadowolenia i ra­ dości. Ptaki nie śpiewające, ale barwnie upierzone, zajmują następne miejsce. Jest rzeczą znamienną, w kontekście z poprzednio omawianymi postawami, że ta grupa informatorów ptakom nawet najbardziei szkodliwym (jak np. jastrzębiom) nie odmawia już uroku. Zdarza się, że pstre upierzenie tych ptaków, ich lot szybki lub majestatyczny wywołuje duże uznanie lub nawet podziw. Należy jednak jeszcze raz powtórzyć, iż obecnie u starszych ludzi z terenu Kurpiowszczyzny posta­ wa taka jest bez porównania rzadziej spotykana niż poprzednio opisana. Nie wykluczone, że dawniej było inaczej. Chociażby przy końcu X I X w., kiedy lasv nie były tak jak dziś przetrzebione, nad strugami zaś r o z c i ą g a j się bardziej rozległe tereny pokryte szu­ warami — i tym samym ptactwo miało lepsze warun­ ki, spotykało się więcej jego rzadkich gatunków, 33 32 Józef Slachetka, ur. 1889, zam. w. Szafranki, pow. Ostrołęka. Gospodarz niezamożny, rybak zawo­ dowy, nie zajmował się twórczością plastyczną. Marianna Strzemienna, ur. 1867, zam. w. Wy­ krot, pow. Ostrołęka, średniozamożna, zajmowała się tkactwem, innych rodzajów twórczości plastycznej nie uprawiała. 33 �szczególnie atrakcyjnych pod względem wyglądu czy zachowania. To samo można w zasadzie powiedzieć jeśli cho­ dzi o wszelką dziczyznę. Dzisiaj wielu najstarszym nawet ludziom większość zwierząt leśnych nie jest zupełnie znana z widzenia. Dlatego też bardzo trudno jest dopatrzyć się jakichś istotnych prawidłowości w poglądach na piękno tych stworzeń. Zrozumiałe, że zupełnie inne będą one u osób, którym udało się jeszcze widzieć jakieś „dzikie" zwierzę, aniżeli u tych, które nie miały tej okazji. „Dzikich stworzeniów nie zidziałam, to nie poziem, które mi się spodobają. Zajunc casem przeleci, ale zajunc — jek to zajunc" (Franciszka Zisk). Należy jeszcze dodać, że nie zawsze mogła to być okazja oglądania zwierzęcia w natural­ nych warunkach jego przebywania. „Niech ta ciort weźmie wszystkie gady, robaki i inne zwierze. Ze zwierzyńcem raz psyjechali, to na żadne patsyć nie mogłam ... Wsyscy chodzili oglądać waza, a ja popatrzyła się wstrząchłam i posłam. Lisa nieli wyrudziałego, to scezył na wsystkich zęby, pascękę rozdziawił i charcał". (Marianna Zalewska). POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO KRÓW I KONI Wybór koni i krów jako wyłącznego obiektu ba­ dań poglądów estetycznych, związanych ze zwierzęta­ mi domowymi, hodowanymi przez Kurpiów, podykto­ wany był z jednej strony faktem występowania sto­ sunkowo najszerszego zespołu wartości estetycznych u tych zwierząt i z drugiej ich znaczeniem w gospo­ darstwie chłopskim. Przynajmniej od połowy X I X w. krowy i konie stanowią podstawę gospodarki hodo­ wlanej na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej. Hodowla innych zwierząt była tu zawsze słabiej roz­ winięta, a tym samym mniej poświęcano jej uwagi. Tak więc na przykładzie tych dwóch zwierząt naj­ łatwiej i chyba najdokładniej można prześledzić sto­ sunek, jaki żywią starsi mieszkańcy Kurpiowszczyzny do żywego inwentarza. Nie chodzi tu o stwierdzenie oczywiste, że zabiega się o zdrowie i jak najlepszy rozwój stada, że nad nieoczekiwaną stratą każdej sztuki ciężko się boleje. Chodzi natomiast o to, iż chów tych stworzeń wprowadza jakiegoś rodzaju uza­ leżnienie ludzkiej jednostki, u której zawsze drzemie gdzieś w głębokich pokładach świadomości pragnie­ nie nieskrępowanej swobody. Codzienny trud kar­ mienia licznej, nigdy nie sytej trzody na pewno za­ ostrza to pragnienie. Stąd na każdym kroku wymierza się tym zwierzętom najgroźniejsze przekleństwa, a jeśli oszczędza się im cięższych razów (chociaż też nie jest to regułą), to tylko z troski .o własny interes. Stworzony został osobny zasób wyrażeń najbardziej grubych, które by najdosadniej określały to wszystko co wiązać można z bydłem i nierogacizną. Utrzymy­ wanie się ich w stałym, żywym obiegu wskazuje, iż nie zaszły istotne zmiany w systemie wychowu i uza­ leżnieniu od niego chłopa. Zwierzęta te otoczono nadomiar wierzeniami, które przypisują niektórym z nich najbardziej złe moce. Na terenie Kur­ piowszczyzny jeszcze dziś utrzymują się one w formie reliktowej wobec konia, psa i ś w i n i . 34 34 Por. J. Olędzki, Wota woskowe ze wsi Krzy­ nowłoga Wielka i Brodowe Łąki, „Polska Sztuka L u ­ dowa", 1960, nr 1, s. 14. 107 �Wszystkie zatem najtroskliwsze nawet zabiegi w stosunku do żywego inwentarza dokonuje się z ciężkiej konieczności, której przyświeca jedyne pragnienie — maksymalnego wyzyskania materialnego każdej sztuki. To- wyłączne zainteresowanie, w wy­ padku konia uczynienia go najwydatniejszą siłą po­ ciągową, a bydła — jednostek najbardziej mięso i mlekodajnych, przewodzi wszystkim opiniom o ich wyglądzie, kształtuje bez reszty związane z nimi po­ glądy estetyczne. ,.Jek tłuste stworzenie to piękne. Tek koń jek i krowa". (Antonina Cicha). „Krowa jek sie wychowała tłusta, taka ze ją w i ­ dać i wymię ma tłuste, to sykowona. Tak samo i koń każdy ładny jak dobze wychowany". (Marianna Za­ lewska). ..Krowa jak i kuń jak dobze wychowane, nie ste­ rane, tłuste, to jaka by nie była maść, to ładne". (Stanisław Koprek). Oto najbardziei bezpośrednie, najprostsze stwier­ dzenia, nie zawoalowane żadnym dodatkowym przy­ braniem słownym. U podstaw ich leży reakcja na przymioty dobrego wyhodowania zwierzęcia, mani­ festującego się w ogólnym jego wyglądzie — głównie kszta cie tułowia. Ale istnieią informatorzy nie ma­ jący tak surowych doznań, którzy są bardziej wymapaiacy wobec wvgladu zwierzęcia wartościowego i po­ trafią prawie smakować w symptomach właściwych mlecznej, obfitującej w mięso krowie i mocnemu ko­ niowi. ..Koń ni zólty, ni corny. ani bzieły tylko kaśtan, to najstrojnieisy. Jek ma piec seroki, a łud opałkowaty. a syje wygięta, a łepek honorowy, to je stroj­ ny. Krowa jek ma kałdun jek fura, a chrzvbiet gar­ baty, to nie honorowa, nie stroina, musi być tłusta i chód mieć taki coby się w niej gnaty nie gibały. I cyrwuna i łaciata, jek tłuste, to ładne". (Rozalia Skrodzka). ..Kunie najładniejse to takie jek ziśn e cerwune i żółte tes mi jesce podchodzą. Bziały. to sie mózi — iedzie z bziałą bziedo. To jak juz inaksego nie może kuoić... Corny, to mi sie nie podoba, bo mi sie wydaie ze nie ma stroiu. zresta cornv. to zawsze gorsv, ociąga sie przy robocie. Jek kaśtanowaty taki cyrwunv. to zaraz tłustsy sie wydaie". (Ewa Rvdel). „Kaśtany to naistrojniejse. s w e tvs sa jesce stroine, kare jus nie tyle wyględne. Wsystkie ładne jek tłuste, wypasione, to i tuzvcka l?7y i biedra nie za wysokie, syja krótsa sie robi. pierś się mhi silnieisa, inny fason. Choć to s?mo stworzenie, takie wvględniejse. zdatniejse do roboty i wyjazdki". (Władysław Nasiadka). ..Piękne sa krowy cerwune i łaciaste. ładnie w y ­ chowane, a kunie kaśtanowe, cvrwune. takie krępe, silne. A takie bia e i corne. to śmiertelniki. to strasnie nieładne. One zawsze do roboty gorse. Wsystko co wsoaniałe. to piękne, takie zdrowp. żywe. mocne, takie iak piorunem z nieba Ja to t=ka górnolotna. A są fleematvki. im to byle co podchodzi. Takich to ja bym pozabijała". (Anna Kordeckal. Miedry poszczególnymi wypowiedziami nie zacho­ dzą żadne różnice jakościowe Znamienne jest. że zarówno informatorzy mniei jak i bardziej wrażliwi na estetykę •— w poglądach na piękno koni i krów są jednomyślni. Jako ..niękne". ..ładne". ..strojne", czy ..honorowe" uznają tylko zwierzęta „tłuste", „dobrze wychowane", ł ; ; ł 35 Por. P. Szumowski, Z. Jastrzębowski, Przy­ czynek do studiów nad geograficznym rozmieszcze­ niem ras zwierząt, domowych w Polsce. ..Kwartalnik Statystyczny", t. X: 1933. z. 1. mapa: Rozmieszczenie ras koni w RzeczyDOspolitei Polskiej; M. Biernacka, Kurpiowska aospodarka hodowlana, w opracowaniu zbiorowym: Kurpie — Puszcza Zielona. Traducie hi­ storyczne a problem reaion».. cyt. wvd.. s. 234—236. Por. T. Konopiński, Hodowla bydła — pocho36 108 „wypasione". Mogą się najwyżej różnić w ocenach szczegółowych, gorzej lub lepiej orientować w zale­ tach poszczególnych odmian i ras. Istnieje wiele powodów, aby twierdzić, że na te­ renie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej wyhodowana została pewna miejscowa odmiana konia pospolitego z domieszką konia ciężkiego i (mniejszą) lekkiego, wysoko uszlachetnionego. Konie te charakteryzują się niewysokim wzrostem, krępą budową, małą głową i kasztanową maścią. Kurpiowszczyzna słynęła z nich jeszcze do I wojny światowej . Stąd też najprawdo­ podobniej tak wielu informatorów uznaje za piękne wyłącznie konie maści kasztanowej, względnie gniadej („żółtej") najbardziej ją przypominające. Nato­ miast bydło kurpiowskie, od czasów jak sięga pamięć najstarszych informatorów, zawsze było mieszane. Do I wojny światowej hodowano przeważnie krowy maści „siwej", „pstrej" (czerwono-biała lub białoczerwona), „kobielastej" (czarna z białym pasem na grzbiecie), a także „łyse" (czerwona o grzbiecie bia­ łym), „kropichy", „graniaste" (czarna lub czerwona z białymi łatkami). Od końca X I X w. pojawia się ponadto na tym terenie odmiana rasy nizinnej, białoczarnej i czerwonej — polskiej . W wyniku tak znacznej różnorodności hodowanych odmian zrozu­ miałe są różnice w poglądach informatorów na piękno krów o określonej maści. Najczęściej bywa tak, że informatorzy uznają za piękne, względnie najpiękniej­ sze tej maści bydło, do jakiego najbardziej przywykli, stykając się z nim w rodzinnej wsi lub zagrodzie. 35 36 POGLĄDY NA PIĘKNO FIZYCZNE CZOWIEKA Piękno człowieka można rozpatrywać w mniej lub bardziej szerokim aspekcie, uwzględniając np. przy­ mioty wyodrębniające go od świata zwierząt (przy­ mioty umysłowe! lub zatrzymując się na tvch tylko jego cechach, które go wiążą z pozostałymi żywymi istotami, czyli ograniczaiąc się do jego fizycznego wyglądu. Wybierając pierwszą z tych możliwości wkracza się w złożona problematykę etyki. Dlatego też poprzestanę na analizie poglądów związanych wy­ łącznie z zewnętrznym, fizycznym pięknem człowieka, jego figurą, budową, karnacją oraz barwą włosów i oczu. Informatorzy nasi nie ujmuią jednak swych ocen wyglądu człowieka w oderwaniu od wyobrażeń o określonych walorach psychicznych czy charak­ terologicznych. Stoją bowiem na stanowisku, że u nie­ których osobników pewnym cechom zewnętrznym od­ powiadają ściśle określone zalety ducha. np. blondyni 0 błękitnych oczach mają dobre serce, szczere, otwar­ te usposobienie, a ich zaprzeczeniem są ludzie o wło­ sach rudych lub oczach zielonych. Tego rodzaju sta­ nowisko jest bardzo popularne w środowisku ludo­ wym. Dla podiecia próby interpretacji jego żywot­ ności w odniesieniu do Kurpiowszczyzny — niezwykle pomocne są wvniki badań antropologicznych. Na podstawie danych dostarczonych przez A. Maciesze można z dużym prawdopodobieństwem twierdzić, że wszystkie te cechy wyglądu, które wiążą się z nie­ korzystnymi przymiotami usposobienia i charakteru człowieka wystenuia wśród ogółu ludności kuroiowskiej bardzo rzadko . W tym można by znaleźć w y ­ tłumaczenie utrzymywania się u starszych Kurpiów owego niczym nieuzasadnionego uprzedzenia do r u ­ dych i zielonookich. Pamiętamy bowiem, że zawsze oceniali oni negatywnie te wszystkie właściwości 37 dzenie, rasy, pokrój, dobór, żywienie, użytkowanie 1 organizacja czyli biologiczne i ekonomiczne podsta­ wy hodowli bwdfo. Poznań 1931, s. 233; M. Biernacka, op. cit s. 236—237. Por. Aleksander Maciesza. Puszczanie przas­ nyscy. Przyczynek do charakterystyki antropoloqiczn°i Kurpióui. ..Archiwum Nauk Antropologicznych", t. IIT, dz. A. Antropologia, nr 1, Warszawa — Lwów 1923, s. 6—9. 37 �wyglądu np. zwierząt domowych, szczególnie zaś koni, które nie występowały dostatecznie często lub — inaczej — które odbiegały od spotykanych niegdyś najczęściej. Przejdźmy jednak do samych wypowiedzi. Infor­ matorzy, ustosunkowując się do urody ludzkiej, biorą pod uwagę przede wszystkim wzrost, budowę i ogólną kondycję obiektu. „Jak jest scupiy, to lichy, to licho nadziejo w nim. Najlepsy, najsyKowniejsy chłop, to taki średni (nie wysoki), mocny. I kobieta tak samo, jak zdrowa, to fajna". (Apolinary Waśkiewicz). „Chude, wysokie ludzie to mi się nie podobają, bo mają wygląd niezdrowego, nie zdatnego do roboty. Na tłustego to bym stale patrzyła, bo tłusty to zdro­ wy, ładny. Jek cłowiek zdrowy, to cerwony, cerzysty, taki prętki do wszystkiego". (Stanisława Olender). „Przychodzili do mnie takie scupłe, rosłe chłopy, to nie chciałam z nimi gadać. As przyset taki jeden karcysty, cerwuny kark równo z włosami, mocny seroki, to se pomyślałam dobry do gospodarki i do pokazania ludziom". (Ewa Rydel). „Mocno duze ludzie mi się nie podobają, takie bociany. Średnie to mi się podobają, takie zgrabne, tłuste. A chudy to ciemięga, to as zygać się chce. Ale za tłusty, to tes nie ładny, jek by się na korycie upas. Lubię patrzyć na takich prętkich, co chyżo się rusają". (Anna Kordecka). „Chudych to nienazidze, a tęgich, tłustych, to ja tes nienazidze. Ja tych kadłubów nienazidze, bo jek umrą, to śmerdzą i za życia śmerdzą. Te to do zwieziny podobne. Ja to tak jem, zeby jak najmniej śmerdzieć jek umrę. Najpiękniejse, to takie są l u ­ dzie, me za duze ale i nie małe, bo ich nie zidać, dobrze rozrośnięte, mocne, silne". (Rozalia Skrodzka). Obraz ideału urodziwego człowieka rysuje się we wszystkich wypowiedziach bardzo podobnie. Jest to osobnik, który swoją budową, ogólną kondycją gwa­ rantuje pełne przygotowanie do ciężkiej pracy fizycz­ nej, tewne różnice zdań co do tego, czy jest nim osobnik bardziej niż dobrze, czy tylko dobrze odży­ wiony, nie mają większego znaczenia wobec jedno­ myślności, iż nie jest nim na pewno osoba szczupła — wysoka. Przy takim stanowisku zrozumiały staje się w wypowiedziach brak jakiegokolwiek ustosunkowa­ nia się wobec poszczególnych części ciała, stopnia har­ monii i regularności budowy. Określona wielkość i forma głowy, kształt dłoni i nóg nie stanowią dla informatorów warunku piękna. Sporo natomiast uwagi poświęcają oni cerze, znajdując w niej odbicie stanu zdrowia. Jakie jeszcze szczegóły w wyglądzie fizycznym człowieka stanowią przedmiot estetycznych doznań — wspomniałem już wcześniej. Są to barwa włosów i oczu. „Cyganów, carnych to nienazidze. Najpiękniejse to takie, co włosy mają jasne i ocy jasne. A bure, ciemne, to nie lubzie. Żielune to najgorse. Kot ma ci zielune, to zdradliwe, to do nicego". (Antonina Cicha). „Podobają mi się mocno ocy niebzieskie. Carne i sare nie, a juz kocie, to nie doj Boże, najgorse, fałsywe. Ciemne blondyny i satyny, to ładne, a ryzi i ciorne takie kruki, to śkaradztwo. Ryzi to fałsywi, a ciorny, to jekby się ufarbował na pokaz". (Józef Slachetka). „Jek okrągła buzia, jasne włosy i niebieskie ocy, to sykowny. Cyganiaste, to mi się nie podobają". (Franciszka Zisk). 38 „Puszczanie przy jednakowym z ogółem Pola­ ków Królestwa wzroście i siągu, jednakowych wy­ miarach obwcdu i długości głowy oraz jednakowych najczęściej spotykanych wymiarach szerokości głowy, a także jednakowej odsetce barw włosów, a więc o włosach najczęściej szatynowych, wyróżniają się największą odsetką oczu jasnych, największą ilością „Mnie się spodobują ludzie jasne, coby ocy,i włosy • nieii jasne. Ale takie całkiem jasne to juz me, a cerwune, takie ryzie, to jesce gorse, to niedobre takie ludzie, chytre, mściwe, taki, to gotów cłowieka zabić". (Marianna Bardyga). Tak więc równ.eż w stosunku do tych drobnych szczegółów urody ludzkiej informatorzy zajmują ściśle określone stanowisko, nie różniąc się w wyma­ ganiach, jednakowo żywo wyrażając swój stosunek do cech, które uznają i które budzą w nich sprzeciw. Podobnie jak w ocenach piękna zwierząt domo­ wych, tak i tych dotyczących człowieka nie udało mi się stwierdzić różniących się zasadniczo postaw. To­ warzysząca im kategoryczność wyrażania sądów każe zastanowić się nad tym jak bardzo silne musiało być oddziaływanie czynników sprawczych. Można dopa­ trywać się ich przede wszystkim w ciężkich warun­ kach bytu okresu, kiedy kształtowały się poglądy starszego pokolenia Kurpiów, a także w izolacji społeczno-kulturalnej tego rejonu k r a j u . Na tej bardzo pobieżnej charakterystyce poglądów na piękno fizyczne człowieka można skończyć oma­ wianie zgromadzonego materiału. Pozostaje tylko samo uporządkowanie tych wszystkich uwag, które nasunęiy się w toku przeprowadzonego wywodu. Przeżycia estetyczne starszego pokolenia Kurpiów wiążą się z odczuwaniem uroków tych wartości świata przyrody, które mają materialne lub społeczne uza­ sadnienie w bytowaniu chłopa względnie też jakieś racje w jego wierzeniach. U człowieka cechami taki­ mi są przede wszystkim — przystosowanie do cięż­ kiej pracy fizycznej i łatwość współżycia grupowego, u koni — głównie zdolności pociągowe, u bydła, po­ dobnie jak u ryb, przede wszystkim zalety spożyw­ cze, u niektórych owadów (pszczół, trzmieli), niektó­ rych ptaków, a także roślin — pożyteczność dla gos­ podarstwa, w krajobrazie — żyzność gleby, łatwość eksploatacji (np. brak nierówności terenowych) oraz stopień zagospodarowania, wreszcie, jeśli chodzi o pory dnia i roku — przede wszystkim wpływ na ożywienie w przyrodzie oraz na stan wyższej spraw­ ności fizycznej człowieka. Nawet piękno kwiatów oce­ niane bywa przez to w jakiej mierze świadczą one o gospodarności i pozycji hodującego ich cziowieka. Przyjmowanie za miernik piękna realnej wartości przedmiotów czy zjawisk przyrody stanowi w egzy­ stencji chłopa-rolnika dominujące kryterium oceny estetycznej; dotyczy to wszystkich bez wyjątku jed­ nostek, które zostały objęte badaniem. Takie stano­ wisko wyzwala oczywiście kategoryczność estetycz­ nych sądów, osłabia wszelkie wahanie czy niezdecy­ dowanie w wyznaczaniu rzeczy brzydkich, prowadzi do zakreślenia pięknu w przyrodzie wąskich granic. Są wypadki, że uroki pór roku i dnia, następnie krajobrazu oraz flory i fauny spotykają się z bar­ dziej elastycznym osadem. Można by powiedzieć, iż piękno tych dziedzin świata przyrody, od których uzależnienie bytu chłopa nie jest obecnie ściśle uza­ leżnione lub które nie są przedmiotem stałych trosk czy zabiegów gospodarczych (z przyczyn nieraz zu­ pełnie obiektywnych) — wyzwalają bardziej złożone doznania estetyczne. W odniesieniu do tej sfery pięk­ na w przyrodzie można więc mówić o pewnym, nie­ raz zasadniczym, zróżnicowaniu poglądów estetycz­ nych interesującego nas środowiska. Natomiast piękno tych dziedzin przyrody, wobec których człowiek na wsi czyni stałe starania gospodarcze, względnie na których zmuszony jest skupiać stale uwagę, czerpiąc z nich korzyści — a więc przede wszystkim piękno 38 osobników miernego czyli średniego wzrostu. Puszcza­ nie wyróżniają się wśród Polaków największym sto­ sunkowo do swego wzrostu tułowiem, najkrótszymi nogami i długiemi rękami, odpowiadając pod tym względem typowi ludności ciężko pracującej". A. Maciesza, op. cit., s. 54. 109 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/010dc1bc8f61d853574d0679d56156e5.pdf 15c0e822155e7dcf5ce5431d70cb4bbb Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3739 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1960 Subject The topic of the resource sztuka ludowa - konkursy Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:3512 Title A name given to the resource XV powojenny konkurs szopek/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1960 t. 14 z.2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1960 t. 14 z.2, s. 111-115 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Reinfuss, Roman Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text 22. O b r a z ó w 23. Łóżko mniejszych 24. P o d u s z k a jedna 25. S o m s i e k jeden 26. S o m s i e k dwiema poszewkami n a zboże 30. S z k l i w a o dwóch izbach, 6 pie­ 270 — 72 — 54 — 49. (różne wierzytelności, Szydlak w Wieliczce Gotowemi zostało w tym (!) 48 zł.) 430 10 po zmarłym wydatków wymienione wysokości w y n a g r o d z e n i e jest XV P O W O J E N N Y XV powojenny konkurs (a X V I I 1937) n a najpiękniejszą wał się w r o k u szopkę 1959 w a t m o s f e r z e w s z y s t k i m n a k o n k u r s obecny gu obfitości — stanowiące licząc sensacji. stała z f u t r e m oszacowana 18 za 24 zł s p r z e d a n e . wa g r 15 s z a c o w a n a szacowany stodoła z piwnicą wydźwięku zgrzytu, Narodowa s k i c h konkursów na nagrody; datnie suma że w dziejach t y msamym pieniędzy szopkarzy nizatorów wiadomość, oszaco­ stojące, której jest g r u n t za 12 d u k a t ó w Po spłaceniu przeznaczona dworski na jeden Miejska zmniejszyła rozdzielanych się w y ­ corocznie mię­ w p o s t a c i nagród i zakupów, co o r g a ­ konkursu a wśród szopkarzy postawiło wywołało w trudnej sytuacji, u c z u c i e żalu i zniechę­ cenia. (WMK - i 8 zł 12 g r c z y l i kowo znaczna. reszta została n i e l e t n i c h dzieci d l a opiekunów Podał: usta­ szopek, u w a g ę z w r a c a ł y duże ki przez: lalkami wykonane (zeszłorocznego Dudzika daniu prezentuje zdobywcę i Włodzimierza do teatru „Lalka" I nagrody), M a l i k a — który, w Warszawie odległej czony, lista zgłoszeń z Bibie, w s i K o n k u r s miał się j u ż w pobliżu p o m n i k a M i c k i e w i c z a ukazał się s k u r ­ zadyszany staruszek, ciągnąc z w y s i ł k i e m była dawno 75-letni zamknięta, Tomasz ciężkie, z b i t e z desek szopka wiejska, skromna, topornie to t y ­ wykonana, d l a większego e f e k t u różnymi d r u k o w a n y m i z mechanizmem do poruszania o p a t r z o n y m w potężne, ręcznie w y k o n a n e , koła Łata, sanki, na których stała p r z y k r y t a w o r k i e m s z o p k a . Była zębate ( i l . 1, 2). P o j a w i e n i e przystąpić do konkursu, po sprze­ czliwości tyle przyjęciem kilometrów spotkało licznie lalek za­ drewniane się spóźnionego szedł pieszo, a b y się z p e ł n y m ż y ­ zgromadzonej publicz­ ności. Sąd oraz O d strony przywieziona końcowi, nia ezenekierowskim. Tabora ku grody w stylu stara, wysłu­ szopka gdy t r a d y c j e w y k o n a ł n o w ą szopkę, r ó w n i e ż j a k p o p r z e d ­ utrzymaną z pozostałymi o 9 k m od Krakowa. Zdzisława rodzinne szop­ między­ swe blizny i rany. który pozo­ 61-let- który w w y t a r t y m m u n d u r z e szopkarza, szopki stałej p o s w y m z m a r ł y m o j c u , podtrzymując szop­ Tabor, blisko n a 3 metry przedstawieniach Wiatra Władysława Pietraszek jeszcze w czasach N r 49 otrzymała s z o p k a Dookoła w ś r ó d których szczególną z Edward stanął F r a n c i s z e k wysoką zbudowaną na licznych obrazkami, Mickiewicza pieniędzy S Z O P E K 1946. W p o r ó w n a n i u oklejona pomnika za 224 zł 15 g r . " w o j e n n y c h , która brała już udział w k o n k u r s i e w r o ­ ku zgłoszonych n a k o n k u r s była s t o s u n ­ w i o n o 48 błyszczących k o l o r o w y m i s t a n i o l a m i (pań­ Kamieński 162 zł 19 g r d ł u g ó w 754) ką z l a l k a m i , powa Ilość szopek dzień (kupił) W a w r z y n i e c Tataruchów. krakow­ szopkarskich n i e wyasygnowała a n i grosza dzy była po raz pierwszy koloro­ zdezelowana przypominała w e t e r a n a , Rada szacowane kalamajkowa n a zł 180, p o d n r 13 w e F r y w a ł d z i e pletami raczej pięć, za zł 2 g r 28. Chałupa, i garncarnia żona o nici zł 1 za zł 1 g r 16 k u p i o n y . [...] O b r a z k ó w n i m u r a r z , ze swoją d o b r y c h l a l e k . Drugą sensacją, majątek granatowa n a zł 24 kupioną z o ­ Spódniczka po g r 6 taksowanych kość — s z o p k i ze s c e n k a m i d o g r a n i a jasełek i k o m ­ bardzo licytacji z a 1 zł 6 g r k u p i o n a . Rańtuch kościoła M a r i a c k i e g o rzad­ około t a k s o w a n a zł 1 k u p i o n a za 2 zł 3 g r . Z a p a s k a odby­ l a t dużą zazwyczaj drogą za zł 40 [...] K o r a l i k ó w od r o ­ posypały się j a k z r o ­ od paru sukienna s z c z y z n y pieszej — E P ) Przede 167 zł koszta p r z e z Tataruchów. „Sukienka K O N K U R S krakowską wyniósł inwentarzach wynoszą 1831 r . s p r z e d a n o 61 15 d l a 2 księży biorących udział Reinfuss ku 8 maja pozostawiony wana nie spotykanej Roman gospodarzy „za w ó d k ę — 31 zł 6 g r ( t j . za w podobnych 68 — 1200 19 Wśród pogrzebowym" 30 zł. przy p o d zasiew) — 118 zł, i pokaźny w y d a t e k obchodzie ośm 42—48. ( Z a z a k u p i o n e z a g o n y p o l a ze z b o ż e m lub pogrzebie pogrzebowe zł 34. G a r n c a r n i a 41. 18 g r . S p o t y k a n e 90 — k a r n i , z sienią i komorą Wojciech około 25 k w a r t ! ) . Cały k o s z t p o g r z e b u 4 — 3 piece 33. Stodoła z j e d n y m sąsiekiem i 3 — 3 — 3 pięć wypalonych 32. D o m p o d p o l u d n i e 36—40. przy — 24 n a kapustę, d o b r e miarek Garnków w 1 — stara n a p l e w y dwie 3 — 2 — — 10 stare • 29. W i n ó w e k 31. z duży mniejszy 27. K o r y t o 28. P a k a 14 d - t t o nowe konkursowy dwie równorzędne przyznał w t y m r o k u Zdzisławowi pierwsze n a ­ Władysławowi Dudzikowi. Obydwie Wiatrowi szopki o du- 111 ��II. 1. Szopka. 1959 r. Wyk. Tomasz Łata. Bibice, pow. Kraków. II. 2. Szopka. 1959 r. (od tylu). Wyk. Tomasz Łata. II. 3. Autorzy niosący swe prace na konkurs. II. 4. Szopka. 1959 r. I I nagr. Wyk. Antoni Wojciechowski. II. 5. Szopka. 1959 r. I nagr. Wyk. Zdzisław Dudzik. 11. 6. Szopka. 1959 r. I I nagr. Wyk. Włodzimierz Malik. �żych rozmiarach kukiełkowych cych W. w scenki pełne wyróżniała kolorystyką się oraz do zespoły t r a d y c y j n y c h jasełkach Wiatra piękną posiadały oraz dzo poprawna ła się W grupie w bogatym i starannie d r u g i c h nagród już W ł o d z i m i e r z Godyń. Z. G o d y n i a , zwyciężenia część Każdy jednak wiązał to z Ruta bowiem odznacza­ ( i l . 6). wspomniany Tarnowski, oraz wyróżnionych 13-letni drugą na­ Wojciechowskiego podjęli próby prze­ płaskości, którą o d z n a c z a się najlepiej wykonanych wymienionych w inny wyżej sposób. prze­ szopek. autorów roz­ Wojciechowski, budynku — motyw poszerzający par­ łamanych scho­ barokowych, d ó w , zapożyczony z kościoła n a Skałce ( i l . 4). G o d y ń zaś, mniej widać obciążony tradycyjnymi kanonami, zrobił szopkę o r z u c i e półkolistym, w p o s t a c i Barbakanu, szego piętra n a d którym i wież, połowy umieścił k o n s t r u k c j e p i e r w ­ co dało w rezultacie n o w ą f o r m ę bryły, n i e spotykaną d o t y c h c z a s zupełnie w k a c h k r a k o w s k i c h ( i l . 7). S z o p k a T a r n o w s k i e g o , nana talu waną 114 jak zwykle zdobniczym, bryłę bardzo starannie, posiadała budynku, która o szop­ wyko­ bogatym dość słabo w dodatku de­ zakompono­ gubiła się przeładowanej dekoracji. N i e wyróżniała się a r t y s t y c z n y m i w a l o r a m i szopka go R u t y , który p o k i l k u latach przerwy rów­ Antonie­ znowu wziął udział w k o n k u r s i e . Wśród szopka pięciu nagród Ferdynanda prawna w formie oryginalna, stawień i kolorze, zaopatrzona jasełkowych. szukając nowej wieżowym w Z szopka t a była niewolniczo może formy herbie okazać bodny pod scenkę praca uwagę dosyć duża, może zbyt i lalki do Adama W przed­ oparł się n a t r ó j wykonaniu prymitywna i się w z o r u . S a m pomysł trafny, jeśli rozwinie względem go autor w za­ B u j a k a , który obecnym zanadto po­ mało nienagrodzonych wyjściowej jeszcze się pracach zwracała ale szopek Krakowa. trzymała swych trzecich Sadowskiego, sługuje n a w y m i e n i e n i e w przyszłych sposób b a r d z i e j kolorystycznym i zbyt jednak swo­ dekoracyj­ nym. uświęcony tradycją prostokątny r z u t p o d ­ stawy, wprowadził — j a k o element ter skromniej lalek się: były szopki A . nawet zadanie utrzymując Antoni obydwaj owej ważna znaleźli Spośród grodą n a j c i e k a w s z e i typie M a l i k ( i l . 5), F r a n c i s z e k Wojciechowski, Zbigniew w w nież s w y m i wyko­ Z. D u d z i k a , b a r ­ dekoracyjnym, doskonałych Szopka proporcjami, a r c h i t e k t u r z e , ale pod względem kolekcją Antoni swej występują­ krakowskich. doskonałymi n a n y m d e t a l e m zdobniczym. Szopka wyposażona przedstawień lalek Omawiany jennym ga okresie powo­ — j e s t k o n k u r s e m j u b i l e u s z o w y m , co wyma­ jakiegoś Jak wynika przez Sekcję Sztuki PAN mentację t u konkurs jako X V podsumowania, z danych Badania w tylko statystycznych Plastyki Krakowie, wszystkich choćby w Ludowej która konkursów, 15 l a t n a k o n k u r s a c h zostało cyfrowego. opracowanych Instytutu prowadziła w doku­ ciągu m i n i o n y c h przedstawionych łącz­ n i e 528 s z o p e k p r z e z 216 uczestników. Spośród t e j n a pozór z n a c z n e j dzie, którzy liczby szopkarzy do konkursu — 128 z n i c h t o l u ­ stanęli r a z j e d e n , brało udział d w a l u b t r z y r a z y . P ó ź n i e j c y f r y się zmniejszają, 57 osób szybko t a k ż e d o g r u p y stałych u c z e s t n i k ó w , �7 Szopka. 1959 r II nagr. Wyk. ka. 1959 r. Wyk. Jan Przeworski. Jacek Kordek. biorących p r z y n a j m n i e j powojennych, cie: wchodzi 86-letni m u r a r z Aleksander nowski Kudłek 10 r a z y teatru, 6 osób, a Władysław i pouczają wszystkim podaną jak i gu 15 l a t z a l e d w i e Franciszek Tar­ Dudzik — re— kamieniarz konkursach, obecnych. robotnicy wyżej oraz liczbę Dane we zarówno statystyczne interesują ucząca 215 się się przede młodzież. uczestników Na konkursów było: uczącej . się młodzieży 108 ( w 65 t y m 14 m u r a r z y ) ( o d szkoły po podstawowej uczelnie akademic­ kie) inteligentów bez Organizowane wadziły wśród Na przez do wyłonienia której padają czele tabeli zdobywca do . . . . podanego wystawców zawodu 9 2 n i m idzie nagród się dopro­ nagrody. Franciszek Zdzisław ostatnio Krakowa W i a t r , który, przystępując konkursu dopiero w 8 ra­ Dudzik, (1947—1959); szopkarzy po raz 1957 r o k u , zdołał 1958 i 1959) uzyskać pierw­ nagrodę. W związku z XV, jubileuszowym pięciu zasłużonych s z o p k a r z y konkursem, o t r z y m a ł o Złote ki Miasta K r a k o w a , przyznane Odzna­ i m p r z e z Miejską Ra­ dę N a r o d o w ą . Są t o : n e s t o r k r a k o w s k i c h s z o p k a r z y — 31 zbiorowych szą cią­ ekstraklasy, pierwsze znajduje najwybitniejszych do konkursy l a t a c h 1946—1957 otrzymał nagrodę. P o Władysław pierwszy lat szopkarskiej najczęściej 7 pierwszych grupy wszedł szereg się laureatów T a r n o w s k i , który w zy p i e r w s z ą znikoma. ich w 4. już d w u k r o t n i e ( w r o k u robotników jest razy), Przeworski n a s , że s z o p k a r s t w e m szopki (10 W o j c i e c h o w s k i , 6 1 - l e t n i m u r a r z , który brał udział przedwojennych wykonujących protokołach k o n k u r s o w y c h z a n o t o w a n o Zdzisław dotychczasowych kobiet W i W ł a d y s ł a w T u r s k i — r o b o t n i k (13 r a z y ) o r a z A n t o n i wszystkich Ilość mianowi­ Owsiński — dekorator Marian Szop­ Wyk. udział w k o n k u r s a c h zaledwie — m u r a r z (11 r a z y ) , kwizytor Zbigniew Godyń. II. X. II. 9. Szopka. ¡959 r. Władysław (drużyna harcerska, uczniowie liceum). Fot. Owsiński, Wojciechowski, nowski. Jan Swiderski. Włodzimierz Zdzisław Dudzik i Malik, Antoni Franciszek Tar­ � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/d7691d5873597697e01365069b0f327c.pdf 0b24096be51e947e2b8512bf524e2d57 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:4555 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1963 Subject The topic of the resource sztuka ludowa Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:4234 Title A name given to the resource Summary of articles/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1963 t.17 z.2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1963 t.17 z.2, s.112 Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text P O t l S H F Kazimierz Pietkiewicz — THE ROLE AND IMPOR­ TANCE OF ARTISTIC FOLK TRADITIONS I N CONTEMPORARY POLISH CULTURE The author discusses the complex phenomena occurring today i n folk art, emphasizes the inte­ gration processes now taking place, coming to the conclusion that folk culture still has an important role to play, both in the folk artists' milieu and in enriching contemporary Polish culture. Barbara Bazielich — THE IMPORTANCE OF TECH­ NIQUE I N STUDIES ON FOLK EMBROIDERY (Śląsk cross-stitch embroidery taken as an example) This article brings an analysis of the technique of various types of cross-stitch embroidery. The descriptions and systematic treatment of the subject permit of an attempt to establish a certain chrono­ logy and to show the evolution of cross-stitch embroi­ dery, which in turn throws some light on the pro­ blem of ornamentation, creative milieus, directions of development, influences and dependence on con­ ditions. O L K A R T a r e j u s t b e f o r e t h e c o m i n g o f Spring a n d , i n connec­ tion with this, the masqueraders were to ensure s u c c e s s i n f a r m i n g a n d i n t h e f a r m e r s ' p r i v a t e life i n t h e n e w p e r i o d o f v e g e t a t i o n w i t h t h e a i d o f magic. The m a s k s ( b e a r s , g o a t s , h o r s e s ) w o r n b y t h e m a s ­ q u e r a d e r s i n t h e p r o c e s s i o n symbolize t h e e l e m e n t s favouring a n d impeding vegetation a n d the original purpose of t h e procession of masks w a s to w o r k m a g i c . As t i m e w e n t o n , n e w c h a r a c t e r s f r o m t h e village community a p p e a r e d ( t h e o l d woman, t h e old m a n ,t h e b a k e r , t h e gypsy, t h e policeman) a n d the whole custom b e c a m e a p r e t e x t f o r a v i l l a g e fete, w h i l e the people n o longer believed i n t h e effectiveness o f t h e magic r i t e s . Jacek Olędzki — TRADITIONAL VIEWS ON THE BEAUTY OF NATURE EXPRESSED BY PEASANTS FROM PUSZCZA ZIELONA (KURPIE REGION) The v i e w s o f t h e p e a s a n t s on t h e beauty of nature presented i n this article a r e material f o r r e s e a r c h w h i c h is to establish t h e relation between the artistic achievements a n d aesthetic sensitivity of t h e people. The statements, as made by the peasants themselves, a r e striking for their practical a t t i t u d e t o w a r d s t h e beauty of n a t u r e . In m o s t c a s e s , v a l u e s b r i n g i n g r e a l a d v a n t a g e s p l a y a d e c i s i v e role in evaluating the beauty of t h e t i m e of theday, scenery, living creatures a n d plants. The author a t t r i b u t e s t h i s inability t o m a k e a n abstract e v a l u a t i o n o f t h e b e a u t y of n a t u r e t o t h e f a c t t h a t t h e Kurpie peasants do not possess highly developed aesthetic sensistivity. This does n o t , of c o u r s e , e x c l u d e t h e existence among them of individuals w h o react strongly to t h e b e a u t y of t h e world s u r r o u n d i n g t h e m , without p a y i n g attention to p r a c t i c a l conside­ Janina Dydowicz — SHROVETIDE I N WIELKOPOL­ SKA The development processes taking place in the rural areas have led to the decline of the traditional customs connected with the primitive beliefs of the people in olden times. However, in Wielkopolska (Poznań region) the campaign to defend Polish culture from Germanization during the period when Poland was ruled by the partitioning powers resulted in the preservation of some of these customs in relatively pure form. The article describes the rations. manner of celebrating Shrovetide. 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B C B H 3 M C S T H M p n J K e H b i e flojiiKHbi 6bijin MarMHecKMM o6pa30M noe 6jiaronoJiyHne KpecTbHH M M X o6ecneHHTb JIMH- SjiarococTonHwe B HacTynaiomMM BereTaqwoHHbiw nepwofl. M a c K M (MeflBeflb, K 0 3 a , jioiuaflb) c M M B O J i M 3 n p o B a j i n noxofle 3JieMeHTbi, o 6 y c j i O B J i M B a i o m M e BereTam«o JIMSO n p e n a T C T B y r o m w e ew, M nepBOHanajibHO M X m e c T B H e A O J I J K H O Sbijio M c n o j i H H T b M a r w i e c K y i o pojib. O f l H a K O n o c T e n e H H O B mecTBMH pajKeHbix CTaJiM no- fl U e K O j i e H f l 3 K M — TPAflJUTHOHUblE B3rJIHPM HA K P A C O T H nPMPOflbl B BbICKA3bIBAHMHX KPECTbHH K y P n E B C K O t f 3EJIEHOKE nyiiiM npeflCTaBJieHHbie B CTaTbe B3r^aflM KpecTbHH H a K p a C O T b l n p n p O f l b I HBJIHIOTCH M a T e p M a j l O M flJIH M C C J i e flOBaHMM, KOTOpbie flOJIJKHbl y C T a H O B M T b 3aBMCMMOCTb MejKfly xyflOJKeCTBeHHbIMM flOCTMJKeHMHMM M SCTeTM- ^jecKMM BOcnpMHTneM Hapofla. B Henocpe/jCTseHHbix BbicKa3biBaHMHx K p e c T b H H Ha T e M y o K p a c o T a x npwp O f l b l C K B 0 3 M T n o p a 3 M T e J I b H b I M npaKTMI^M3M. B 60JlbuiMHCTBe cjiynaeB peuiaromyio p o j i b B M X oueHKe npejiecTM pa3JiHHHbix n a c o B A H H , KpacoTbi neii3a>Ka, jKMBOTHoro M pacTMTeJibHoro Mwpa — Mrpaex B o n p o c MX cyujecTBeHHOH n o J i b 3 b i . 3Ty Hecnoco6HocTb a6C T p a K T H o r o B o e n p w f l T H H B c e x o S a a H H H n p w p o f l b i OBTOp oO^aCHHeT HeflOCTaTOHHO pa3BMTbIM 3CTeTMHeCKMM HBJIHTbCH HOBbie MaCKM, OTo6pa}KaK>m,Me pa3JIMHHbIX npeflCTaBMTejieM c e j i b c K O M o6mecTBeHHOCTH (6a6a, jxe%. M y B C T B O M KypneB. O f l H a K o n 3 3 T o r o H e c j i e ^ y e T ^ e ^ a T H nexapb, u , b i r a H , nojiMi^eMCKMM) j o 6 b i H a M s e e , K a K T a - B b l B O f l a , HTO CpeflM HMX H e T JlIOfleM, CnOCOOHblX CMJIbHO oKpyK O B O M , c T a j i jiMUjb n p e f l J i o r o M K yBeceJieHMHM M J I M - M H e n o c p e f l C T B e H H O p e a r w p o B a T b H a K p a c o T y jKaHDmero M M p a , He3aBMCMMO O T n o j i b 3 b i , K O T o p y i o I I I M J I C H s j i e M e H T O B B e p w B ycneuiHoe fleiicTBMe MaraMOJKHO M3 H e e M 3 B J i e H b . HeCKMX 3aKJIHHBHHH.. B 112 I** �CZASOPISMA INSTYTUTU SZTUKI PAN wydawane przez P.P. WYDAWNICTWA ARTYSTYCZNE I FILMOWE BIULETYN HISTORII SZTUKI, kwartalnik, ponad 100 str. dużego formatu, około 100 ilustracji. Cena 24 zł, prenumerata półroczna 48 zł, roczna — 96 zł. POLSKA SZTUKA LUDOWA, kwartalnik, 64 str. dużego formatu, bogaty materiał ilustracyjny. Cena 18 zł, prenumerata półroczna 36 zł, roczna — 72 zł. PAMIĘTNIK TEATRALNY, kwartalnik, ponad 170 str. druku, około 100 ilustracji. Cena 18 zł, prenumerata półroczna 36 zł, roczna — 72 zł. KWARTALNIK FILMOWY, około 100 str. druku, kilkanaście ilustracji. Cena 10 zł, prenumerata 20 zł, roczna — 40 zł. MUZYKA, kwartalnik, około 130 str. druku, liczne przykłady nutowe. Cena 18 zł, prenumerata półroczna 36 zl, roczna — 72 zł. PRENUMERATA Zamówienia i przedpłaty na prenumeratę przyjmowane są w terminie do dnia 15-go miesiąca poprzedzającego okres prenumeraty — przez: Urzędy Pocztowe, listonoszy oraz Oddziały i Delegatury „Ruchu". Można również zamówić prenumeratę dokonując wpłaty na konto PKO nr 1-6-100020 — Centrala Kolportażu Prasy i Wydawnictw „Ruch" — Warszawa, ul. Srebrna 12. <) Cena prenumeraty za granicę jest o 40 /o droższa od ceny podanej wy­ żej. Przedpłaty na tę prenumeratę przyjmuje na okresy półroczne i roczne Przedsiębiorstwo Eksportu i Importu „Ruch" w Warszawie, Wilcza 46, konto 2-6-71 w Narodowym Banku Polskim w Warszawie, ul. Warecka 10. SPRZEDAŻ Egzemplarze zdezaktualizowane można nabyć w sklepie „Ruchu" przy ul. Wiejskiej 14 w Warszawie. Zamówienia spoza Warszawy należy kierować do Centrali Kolportażu Prasy i Wydawnictw „Ruch", War­ szawa, ul. Srebrna 12. Aktualne numery czasopism Instytutu Sztuki PAN są do nabycia w większych księgarniach miast wojewódzkich: Białystok — Lipowa 43 Bielsko — Dzierżyńskiego 3 Bydgoszcz — 1 Maja 17, Dwor­ cowa 14 Bytom — Kościuszki 4 Chorzów — Wolności 13 Częstochowa — A l . NMP 8 Gdańsk-Wrzeszcz — Grunwaldz­ ka 8 Gdynia — Świętojańska 47 Gliwice — Zwycięstwa 31 Grudziądz — Rynek 13 Inowrocław — Królowej Jadwi­ gi 31 Kalisz — Śródmiejska 14 Katowice — Warszawska 11 Koszalin — Młyńska, blok 12 Kielce — Sienkiewicza 30, Sien­ kiewicza 60 Kraków — Podwale 6 Lublin — Krakowskie Przed­ mieście 68 Lódź — Piotrkowska 102a Poznań — Marcinkowskiego 21, Armii Czerwonej 37 Przemyśl — Franciszkańska 19 Radom — Żeromskiego 27 Rzeszów — Kościuszki 3 Sandomierz — płk. Skopenki 4 Słupsk — PI. Zwycięstwa 11 Sopot — Bohaterów Monte Cassi­ no 26 Sosnowiec — Czerwone Zagłę­ bie 23 Toruń — Rynek Staromiejski 30 Warszawa — Krakowskie Przed­ mieście 7, Kredytowa 9, Pięk­ na 31/37, Bracka 20, Nowy Świat 35, Rynek Starego Miasta 22/24 Włocławek — 3 Maja 25 Wrocław — Kuźnicza 42 Zabrze — Wolności 276 S t o ł e c z n e Z a k ł a d y Graficzne. D . W . W - w a , P o d c h o r ą ż y c h 39. Z a m . i l u s t r . k l . m, 120 g A l + k a r t o n b i a ł y k l . I I I , 220 g. B I . N a k ł a d 1 300 157. egz. Pap. L-55. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/93f73e88943e152a6a0de48f1aa1b491.pdf b0a34808858df16b3172b27b71a518bd Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5436 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5054 Title A name given to the resource Pan Jacek / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.242-243 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Ciarka, Ryszard Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text RYSZARD CIARKA I wtedy Jacek opowiedział mi o pomyśle, który nawtedy "kulturą wierzby". O drzewie, które w niezwykły sposób związane jest z kulturą Mazowsza. Opowiedział i pokazał; zasuszone i opisane listki wszystkich gatunków wierzby występujące w Polsce. Wymieniał prace botaników i farmakologów, etnografów i fotografików, którzy temat ten podejmowali. Ba, zaciągnął mnie nawet na Starówkę - ale to chyba, aby mnie pocieszyć- by tam naigrywać się z niekompetencji malarzy, którzy sprzedawali smętne mazowieckie pejzaże z wierzbą. Zadawał pytania, często z pozoru absurdalne i dziwaczne, ale mające zwrócić uwagę na główny problem. Kiedy pisałem i rozmyślałem na temat zabijania zwierząt, pytał mnie, dlaczego w naszej kulturze nawet w czasie największego głodu nie jedzono powszechnie ani płazów, ani gadów, ani ślimaków. Albo dzwonił do mnie, pytając, czy wiem, że żaba, kiedy odcina się jej tylne kończyny, w celu pozyskania smakowitych udek, i trzyma się ją głową w dół, przednie łapki ma złożone w modlitewnym geście. Kiedy znów fascynowałem się muzyką reggae, oburzał się, że nic nie wiem na temat afrykańskich bębnów szczelinowych i technik klaskania Murzynów w Kongu. To prawda, że w tym, co robił, był perfekcjonistą, choć często to go gubiło, bo natłok i różnorodność gromadzonego materiału przygniatała samą ideę, sam pomysł. Pamiętam, jak oburzony twierdzeniem, że gra w klasy ma wymiar magiczo-rytualny, sporządził niewiarygodnie wręcz wielką dokumentację fotograficzną, uzupełnioną rysunkami i rozmowami z dziećmi, która miała tę myśl podważyć, zwracając wszak uwagę bardziej na wartość estetyczną powstających na asfalcie dzieł w całej niemal Warszawie niż sam problem. Gubiła go ta wrażliwość estetyczna i detal, bo był także niezwykłym artystą fotografikiem i filmowcem. Jednym z pierwszych Geśli nie pierwszym), chyba świa­ domym, choć wtedy nikt tego tak precyzyjnie nie określał, polskim antropologiem wizualnym. To zadziwiają­ ce i nie mogę tego pojąć do dziś - jeśli prawdą jest to, co mi mówił - że wszystkie te filmy wymyślił, nakręcił, zmontował i opisał sam, a przez to są Jego własną etnograficzną wypowiedzią. Parniętam jak w Murzynowie otrzymałem od Mistrza nie tylko lekcję pokory, ale także i wiedzę na temat robienia zdjęć, a właściwie dokumentacji etnograficznej wyplatania wiklinowego kosza. Miałem, bagatela, jednocześnie manipulować światłem "oświetlającym" i "odcinającym", co dotąd wydaje mi się niewykonalne ... , a jednak. Jacek opowiadał mi wtedy, jak w Mongolii miał dziesięć minut, na tyle udało mu się zmylić czujność mongolskich "ubeków", aby wbrew "odgórnym zaleceniom mongolskiej partii, która zawsze czuwa nieubłaganie", sfilmować wnętrze świątyni. I wtedy, jak twierdził, sam poradził sobie ze światłem i filmowaniem -ja mu wierzę. Ale i nasza partia również "czuwała nieubłaganie" i Jacek zdawał sobie z tego sprawę, że szczególnie kiezywał Pan Jacek 1 acek nie był dobrym pedagogiem, przynajmniej w tym sensie, że nigdy nie wypowiadał wprost swoich uwag. Nigdy też nie zniechęcał do pracy, choć często w czasach, o których wspominam, pomysły lub spostrzeżenia bywały bardzo nieprzemyślaną lub wprost niekompetentną bzdurą. To sam delikwent w morderczym, rozłożonym w czasie, systematycznym ogniu pytań i dygresji, nienawidząc i Mistrza, i swojej głupoty, podejmował decyzję, buntując się lub ulegając. Ale jakże wspaniały był to czas, kiedy można było wbiec na maleńkie poddasze, przypominające bardziej łódź podwodną niż mieszkanie, i gadać godzinami w małej kajucie o szalonych pomysłach i spostrzeże­ niach. O etnografii życia codziennego. O wielkiej i małej kulturze. O etnografii "zaokiennej", bo zawsze był jakiś temat. Pamiętam, jak kiedyś wpadłem do Mistrza z pomysłem badań układu i doboru drzew wokół chłopskich domostw, zakładając, że oprócz jakichś tradycyjnie etnograficznych (tzn. magicznych czy praktycznych) wątków jest jeszcze i pewna myśl przestrzenno-czasowa. Drzewo rośnie długo - jak słusznie zakładałem, tak więc twórca tak zagospodarowanej przestrzeni mógł tylko przypuszczać, wyobrażać sobie jej przyszły kształt. Jak jednak- dowiedziałem się o tym kilka dni później - badacz może zabierać się do pracy, skoro nie odróżnia liścia klonu od jesionu, grabu od buka i w ogóle nie ma zielonego pojęcia o dendrologii. Tak więc pewnego dnia w perypatetycznej wędrówce po parku Krasińskich zatrzymywaliśmy się przy każdym niemal drzewie, a ja upokorzony i zły wiedziałem już wściekły na cały świat, że nic nie wiem. J 1 Trudno to wytłumaczyć ale zwykle zwracaliśmy się do siebie per Pan. Wiąże się to po części z anegdotą, a po części z moim uporem. Jacek zaproponował mi przejście na Ty w bardzo dziwacznych okolicznościach. Oto ja sponiewierany i strofowany, okpiony i wystawiony na najbardziej stresujące próby w Murzynowie, godne najbardziej wymyślnych praktyk inicjacyjnych, o których nie będę tu wspominał. Człapiąc po jakiejś błotnistej ścieżce, Jacek nagle zaproponował mi przejście na TY, a ja wściekły na niego i na siebie powiedziałem, że możemy co najwyżej przejść na drugą, mniej błotnistą stronę ścieżki. A mój upór z rym Pan wiązał się też z szacunkiem dla Mistrza i niezwykłą, więzią, jaka z tego wynikała. Umowa obowiązywała, ale w chwilach zapalczywych dyskusji, poważnych rozmów o życiu Ty stawało się bardziej naturalne i obopólnie akceptowane. 242 �Ryszard Ciarka • PAN JACEK Wywiad z Masajem dyśmy się najintensywniej spotykali (w pierwszej poło­ wie lat osiemdziesiątych) pewne zmory przeszłości bę­ dą go mocniej bodły, a podjęte wtedy działania będą szukały usprawiedliwień. Nie lubiłem tego, ale musiałem słuchać, tym bardziej że przeważały usprawiedliwienia, a czasami fobie i konfabulacje. Któż zresztą z nas nie przeżył w czasie stanu wojennego stresu, mając świadomość telefonicznych "rozmów kontrolowanych". Oto pewnego dnia przychodzę do Jacka, nie mogąc się do niego dodzwonić, a ten wyjawia mi w najgłębszej tajemnicy, że dzwoniła do niego cztery razy "ubecja", ale nie odbierał. Zawdzięczam Mu wiele, bo wiem, jak nie być "etnolodżistem", jak zwykł mówić o tych, którzy jego zdaniem zbyt powierzchownie i teoretycznie podchodzą do tematów. Choć wiem, że to, co proponowal Jacek, to dziś nieco siermiężna, staroświecka i mało efektowna etnografia. Ale etnografia ciekawa, bardziej do przegadania i rozmyślania niż do szybkiego wylania na papier. Bardziej gawędziarska i przekorna niż ta mocno naznaczona konkretem teorii. Jackowi zawdzięczam wiele, ale zwykle tak jest, że osoba, którą takim brzemieniem obarczamy, nie musi wcale być o tym przekonana. Czasami sami dokładnie nie wiemy, jak to jest, skoro tam na poddaszu przy placu Krasińskich wciąż pali się lampka i Ktoś w tej kajucie czuwa, i można do Niego przyjść i pogadać. Można Go spotkać na Miodowej lub w parku, przypadkiem lub na umówionej perypatetycznej przechadzce. Ale teraz już wiem, bo coraz bardziej to do mnie dociera, że Jacka już nie ma. I choć gapiłem się wtedy bezmyśl­ nie na bezchmurne, sierpniowe niebo, podziwiając rój meteorytów, nie przypuszczałem, że rano zadzwoni do mnie Wojtek Marchlewski i powie mi o Jacku, że zderzą się wtedy we mnie te dwa wydarzenia i pierwszym skojarzeniem będzie ciemne okno na poddaszu, znak, że Go niema. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/c87cc79f19425a55f2fb861761be1456.pdf 34f0004adb3354fbfa4e7793c8c57193 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5437 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5055 Title A name given to the resource Jacek / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.244 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Kubiak, Anna Eleonora Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text ANNA E. KUBlAK Jacek Egotyzm jest darem Jacek B Olędzki ył mistrzem w badaniu obcości tego, co znajduje się zbyt blisko nas, by tę obcość łatwo było dostrzec, problematyzować. Był również świet­ nym nauczycielem drwiny i autoironii. Jego umiejęt­ ność rozwinięcia opowieści na temat drobnego szczegółu (znane wszystkim gadulstwo Jacka) było świadec­ twem ciekawości świata, przymusu ciągłej interpretacji. W Murzynowie stworzył muzeum żywe, miejsce wielu rozmów. Jacek tępił jak nikt pojęcia 'informator' i 'wywiad'. Pisał w książce Murzynowo. Znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturalnej mieszkańców wioski nadwiślań­ skiej XVIII-XX w. (UW, Warszawa 1991): "Przyjąłem dewizę, że badając innych, badam również siebie. Badając innych, przyzwalam na nieskrępowaną ingerencję również w moje zachowania, zajęcia i zainteresowania". Był autorem trzech książek i kilkudziesięciu materiałów filmowych. W latach sześćdziesiątych, gdy jeździł z profesorem Dynowskim do Mongolii, na wła­ sną rękę brał ze sobą kamerę. Władzom mongolskim tłumaczył, że wozi niezbędną mu bezprzewodową golarkę. Gdyby żył w innych czasach na pewno wybiłby się w etnograficznej kinematografii. Tępił wszelkie przejawy pompatyczności, oficjalności. Narażał tym samym często swoje kontakty zawo- dowe. Należał do ludzi, którym- mówiąc jego słowa­ mi - było dane. Poznanie i szacunek wobec innych wizji świata dzięki wyprawom do Afryki i Mongolii szły w parze z tropieniem zaściankowości, ksenofobii. Pisał w książce Ludzie wygasłego spojrzenia (Dialog, Warszawa 1999): "( ... ) to, co ludy te wyróżnia, w żadnym wypadku nie jest egzotyzmem. I dalej, że owego egzotyzmu, w drugim znaczeniu tego słowa, częściej nieraz można doświadczyć pośród swoich, a nie obcych, pośród rodaków, niekoniecznie w ostępach naszego kraju. Przeciwnie, tuż przed własnym domem, kiedy z tłu­ mu na placu Krasińskich w Warszawie słyszę: Polska dla Polaków". Był etnografem w życiu, na co dzień. Ciągle coś badał , interpretował. Trzeba było stale mieć się na baczności, by czegoś nie palnąć. Inaczej narażał się czło­ wiek na szyderstwo straszne. Był często nieznośny. Chciałoby się uciekać, gdyby nie potrafił jak nikt rozśmieszyć. Uwielbiał indywidualne rytuały. Wszystkie ważne chwile musiały mieć swoją oprawę: muzyka, trociczki, dobrane słowa. Mierziła go zwyczajność. Że­ by podtrzymać jego sympatię, trzeba było stale go zadziwiać lub przynajmniej uważnie słuchać. Określany metodologicznie jako 'nieświadomy fenomenolog', 'pogrobowiec duperelnych zainteresowań', 'syn marnotrawny', sam siebie nazywał etnologiem-perypatetykiem. Chodził zawsze swoimi drogami. Chronił swoją niezależność, nawet za cenę bolesnych awantur i w końcu rozstań. Bronił się do końca. Jeszcze w hospicjum, wbrew rygorom, wychodził sam na dziedziniec. Kiedy w końcu, w ostatnich dniach, siadał na wózek, mówił: "Myślałem, że jestem wolnym człowiekiem". Jego ostatnie zdanie, które od niego usłyszałam to: "Najważniejsza jest świadomość". I umarł świadomie. Na dzień przed śmiercią wiedział, że następnego dnia umrze, i chciał uciekać na Długą. No i uciekł. Krajobraz. Fot. Jacek Olędzki 244 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/4314b84eb0fb19d0c09d497b2a93ca69.pdf 945a6b0e3753f86e03a83a501dccb8ea Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5438 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5056 Title A name given to the resource Badacz osobny / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.245-248 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Mróz, Lech Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text est jedną z najbardziej znaczących, oryginalnych postaci powojennej ~tnologii. p~lskiej - naj~ardziej twórczych i pracowttych. Nte Jestem pewten, czy Jacek Olędzki kiedykolwiek spędzał urlop w sposób, jaki zwykle kojarzy się z tym pojęciem -jako odpoczynek, oddalenie od pracy. Obserwacja, zastanawianie się dlaczego coś jest takie, a nie inne i co znaczy - towarzyszyły mu chyba zawsze. Nieomal do samego koń­ ca, do śmierci, czytał, robił notatki, przygotowywał szkic kolejnego tekstu. Był pierwszym, który podjął tak wiele tematów, wcześniej w ogóle nie badanych lub tylko marginalnie. Charakterystyczne dla jego osobowości jest też, że nie używał nieomal słów typowych dla języka naukowego- zawodowego żargonu, mądrze brzmiących, napuszonych zwrotów, które niejednokrotnie miały być oznaką kompetencji naukowej autora. Pisał bardzo prosto, zaś kompetencje widoczne były poprzez materiał, jaki prezentował i oryginalność analizy. Nieomal nie odwoływał się do języka filozofii i nie zajmowały go problemy filozofii, ale pytania, które go intrygowały i na które szukał odpowiedzi, były pytaniami z zakresu filozofii, choć odpowiedzi na nie szukał w rozmowie z mieszkańcami wsi polskich, afrykańskich, czy mongolskich koczowisk. Był umysłem niezwykłym, stale stawiającym pytania. Przez to często także denerwującym w kontaktach z innymi osobami. Pytanie: "dlaczego?"- kierowane do osób z bliskiego kręgu, niejednokrotnie konfudowało albo złościło, było bowiem często stawiane w sposób taki, jak pyta wymagający nauczyciel leniwego lub niezbyt rozgarniętego ucznia. Niewątpliwie czasami zadawał je w sposób prowokacyjny, gdy znał już odpowiedź,. Dlatego zapewne zmieniało się dość często grono osób zafascynowanych jego osobowością. Wielu nie czuło się zbyt dobrze w roli mało pojętnego rozmówcy. Kiedyś, w latach 70, spotkała się u mnie grupka naszych wspólnych przyjaciół. Był i Jacek. Prawie natychmiast po przyjściu zaczął przyglądać się starej rzeź­ bie ludowej, przedstawiającej Chrystusa Frasobliwego. A potem zamiast miłej towarzyskiej rozmowy, padało zadawane to denerwujące pytanie: "dlaczego?". Dlaczego głowa tego Chrystusa jest uniesiona ku górze, podczas gdy zawsze w wyobrażeniach, nie tylko ludowych, skierowana jest ku dołowi. Próbował zrozumieć dlaczego tak została przedstawiona postać, czy jest to świadomy zamysł twórcy, czy też przypadek wynikają­ cy z cech materiału, lub niedoskonałości warsztatowej. To bardzo charakterystyczna sytuacja dla osobowości i umysłowości Jacka Olędzkiego. Był osobą szczególnie wrażliwą na kształt, na formę, ale jako wyraz zamkniętej z niej treści. Potrafił przy tym doskonale - fotografując, realizując zapis filmowy - wydobyć to, co istotne, wyeliminować to, co zbędne; niepokój tła, elementy rozpraszające, potrafił z fotografii dokumentującej jakieś zjawisko, zrobić fotografię artystyczną. Nikt chyba z polskich badaczy nie J LECH MRÓZ Badacz osobny potrafił tego dokonać w takim, lub choćby zbliżonym stopniu i na takim poziomie. Jego fotografie intrygują, zwracają uwagę- przekonać się łatwo sięgając do publikacji Jacka. Inni niekiedy próbowali je naśladować, fotografując taki sam motyw. Ale efektem była zwyczajna fotografia, jakich dziesiątki można widzieć w publikacjach etnologów, obrazek dołączony jako ilustracja publikowanego tekstu. Wieś polska lat 50. i 60. zmieniała się szybko. Odchodzili starsi ludzie, których wiedza, sposób widzenia świata i postrzeganie otoczenia ulegały zapomnieniu, nie przekazywane następnym pokoleniom, eliminowane wpływem miasta, edukacją, ucieczką młodzieży ze wsi. Wtedy właśnie Jacek prowadził badania na Kurpiach i Podlasiu. Nikt później nie potrafił tak interesująco pokazać tego tradycyjnego stosunku do przyrody, pokazać kryteria estetyki mieszkańców wsi kurpiowskich czy podlaskich. Do dzisiaj - mimo tak znaczące­ go przyrostu literatury- teksty te znajdują się w zestawie ważnej literatury dla studentów etnologii. Jeżeli prześledzić bibliografię publikacji Jacka Olędzkiego, zamieszczonych w "Polskiej Sztuce Ludowej", a potem w: "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", łatwo przekonać się, jak bardzo oryginalny był w swoich pracach i podejmowanych tematach. Wiosną 1960 rozpoczął realizację kolejnego swojego filmu. Jego tematem były ludowe przedstawienia Chrystusa Frasobliwego. Byłem wówczas na pierwszym roku studiów i wespół z kolegą z roku zgłosiliśmy się do pomocy. Niestety nie ma tego filmu. Rezultaty wielodniowej pracy Jacka uległy zniszczeniu w trakcie wywoływania. Nie wiem jak do tego doszło, ale ten niezwykły zapis filmowy nie istnieje. Jako początkujący etnograf mogłem obserwować sposób pracy Jacka. Widzieć, w jaki sposób przygląda się przedmiotowi, jak analizuje formę, chcąc dotrzeć do zawartej w niej treści i do osobowości twórcy. Jak posługuje się światłem, wydobywając to czego nie dostrzega się nawet przy uważnym oglądzie . Możliwość towarzyszenia tamtej realizacji, podglądania jego sposobu pracy i fotografowania dały mi ogromnie dużo, pamiętam tę ważną lekcję do dziś. Jego publikacje o twórcach i ich dziełach, o artystach ludowych i naiwnych, są przykładem i efektem tego borykania się Jacka z tematami, które go intrygowały. �Jeżeli przeprowadzał badania terenowe według klasycznego kwestionariusza, to musiało to być bardzo dawno. Jego wczesne publikacje zdają się jeszcze o rym świadczyć. Bowiem sposobem pracy doszedł dawno do tego, co dzisiaj jest już oczywistością. Jego praca- wła­ ściwie nie używał terminu: "badania" - to były długie rozmowy o wielu wątkach, tak jak zwykle wielowątko­ wa jest rozmowa z kimś znanym sobie, z osobą, z którą wymieniamy poglądy, rozmawiamy, a nie tylko zarzucamy ją pytaniami, na które chcielibyśmy otrzymać syntetyczną, zwartą odpowiedź. Tak często jednak sprowadzającą się do niespójnych, zdawkowych wypowiedzi, wynikających z chęci szybkiego pozbycia się natrętnego badacza. Tę sztukę rozmowy doskonalił Jacek, jak sądzę, latami. Nie wiem na ile był to proces planowany, przemyślany dokładnie, a na ile intuicyjny, jak akt twórczy. Sądzę, że jego książka habilitacyjna Murzynowo. Znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturalnej mieszkańców wioski nadwiślańskiej XVIII-XX w. (Warszawa 1991), jest najpełniejszym wyrazem takiego sposobu pracy. Było kilka wyraźnie zaznaczonych, czy zauważal­ nych poprzez publikacje, okresów życia i twórczości Jacka Olędzkiego. Najpierw okres zainteresowań sztuką oraz estetycznymi i duchowymi potrzebami mieszkańców Podlasia i Kurpiowszczyzny - formami i postaciami realizacji tych potrzeb. Nie ograniczał się do tych jedynie obszarów geograficznych i tej tak rozległej tematyki. Uczestniczył w badaniach nad pasterstwem górskim, realizowanych przez zespół pracowników ówczesnego (pierwszej połowy lat 60) Zakładu Etnografii Instytutu Historii Kultury Materialnej PAN. Próbował poznać w jaki sposób ludność wypę­ dzona z Beskidu Niskiego, podczas Akcji ,;wisła", a osiedlona w koszalińskim, oswaja nowe środowisko i oswaja siebie z morzem i zupełnie innymi warunkami krajobrazowymi i gospodarczymi. Prócz prac pisanych zrealizował na ten temat także film. Jeszcze w latach 60 dołączył- jako jeden z pierwszych - do zespołu kierowanego przez prof. Witolda Dynowskiego, podejmującego pracę w Mongolii. Kilkakrotne wyjazdy do Mongolii przyniosły nie tylko nowe publikacje. Powstał duży zbiór fotografii, i zapisy filmowe. Pokazujące także, że Jacek szukał już wówczas takich elementów ludzkich zachowań i ludzkiego myślenia, takiej artykulacji potrzeb duchowych, które nie są tylko polskie, czy tylko mongolskie, lecz mają walor uniwersalny. Kiedyś miałem możliwość zapoznania się z jednym z notatników-ksiąg, gdzie Jacek zapisywał rozmaite obserwacje poczynione w trakcie pobytu w Mongolii, gdzie szkicował elementy wyposażenia jurty, czy klasztoru, notował intrygujące go wypowiedzi rozmówców. To niezwykły dokument, wart studiów sam w sobie, jako świadectwo oryginalności i wielkiego talentu obserwacyjnego, refleksyjności - świadec­ two nieustającej pracy autora. Potem nastał czas wyjazdów do Afryki i równie konsekwentnego, równie zdeterminowanego studiowania sztuki, potrzeb estetycznych, postaci zachowań religijnych. Zarówno podejmowane tematy, jak sposób ich pokazania, dociekliwość i oryginalność są ilustracją niezwykłej konsekwencji i samodzielności badawczej. Dla wielu uczonych nie jest to walor. Jacek nie odwoływał się do aktualnych tendencji w nauce, do modnych prądów teoretycznych i wątków uznanych za ważne. Zbyt wiele jest jego osobistego odczucia i własnego rozumienia tego, co opisuje i analizuje oceniali niejednokrotnie uczeni. A później nastał czas Murzynowa. W Murzynowie, niedaleko Płocka (przez wiele lat autobus do Murzynowa odjeżdżał z Placu Jedności Afryki), istnieje Stacja badawcza Wydziału Geografii i Studiów Regionalnych UW. Budowa zalewu na Wiśle pociągnęła wysiedlenie wielu rodzin żyjących nad rzeką i z rzeki. Jacek, wówczas już pracownik tego wydziału (po likwidacji Studium Afrykanistycznego UW), przekonał stosowne instytucje, pod których zarządem znajdują się brzegi zalewu, by pozostawić jedną z typowych dla tamtejszego pejzażu chat, stojących na skarpie wiślanej i dlatego przeznaczonej do rozebrania. Porządkując zniszczone domostwo, usuwając - z pomocą niewielkiej garstki przyjaciół - gromadzone dziesięcioleciami śmieci, rozpoczął tworzenie niezwykłej placówki. Nazwał później tę chatę Muzeum im. Stanisława Murzynawskiego (syna niegdysiejszego właściciela wsi Murzynowo), autora pierwszego, z roku 1551, przekładu na język polski Nowego Testamentu. Z jego też, z Jacka inspiracji wydanego powtórnie w Płocku, w roku 2003. Ta chata była przez wiele lat jego domem - tu mieszkał i pracował, gromadził sprzęty otrzymane od mieszkańców Murzynowa. Stworzył niepowtarzalne, specyficzne muzeum, będące istotnym unaocznieniem, ilustracją jego wykładów dla studentów geografii i etnologii, a także spotkań z gromadami młodzieży szkolnej. Dziś jest to muzeum o charakterze regionalnej izby pamięci; trudno mieć o to pretensje. Tego rodzaju instytucje czy dzieła żyją w pełni tak długo, jak długo żyje autor idei, ich twórca i gospodarz. Przedstawiona tu chronologia zainteresowań Jacka Olędzkiego jest tylko przybliżona; to uproszczony obraz ewoluowania tematów i obszarów jego badań. Przez cały długi czas swojej aktywności zakres jego zainteresowań obejmował przede wszystkim sztukę i potrzeby estetyczne człowieka. Równie ważne w jego biografii są zainteresowania duchowymi potrzebami i postaciami ich uzewnętrznienia oraz formami rytualizacji. Przejście na emeryturę i opuszczenie Murzynowa było dla Jacka bardzo trudnym momentem, choć dzię­ ki życzliwości władz wydziału nadal dysponował pomieszczeniem do pracy i możliwością bezpośredniego, codziennego kontaktu z uczelnią. Przez kolejne lata przychodził tu dwukrotnie w ciągu dnia. Pierwszy raz 246 �Lech Mróz • BADACZ OSOBNY około 9. Sygnaturka na kościele Wizytek, dzwoniąca na Anioł Pański, była znakiem południowej przerwy na odpoczynek i obiad. Do swojej izdebki na Uniwersytecie wracał około 15 i pracował tam do wieczora. Potrzebował rozmówców, ale też słuchaczy. Studenci etnologii niezwykle cenili jego zajęcia. Choć rzadko podejmował się je prowadzić, zwłaszcza w latach późniejszych. Nigdy jednak nie odmówił pomocy, proszony o indywidualną opiekę nad studentem. Pracował z nimi zmuszając do wysiłku, do własnych przemyśleń. Przynosiło to bardzo pozytywne efekty, choć nie wszyscy byli w stanie znieść ciężar tych rozmów i zadawanej do wykonania pracy. Jak wiele zapewne wybitnych osobowości, bardzo indywidualnych badaczy, był osobą nie łatwego charakteru; często apodyktyczny, zrażający rozmówców, nawet spośród oddanych mu przyjaciół. Zarazem bardzo potrzebował tych rozmówców, słuchaczy, współ­ pracowników. Lgnął do nich i odpychał zrażony, że nie są tacy, jak potrzebował. Zapewne dlatego krąg osób, z którymi utrzymał do końca kontakty był stosunkowo niewielki. Pod wieloma względami jest człowiekiem niespeł­ nionym. Zmiany miejsc pracy - w wyniku własnych decyzji, lub reorganizacji - rozproszyły część dorobku Afryka. Fot. Jacek Olędzki zwłaszcza fotograficzno-filmowego. Nie pozouczniów, nie dokończył nowo podjętych tematów. Nawet tytułu profesorskiego nie doczekał. Mając doskonałe opinie o dorobku, pozytywne wyniki oceny na kolejnych etapach i szczeblach procedury, zmarł, gdy całość wszczętych działań zmierzała ku końcowi. Można jednak przyjąć inne kryteria spełnienia. To, że realizował samego siebie, że rytm pracy i jej rodzaj wybierał sam, że sam decydował nad czym będzie pracował i w jaki sposób - nie poddając się naciskom. To, że podjął jako pierwszy wiele tematów i że pozostawił wiele ogromnie wartościowych, stale aktualnych publikacji, że ciągle zauważalny i wyraźny jest jego wpływ na środowisko etnologiczne w Polsce, że uznawany jest za autorytet i osobowość wybitną. A także, że jego oddziaływanie na studentów, także na tych młodszych, którzy osobiście nie poznali go, jest widoczne poprzez studenckie inicjatywy - przeglądy filmów etnograficznych. Wówczas można uznać, że jest spełniony w stopniu daleko większym, niż wynikałoby to z bycia od dłuższego czasu na uboczu życia instytucji, z dala od kariery i awansów. Spełnionym w stopniu daleko większym, niż wielu innych, uczonych i bardziej utytułowanych badaczy. Jacka, stawił �� https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/22862eafc7e5341199383db2f8247f17.pdf 270e89b4fd707d6a60f62d0194b9bad8 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5439 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5057 Title A name given to the resource Życiorys, bibliografia, filmografia / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.249-251 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Olędzki, Jacek Kowalska, Malgorzata (oprac.) Dudzińska, Krystyna (oprac.) Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text U rodziłem się w Warszawie w 1933 roku. Ojciec mój major - major dypl. WP - pracował w Wojskowym Instytucie Geograficznym. Zginął w ZSRR w 1940 roku. Mama po studiach na UJ- była urzędniczką. Świadectwo dojrzałości uzyskałem w Liceum im. Romualda Traugutta w Częstochowie w 1951. W Liceum tym założyłem Szkolne Koło Etnograficzne. W 1951r. Rozpocząłem studia na Wydziale Historycznym UW (Historia Kultury Materialnej - specjalizacja etnografia). Równolegle jako wolny słuchacz uczęszczałem na zajęcia z historii sztuki. W 1955 r. ukończyłem studia, otrzymując tytuł magistra etnografii (praca magisterska: Rola środowi­ ska wodnego w kształtowaniu się kultury Kurpiów PuszCzY Zielonej). Również w tym roku podjąłem pracę w Zakładzie Etnografii Folski Instytutu Kultury Materialnej PAN. Zatrudniony zostałem w zespole opracowującym monografię kultury Kurpiów. Zajmowałem się opracowaniem wybranych zajęć pozarolniczych. Ponadto kontynuowałem rozpoczętą w czasie studiów współpracę z Polskim Atlasem Etnograficznym we Wrocławiu. W 1957 r. ukończyłem Studia Realizatorów Filmów Naukowych we Wrocławiu. Od 1957 do 1962 uczestniczyłem w przeglądach filmów amatorskich, zdobywając pierwsze nagrody w kategorii filmów dokumentalnych za tytuły: KozY prostyńskie, Czekam na twe zmiłowanie, Odświętne prowincjonalizmy, ]an Sęk z PłoszYC. Z filmów tych korzystałem w prowadzonych od 1960 r. zajęciach w KE UW ze sztuki ludowej. W 1960 i 1961 r. uczestniczyłem w Międzynarodo­ wych Przeglądach Filmów Naukowych w Pradze i Atenach. Wyjazdy na owe przeglądy łączyłem z zapoznaniem się z miejscowym środowiskiem etnografów oraz badaniami terenowymi (w Słowacji, na Morawach, w Serbii, Chorwacji, Słowenii i Grecji). Do 1963 roku w Zakładzie Etnografii IHKM PAN zajmowałem się wyłącznie problematyką europejską. Od 1963, pierwszej Ekspedycji IHKM do Mongolii, do badań azjanistycznych, uczestnicząc aż do 1976 roku w kilku ekspedycjach pod kierownictwem prof. dr. Witolda Dynowskiego. Zajmowałem się: sposobami zajmowania przez pasterzy przestrzeni, sztuką, systemem kodyfikacji etycznej, dokumentacją zachowań religijnych klasztoru Gandan. Rezultaty badań z projekcją filmów (Sacrum-profanum, Zurakczin, Agnus Dei) miałem okazję przedstawić na sesji sprawozdawczej w Łańcucie. W 1965 roku obroniłem pracę doktorską w IHKM PAN: Kultura artystyczna Kurpiowszczyzny od 2. pol. XVIII do pol. XX w., promotor doc. dr Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, recenzenci prof. dr Ksawery Piwocki, prof. dr Kazimierza Zawistowicz-Adamska. Na początku lat siedemdziesiątych mogłem rozszerzyć dotychczasowe zainteresowania badawcze o studia afrykanistyczne. włączony zostałem JACEK OLĘDZKI • Zyciorys W 1972/73 r. uczestniczyłem w I Akademickiej Wyprawie Afrykanistycznej Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Wyprawa objęła Maroko, Algierię, Niger, Kamerun, Nigerię, Republikę Środkowoafrykańską, Zair, Rwandę, Tanzanię, Kenię, Etiopię, Sudan, Egipt. Przed dotarciem do Afryki gromadziłem niezbędne dane porównawcze do świadomości religijnej z pół­ nocnych Włoch, południowej Francji oraz na obrzeżach południowej Hiszpanii. W 1974 roku zatrudniony zostałem na stanowisku adiunkta w Zakładzie Społeczno Kulturowym Studium Afrykanistycznego Wydziału Neofilologii UW kierowanym przez prof. dr Zofię Sokolewicz. W SA WN UW oprócz prowadzenia zajęć ze studentami kierowałem z poręczenia dyrektora prof. dr. Bogdana Winida Pracownią Audiowizualną. Nie przerwałem współpracy z KEiAK UW, prowadziłem grupę proseminaryjną. Zajmowaliśmy się wybranymi zagadnieniami kultury religijnej w Polsce. W latach 1976-1977 byłem stypendystą Institut Fondamentale d'Afrique Noire w Dakarze. Oprócz studiów bibliotecznych prowadziłem w Senegalu badania do pracy habilitacyjnej (kodyfikacja norm etycznych). Poza Senegalem przebywałem w Ghanie, Gwinei, Liberii, w Wybrzeżu Kości Słoniowej oraz w Togo. W drodze powrotnej mogłem na krótko zatrzymać się w północnej Francji, Holandii oraz północnych Niemczech. Uzupełniłem dane porównawcze do wcześniej rozpoczętych badań w Czechosłowacji, na Bałkanach i w Grecji. W czasie mego pobytu w Afryce Studium Afrykanistyczne dostępowało doniosłych aktów z zakresu transformacji instytucjonalnej, kadrowej, lokalowej i innej. Stosunkowo na krótko przekształcone zostało w Instytut Afryki. Najważniejsze jednak przekształce­ nia dotyczyły ogólnego profilu naukowo-dydaktycznego. Dawne studium stopniowo uzyskiwało zasadniczo nową postać merytoryczną i organizacyjną w strukturze Uniwersytetu. Włączone zostało do nowego Wydziału Geografii i Studiów Regionalnych. Powstał w ramach tego wydziału Instytut Krajów Rozwijają­ cych się. Nowo powstały instytut zatrudnił geografów regionalnych Azji i Ameryki Łacińskiej. 1978-1999. Działalność dydaktyczna; wykłady, opieka nad praktykami studenckimi w Murzynowie k. Płocka, inspirowanie tematów prac magisterskich �i doktoranckich, pomoc w gromadzeniu materiałów. Seminaria i ćwiczenia praktyczne przed dwoma wyprawami studenckimi do Indii. Po powrocie ze stażu w Senegalu oraz podróży do 10 krajów zachodniej Afryki przestałem być pracownikiem przekształconego w Instytut Krajów Rozwijają­ cych się WGiSR Stud. Afrykanistycznego WN UW Powierzono mi, jako "specjaliście w zawodzie", wyłącz­ nie opiekę nad zbiorami audiowizualnymi oraz wyposażenie sal wykładowych WGiSR w urządzenia i sprzę­ ty multimedialne. Narzędzia pomocnicze do pracy badawczej, naukowej i dydaktycznej miały stanowić przedmiot moich obowiązków służbowych, podlegałem dyrektorowi administracyjnemu WGiSR. W lecie 1978 roku wysłany zostałem służbowo do Murzynowa, gdzie powstawało Mazowieckie Obserwatorium Geograficzne WGiSR UW Penetrowałem wywłaszczone, opuszczone obejścia we wsi wzdłuż dawnej Wisły, obecnie Jeziora Włocławskiego. Wybrałem obejście najuboższe, należące do wyrobników Antoniego i Mariana Więckowskich, planując zabezpieczenie go do dalszego zagospodarowania, jako bazy do prowadzenia badań terenowych w dawnej ziemi dobrzyńskiej oraz utworzenia placówki muzealnej. W 1979 roku udało się uzyskać oficjalną zgodę Okręgowej Dyrekcji Gospodarki Wodnej w Warszawie na przejęcie budynku mieszkalnego i ogrodu w obejściu, przed wywłaszczeniem, należącym do państwa montern pieca oraz położeniem nowych strzech na chacie i spichrzu w drugiej zagrodzie muzealnej. W latach 1983/85 zgromadzone zostały w wyremontowanych obiektach liczne eksponaty dawnej kultury chłopskiej, pochodzące z darów mieszkańców Murzynowa oraz wsi sąsiednich. Zaistniało Muzeum I i Muzeum II. W pierwszym zlokalizowana została biblioteka (księgozbiór 1000 cennych darów pracowników UW dla dzieci i dorosłych mieszkańców Murzynowa) oraz Pracownia (na początku lat dziewięćdziesiątych uchwałą Rady Naukowej WGiSR podniesiona do rangi Muzeum Pracowni Geografii Historyczno-Kulturowej im. Stanisława Murzynowskiego WGiSR UW w Murzynowie). Muzeum II pozostawało obiektem, którym opiekowało się Koło Naukowe Studentów KEiAK UW Rozpoczęła się systematyczna i intensywna współ­ praca z KEiAK WH UW Przez pełne trzy lata odbywały się w Murzynowie praktyki studenckie. Mogłem liczyć na pomoc studentów w gromadzeniu materiałów do mej pracy habilitacyjnej poświęconej zagadnieniu istnienia i tożsamości mieszkańców Murzynowa i wsi sąsiednich. Inspirowałem zainteresowania w pracach magisterskich i doktorskich. W 1986 roku ukończyłem pracę habilitacyjną: Murzynowo. Znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturalnej wioski nadwiślańskiej w XVIII-XX wieku, mieszkańców ss. 500. Do 1990 roku oczekiwałem na jej ukazanie się w Wydawnictwach Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. W oczekiwaniu na wydanie pracy kontynuowałem zajęcia dydaktyczne w KEiAK WH UW z: sztuki społe­ czeństw pierwotnych, a na WGiSR UW z: multimediów w procesie dydaktycznym oraz systemów wartościowania w kulturach pierwotnych. Więckowskich. Opracowanie materiałów zgromadzonych w Afryce w latach 1972/73 i 1976/77 realizowałem poza aktualnymi obowiązkami służbowymi. Uznałem, że w nowych okolicznościach zatrudnienia na UW nie mam możliwości kontynuowania wcześniejszego, zatwierdzonego tematu pracy habilitacyjnej, poświęconej kodyfikacji norm etycznych w kulturach Europy (Polski), Azji (Mongolii) i Afryki (Senegalu) . Postanowiłem dostosować nowy temat habilitacji do warunków istniejących na WGiSR przy najpełniejszym wykorzystaniu szansy wyjazdów do Murzynowa. W latach 1980/81 wyodrębnione zostały w Murzynowie obiekty objęte ochroną dawnego krajobrazu kulturalnego wioski (oprócz zagrody Więckawskich skrzyżowanie dróg u figury oraz zagroda gospodarcza i rzemieślnicza wywłaszczonej rodziny Cabanów). Do prac porządkowych w drugim obejściu włączyło się Koło Naukowe przy Katedrze Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW Przywrócone mi zostało stanowisko adiunkta, które zaszczytnie utrzymałem do emerytury w 1999 roku. Otrzymałem zatrudnienie w Zakładzie Dydaktyki Geografii WGiSR, kierowanym przez doc. dr hab. Alicję Kostrowicką. W 1982 r. z rąk dziekana WGiSR prof. dr. hab. BoDumanowskiego otrzymałem nagrodę za osią­ gnięcia dydaktyczne. Całość przyznanych pieniędzy przeznaczyłem na pokrycie kosztów związanych z relesława Forum upowszechnienia kultury Wizyta w roku poprzednim Ewy Bączyńskiej w Muzeum w Murzynowie zapoczątkowała moją stałą współpracę z Centralnym Ośrodkiem Metodyki Upowszechnienia Kultury przy Ministerstwie Kultury i Sztuki. Ewa Bączyńska organizowała fora COMUK poświęcone analizie wybranych problemów związa­ nych z rozwojem kultury współczesnej w Polsce. Na fora zapraszała znanych badaczy kultury, pracowników polskich uniwersytetów oraz innych placówek, jak np. panowskie, zajmujących się problematyką społeczną, kulturalną oraz kwestiami kultów religijnych. Fora odbywały się w głośnych ośrodkach kraju, trwały kilka dni. Stanowiły pierwsze znaczące na tę skalę spotkania wybitnych działaczy i teoretyków, związanych z kwestiami dzisiejszych przemian kulturalnych. W Książu na VIII Forum i Antoninie na IX Forum referowałem rezultaty zdobytych doświadczeń w Murzynowie. Na Forum X i XI w Poznaniu i Łucz­ nicy przedstawiłem rezultaty swych badań w Azji i Afryce. 250 �Jacek Olędzki • ŻYCIORYS W 1991 roku po zatwierdzeniu habilitacji obronionej na WH UW zostałem przeniesiony na WGiSR UW z Zakładu Dydaktyki Geografii do Zespołu Mazowieckiego Obserwatorium Geograficznego w Murzynowie. Muzeum-Pracownia włączona została do placówki, w której byłem zatrudniony. Dotychczasowy program edukacyjno-dydaktyczny Muzeum poszerzyły EkspozYcje pod Wiosłem Zielonym, dla których realizacji przydzielono osobny pawilon. Ekspozycje miały zdecydowanie charakter naukowy i były podporządkowane aktualnym problemom badawczym, jakimi się zajmowałem. Oto rejestr realizowanych ekspozycji: - znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturowej mieszkańców ziemi dobrzyńskiej, -Jezus chodzący po jeziorze Genezaret. Fenomen kulturowy obchodów Bożego Ciała przez murzynowiaków w parfii Rokicie, - Vannitas vanitatum ... , przeszłość i teraźniejszość kulturowa mieszkańców wioski nadwiślańskiej Murzynowo. Główna prezentacja w Spichrzu Muzeum Mazowieckiego w Płocku, - Po tej stronie chmur, malarstwo na szkle, drzeworyty i rzeźba Wojciech Marchlewskiego, - Plagi, żywioły, demony, Opatrzność, Święci Pańscy. Najlepsze prace wybrane spośród dorobku Pleneru Malarskiego w Murzynowie oraz obrazy z XVIII-XIX w. z kościoła w Rokiciu, - KrajobrazY nieba, fotografia Michała Browarskiego, Damieelli Możekowskiej oraz rzeźba i malarstwo Wojciecha Marchlewskiego. Główna prezentacja w Parzeźba łacu Kazimierzowskim w Galerii UW na Dzień Ziemi, - Ranidae. Świat się wspiera na żabie. Konsultacja: Magdalena Zowczak, Jadwiga Lipińska (egiptolog), Jerzy Makowski (amerykanista), - Ulotna sztuka niewinności, - Droga w zaświaty. Wystawa stała na ekranie ekspozycyjnym w ogrodzie Muzeum-Pracowni. Ozdobne klepsydry blaszane z grobów chłopskich wzorowane na szlacheckich kartuszach herbowych, renesansowych i barokowych, wykonywane przez żydowskie zakłady blacharskie w Płocku. Kute krzyże nagrobne z cmentarza w Rokiciu. Fenomen świadomości przemijania i pamięci o zmarłych w kulturze chłopskiej, - Suidae. Ekspozycja na dwudziestopięciolecie MOG w Murzynowie, -22 obrazY. Ekspozycja na 22lata działalności Muzeum-Pracowni w Murzynowie. Dużego formatu obrazy na płótnie, najcenniejsze prace uczestników plenerów artystycznych w Murzynowie. Będąc pracownikiem MOG WGiSR UW w Murzynowie, dopilnowałem wzniesienia we wsi pomnika poświęconego Stanisławowi Murzynowskiemu ok. 1526- ok. 1553, autorowi pierwszego przekładu na ję­ zyk polski Nowego Testamentu i pierwszej Ortografii Polskiej. W 2003 roku na jesieni odbędzie się w Płocku uroczysta sesja naukowa pod patronatem prezydenta miasta poświęcona 450. rocznicy ukazania się Testa- Zupełnego, połączona z wydaniem reprintu tego dzieła. Czas zatrudnienia w MOG poświęciłem na opracowanie materiałów gromadzonych w Europie, Azji i Afryce, które gromadziłem do pierwotnej wersji pracy habilitacyjnej. W 1999 roku na krótko przed przejściem na emeryturę Dialog wydał Ludzi wygasłego wejrzenia - książkę zawierającą rezultaty owych wieloletnich badań. mentu Nowego Autofererat Trwałym obszarem moich zainteresowań - od do dzisiaj - jest sztuka. Początkowo po studiach zajmowałem się sztuką ludową i naiwną Polski. Z czasem zainteresowania rozszerzyłem na zespół zagadnień związanych z kulturą artystyczną społe­ czeństw pierwotnych. Z tego kierunku zainteresowań kształtowały się dą­ żenia do poznania: - różnych postaci synkretyzmu religijnego - ludowego, a czasem plemiennego światopoglądu artystycznego, - nurtów rozwojowych (w społeczeństwach rozwarstwionych, nurtu oficjalnego, elitarnego i nieelitarnego, nieoficjalnego), - znaczenia sztuki w kształtowaniu tożsamości zbiorowej i kategorii istnienia osoby (zagadnienie autoteliczności i heteroteliczności w przekazie artystycznym), - semiotyki wyobrażeń plastycznych. Z tego kręgu zainteresowań wyłoniło się śledzenie w kulturach stosunku do NATURY; w szczególności pór roku, wyładowań atmosferycznych, opadów, krajobrazu, flory i fauny. Odrębnym obszarem badawczym stały się kultury wotywne i ściśle z nimi związana świadomość mirakuralna oraz świadomość ISTNIENIA. Dla uzyskania skali porównawczej do antropologicznych i ostatecznie etnologicznych badań zajmowałem się wybranymi artystami nurtu elitarnego, na przykład działaniami artystycznymi Jerzego Kaliny czy twórczością Wiktora Gajdy. W podobny sposób poświęcałem uwagę współczesnym formom młodzieżo­ wej wizualizacji oraz parateatralnej ekspresji. Za największy sukces naukowy uznaję współdziała­ nie w trudnych latach minionego okresu w tworzeniu pozaeuropejskich obszarów badań, a także kształtowa­ nie w antropologii i etnologii polskiej współczesnych (nowoczesnych) metod dydaktycznych (multimedia, zapis filmowy, ekspozycja etc.) i poznawczych, dokumentalnych (dbałość o źródła wywołane i archiwalne, długotrwałe badania monograficzne w bezpośredniej, trwałej więzi z podmiotami zainteresowań). szkoły średniej �JACEK OLĘDZKI- Opr. Krystyna Dudzińska 1959a Wypowiedzi rybaków kurpiowskich o wyglądzie ryb (Przyczynek do badania poglądów estetycznych ludu) , "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XIII, nr 1-2, str. 73-75. 1959b Materiały do wybranych tradycyjnych zajęć na Kurpiowszczyźnie, "Etnografia Polska", tom II, str. 247-255, ił. 6. 1959c Czekam na Twe zmilowanie ... , "Argumenty", R. III, nr 10, str. 6-7. 1959d O święty Walenty, o dobry, o litościwy, "Argumenty", R. III, nr 40, str. 6-7. 1960a Wota woskowe ze wsi Brodowe Łqki i Krzynowiaga Wielka, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XIV, nr l, str. 3-32, il. 36, autorzy fot. S. Biniewski, J. Świderski, J. Olędzki. 1960b Magia dobrego początku, "Argumenty", R. IV, nr 10, str. 4-5. 1961a Doroczne pieczywo obrzędowe pólnocno-wschodniej Polski, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XV, nr l, str. 3-23, ił. 45, ił. J. Olędzki, J. Świderski. 1961b Artystyczna twórczość kowalska na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od końca XIX wieku do I wojny światowej, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. 15, nr 4, str. 199-214, il. 32, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, K. Kwaśniewski, BIBLIOGRAFIA J. Świderski. 1961c Tradycyjne wierzenia o pszczołach z Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej, "Literatura Ludowa", R. XV, nr 4-6, str. 39-44. 1961d Niekonieczny ten święty Roch, "Argumenty", R. V, nr 13, str. 6-7. 1962a Symboliczne ofiary woskowe ze wsi Kadzidło, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XVI, nr 2, str. 92-97, il. 7, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, H. Olędzka. 1962b Konkursowe noworoczne pieczywo kurpiowskie, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XVI, nr 4, str. 237-244, ił. 16 autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, S. Deptuszewski, J. Świderski. 1962c Pierwiastki tradycyjne we współczesnym światopoglą­ dzie ludu wiejskiego, zamieszkującego tereny popuszczańskie i sąsiednie na Mazowszu, w: 1962 Rok Ziemi Mazowieckiej, Płock, str. 289-295, il. 5. 1962d Rybołówstwo na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od końca XIX do polowy XX wieku, w: Kurpie Puszcza Zielona, t. l, red. Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 139-276, ryc. 39; streszcz. w jęz. francuskim. 1963 Tradycyjne poglądy na piękno przyrody w wypowiedziach chłopów Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XVII, nr 2, str. 97-110, il. 10, autorzy fot. S. Deptuszewski, J. Olędzki. 1964a Rzeźba w drewnie z pólnocnej Kurpiowszczyzny, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XVIII, nr 3, str. 135-158, ił. 35, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, M. Pokropek, mapa Antonina Hasowa. 1964b Uwagi o twórczości kowalskiej i snycerskiej w Polsce, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XVIII, nr 4, str. 224-230. 1964c Pasiecznictwo na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od końca XIX do polowy XX wieku, w: Kurpie Puszcza Zielona, t. 2, red. Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 175-211, il. 12; streszcz. w jęz. francuskim. 252 (IEiAK UW) 1964d Miejsce i rola kowalstwa w przeobrażeniach kultury ludowej na terenie Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od polowy XIX do polowy XX wieku, w: Kurpie Puszcza Zielona, red. Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, t. 2, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 293-340, ryc. l 7, streszcz. w jęz. francuskim. 1965a Wota srebrne i woskowe, "Literatura Ludowa", nr 5, str. 36-49. 1965b Przemiany funkcji mieszkania w żYciu ludności Kurpiowskiej Puszczy Zielonej od polowy XIX do polowy XX w., w: Kurpie Puszcza Zielona, red. Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa, t. 3, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 225 -265, ił. 20, streszcz. w jęz. francuskim. 1965c Rybak i kowal w społeczności wsi kurpiowskiej (tradycyjne zawody wiejskie - proces zanikania i modyfikacji), w: Socjologia zawodów, red. A. Sarapata, str. 349-354. 1965d Andrzej Abramowicz, Studia nad genezą polskiej kultury artystycznej, PWN, Łódź-Warszawa 1962, "Etnografia Polska", t. IX, str. 521-526. 1965e B. Rinczen, Mongol ardyn gar ur!a!, brak miejsca i roku wyd.; Mongol ardyn goe! czingijn chee uga!z, brak miejsca i roku wyd. [Mongolskie ludowe rzemiosło artystyczne; Mongolski ornament dekoracyjny wydawnictwa albumowe], "Etnografia Polska", t. IX, 1965, str. 626-629. 1966a Mondo cane -film etnograficzny, " Współczesność", R. XI, nr 13 (215) . 1966b "Hej w Kadzidłańskim boni... ", "Argumenty", R. X, nr 27, str. 7 1966c Górale na Kurpiach, "Argumenty", R. X, nr 51-52, str. 13. 1967a Wota srebrne, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXI, nr 2, str. 67-92, ił. 40, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, Jan Świder­ ski. 1967b Zakres pojęcia sztuki ludowej [głos w dyskusji], "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXI, nr 4, str. 203. 1967c Badania etnograficzne w Mongolii, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXI, nr 4, str. 242. 1967d Andras Róna-Tas, Mongolia. Śladami nomadów; zwę­ gierskiego przelożYI Eugeniusz Moroszko, Państwowe Wydawnictwo Wiedza Powszechna, Warszawa 1965, ss. 352, l mapa, "Etnografia Polska", t. XI, str. 516-520. 1967e Pieski świat (Mondo cane), scenariusz: Gualtero ]acopetti, zdjęcia Antonio Climati i Benito Fratteri, muz. Nino Oliviera i Riz Orto!ani, prod. Cineriz (Wiochy 1962), "Etnografia Polska", t. XI, str. 508-510. 1967f Stanisław KalużYński, Mongolia, PWN, Warszawa 1965, ss. 158, ryc. 49, mapa l, "Etnografia Polska", t. XI, str. 514-516. 1967g Jerzy Zieliński, Sześciu mędrców z "Bogatego szczęścia" . Świat się zmienia, Iskry, Warszawa 1961 ; ]erzy Putrament, Cztery strony świata, Iskry, Warszawa 1963 (rozdz. Mongolskie pastorałki); W Nowakowski, W !akierkach przez Gobi, Warszawa 1964, "Etnografia Polska", t. XI, str. 520-527. 1967h Stanisław KalużYński, Glosy z jurty. Przyslowia, opowieści, zagadki Mongołów, Turków syberyjskich i Tunguzów [wybrał i przelożyl z oryginału], Wiedza Po- �Jacek Olędzki • BIBLIOGRAFIA wszechna, Myśli srebrne i z!ote (seria wschodnia pod red. E. Tryjarskiego), Warszawa 1960, ss. 202, "Etnografia Polska", t. XI, str. 527-529. 1968a Niektóre zmiany w tradycyjnym inwentarzu kulturowym pasterzy mongolskich, "Etnografia Polska", t. XII, str. 199-252, fot. 18, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, N. Dordż, rys., tabela, (Współautorzy: Danuta Markowska, Zofia Sokolewicz). 1968b Wota woskowe i srebrne w wiejskiej obrzędowości !udowej, "Roczniki Socjologii Wsi", t. VIII, str. 171-188, il. 7, streszcz. w jęz. francuskim i rosyjskim. 1968c Native and Folk Elements in Contemporary Mangolian National Art, w: Poland at the 8th International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnologicai Sciences (Tokyo), Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 224-238. 1968d Wacław Korabiewicz, Sztuka Afryki w zbiorach pol- skich, Zdzisław Małek fotografie, Wydawnictwo "Polonia", Warszawa 1966, ss. 186, w tym 135 rycin całostronicowych, "Etnografia Polska", t. XII, str. 541-_546, il. 2, autor fot.: J. Olędzki. 1969a Swiatopoglqd artystyczny ludności wiejskiej w świetle studiów nad kulturą Kurpiowszczyzny, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXIII, nr 3-4, str. 139-149, il. 8. 1969b Rodzimość i ludowość we współczesnej sztuce naradowej Mongolii, w: "Studia Mongolskie", red. Witold Dynowski, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 99-113, il. 25, streszcz. w jęz. angielskim i rosyjskim. 1969c Na manowcach europocentryzmu. Oszukiwanie Boga, ,:Współczesność", R. XIV, nr 19 (289). 1969d +200 i- 50= Polak?, "Argumenty", R. XIII, nr 45 (596), str. 3. 1970a Sztuka Kurpiów, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, ss. 77, il. 150. 1970b Chun Bajna, "Etnografia Polska", t .. XVII, z. 2, str. 81-195, aut. fotografii: J. Olędzki, B. Sowiński. 1971a Kultura artystyczna ludności kurpiowskiej, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, ss. 242, il. 105, bibliografia, streszcz. w jęz. angielskim. 197lb Rejony sztuki ludowej, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXV, nr l, str. 3-20, il. 23. 1973a Wota lwowskie, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXVII, nr l, str. 5-29, il. 36. 1973b Chun Bajna - There is a Man. Selected Indices of Tansformations in Mangolian Philosophy of Life, w: IX International Congress of Anthropological and Ethnological Sciences (Chicago), str. 99. 1974a Les peintures de l'Afrique Noire (La peinture nad'veNouveau courant de devoloppement de la culture artistique en Afrique contemporaine), "Africana Bulletin", nr 20, str. 9-46. 1974b The Contemporary African Art. Same Remarks on New Trends in the Development of Sculpture, "Africana Bulletin", nr 21, str. 9-35. 1974c Wybierz swój styl, "Kontynenty", nr 12 (131), str. 30-33. 1975a Pieśni wotywne, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXIX, nr 4, str. 225-236, il. 15. 1975b Pogodny moralitet z Dawanau. Twórczość nigeryjskiego artysty Suly'ego, "Kontynenty", nr l (132), s. 24-27. 1975c Nie tylko podobieństwo własne, "Kontynenty", nr 6 (137), str. 22-27. 1975d Nagość, "Kontynenty", nr 7 (138), str. 29-33. 1976a Wyrzeczysko. O świętowaniu w Polsce, ss. 308, Ludowa Spółdzielnia Wydawnicza, Warszawa (współautorzy: Anna Zadrożyńska-Barącz, Tadeusz Ciołek). 1976b Pacierze Szczypawki. Uwagi o zależności dzieła sztuki od poglądów estetycznych i etycznych artysty, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXX, nr l, str. 29-42, il. 16, autorzy fot. M. Browarski, T. Listopadzki, J. Olędzki. 1976c Sztuka demonstracyjna współczesnej Afryki. (Uwagi o nowych kierunkach twórczości rzeźbiarskiej o charakterze ludowym), "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXX, nr 2, str. 97-114, il. kolor 28, autorzy fot. S. Deptuszewski. J. Olędzki, 1977a Prawdziwym pięknem jest natura (o twórczości malarskiej Bazylego Albiczuka), "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXXI, nr l, str. 29-38, il. 17, autorzy fot. M. Pokropek, B. Sowilski, J. Olędzki. 1977b Dywan na suficie [o twórczości Waldemara Paciuka], "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXXI, nr 2, str. 107-114, il. 8. 1977c roeuvre poetique et politique de Leopold Sedar Senghor comme l'expression de normes africaines traditionnelles et nouvelles, "Africana Bulletin", nr 26, str. 113-129. 1977d "Khun Bayna - There is a Man". Selected Indices of Transformations in the Mangolian Philosophy of Life, "Ethnologia Polona", vol. 3, str. 9-29. 1978 Senegalskie malunki na szkle. Analiza twórczości Fala i Begue, "Kontynenty", nr 3, str. 23-25. 1979 On Same Maximes on African Cars, "Africana Bulletin", nr 28, str. 29-35. 1980a Wizerunek dobrego pasterza. Przyczynek do sposobów zajmowania przestrzeni przez pasterzy mongolskich, "Etnografia Polska", t. XXIV, z. l, str. 211-281, il. 31, autorzy fotografii: J. Olędzki, L. Mróz, (Wspólautor artykułu: Lech Mróz). 1980b Etat des recherches sur l'art non-officiel de l'Afrique contemporaine, w: Studies in Art History, Ossolineum, Wrocław-Warszawa-Kraków, str. 215-234. 1981 rart non-officiel au Senegal, "Ethnologia Polona", vol. 7, str. 81-97, il. 24. 1985 Znaki istnienia [zagadnienia pracy habilitacyjnej], "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XXXIX, nr 1-2, str. 3-22, il. 28. 1986 Rzeźba Heleny Szczypawki-Ptaszyńskiej, Muzeum Mazowieckie w Płocku, 1986, katalog, ss. 24, 18 il, (Współautor: W Dowlaszewicz) 1987 "Skuś baba na dziada". Przyczynek do powinności przemyśleń perypatetycznych, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLI, nr 1-4, str. 142-149, il. 7, autorzy fot. W Marchlewski, J. Olędzki. 1988a Troski żYciowe i kłopot z istnieniem (Pacierze w Zapiskach domowych Teresy Trajanowskiej 1957-1968), "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLII, nr 4, str. 230-242, il. 6. 1988b Tunbaszi. Czyli o przeobrażeniach wyobraźni symbolicznej w paradygmatyczną. I przynależności metodologicznej niezależnej, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLII, nr 4, str. 273-274, il. 2. 1988c Badacz i środowisko, w: Adam Chętnik a współczesne badania kultury wsi kurpiowskiej. Materiały z Sesji Kurpiowskiej Polskiego Towarzystwa Ludoznawczego, Łomża-Marianowo-Nowogród 21-23 września 1984, red. Mirosława Drozd-Piasecka, Warszawa 1988, str. 24-49. 1989a Kwitdechy z Leżajska. Prośba i dziękczynienie w kulturach chasydzkich i katolickich, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLIII, nr 1-2, str. 23-26, il. 2, autorzy fot. ł-;'fonika Krajewska. 1989b Swiadomość mirakularna, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLIII, nr 3, str. 147-157, il. 11. �Konsolacja [graffiti stanu wojennego w Warszawie], "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLIV, nr 2, str. 35-40, ił. 7. 1990b Wrażliwość mirakulama, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLIV, nr l, str. 8-14, ił. 3, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, A. Hemka, J. Nowakowski, {Współautor: Andrzej Hemka). 199la Murzynowo. Znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturalnej mieszkańców wioski nadwiślańskiej XVIII-XX w. [rozprawa habilitacyjna], Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warszawa, ss. 432, 54 s. tabl., ił. 52, 3 mapy, tablice, autorzy fot. Jacek Olędzki, Jan Świ­ derski, Krzysztof Sabak, Wojciech Marchlewski. 199lb Gesty nadziei, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLV, nr l, str. 35-46, ił. 10. 199lc Jezus chodzący po jeziorze Genezaret. Zagadnienie czasu historycznego i mitycznego, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLV, nr 2, str. 9-17, ił. 4, autotrzy fot. J. Olędzki, W. Wolny. 1992 Widzieć, odczuwać, myśleć. Rozmowa z Jackiem Olędzkim, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLVI, nr 3-4, str. 215-218, ił. 2, filmografia, {Autor rozmowy: Ryszard Ciarka). 1993a Izolaty (o spopielaniu świetlanej przyszłości), "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLVII, nr l, str. 3944, ił. 15, autorzy fot.: J. Olędzki, J. Świderski. 1993b Świadomość miejsca (Muzeum-Pracownia Geografii Historyczno-Kulturowej w Murzynowie), "Notatki Płockie", 1/54, s. 37-41. 1994a Filodzóon. Ciesząca się życiem - albo - Ogławianie. Kultura wierzby ił., "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLVIII, nr 3-4, str. 90-99, ił. 3, autorzy fot. J. Olędzki, W. Marchlewski. 1994b Venitas Vanitatum ..., przemijanie i trwanie w kulturze Murzynowa wioski nadwiślańskiej kolo Plocka, Muzeum Mazowieckie w Płocku. 1995 Gesty życzliwości, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. XLIX, nr l, str. 76-79. 1996a Jednakowo, albo badacz i wciąż to samo środowisko, "Łódzkie Studia Etnograficzne", R. XXXV, str. 31-38. 1996b Plagi, ŻYwioły, demony, Opatrzność i Święci Pańscy albo próby poznawania siebie samego, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. L, nr 1-2, str. 83-98, ił. 10. 1997a Co? Po co? Dlaczego? Słucham. Terminowe doświad­ czenie etnologa w Murzynowie, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LI, nr 1-2, str. 187-191, ił. 4. 1997b W imię Boga albo Gott mit uns. Monogramy E. M. 1990a Antropologiczne i psychiatryczne próby rozumienia sztuki naiwnej, w: Edmund Monsiei odsłona druga, 1998 red. Zbigniew Chlewiński, str. 145-194. Ulotna sztuka niewinności, Muzeum w Murzynowie Mazowieckiego Obserwatorium Geograficznego WGiSR UW, Murzynowo. 1999a Ludzie wygaslego wejrzenia (szkice poświęcone wybranym kulturom pierwotnym dawnego i współczesnego świata), Wydawnictwo Akademickie Dialog, Warszawa, ss. 3 84, ił. 81. 1999b "Zgredy rule" i ulotna sztuka niewinności, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LIII, nr 1-2, str. 138-148,il.l7. 1999c Oui, j'en crois. Ryszard Kapuściński, Heban, Czytelnik, Warszawa 1998, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LIII, nr 3, str. 65-68, ił. 2. 1999d Ryszard Kapuściński, Heban, "Africana Bulletin", nr 47, str. 164-167. 254 1999e Odkrywcze i prorocze działaniaJerzego Kaliny, "Pokaz, pismo kryryki artystycznej", str. 43-45. 200la Czerepaszki Kauri. Zapiski postrannogo - maijarstwo na skli bezturbotnowo chudożnika, jaki nie widczuwaje muk tworczosti Wojciecha Marchlewskiego, ss. 34, ił. 200lb "Czucie pychy" albo ludzie przeklętego honoru, "Studia Etnologiczne i Antropologiczne", R. V, str. 141-151. 200lc Anna Mrozek-Dumanowska, Współczesny ruch odno- wy islamu ... W poszukiwaniu własnej tożsamości kulturowej. Prace monograficzne Zakładu Krajów Pozaeuropejskich PAN, Warszawa 2000, ss. 96, "Afryka, Azja, Ameryka Łacińska", R. LXXVIII, str. 125-126. 200ld Maciej Jędrusik, Izolacja jako zjawisko geograficzne, Uniwersytet Warszawski Wydział Geografii i Studiów Regionalnych, Warszawa 200 l , ss. 231, ryc. 6, tabl. 10+3, fig. 7+31, fot. 27, "Afryka, Azja, Ameryka Łacińska", R. LXXVIII, str. 127-129. 2002a Sanktuarium Maryjne w Bardzie Śląskim, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LVI, nr 1-2, str. 159-163 i!. 2. 2002b Meksyk . Współczesna świadomość mirakulama, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LVI, nr 1-2, str. 164-171, i!. 5. 2002c Jedną kreską kreślone, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LVI, nr 1-2, str. 252-256. 2002d Meksyk. Świadomość mirakulama, "Afryka, Azja, Ameryka Łacińska", R. LXXIX, str. 131-143. 2002e Lucjan Buchalik, Kolorowy Sahel, Mali, Burkina Faso (The Sahel of Many Colours, Mali, Burkina Faso), ed. Lucjan Buchalik, Żory 2000, 142 p., illustrated, "Africana Bulletin", nr 50, str. 347-351. 2002f "Siedzi baba na cmentarzu". Magdalena Zowczak, Bi- blia ludowa. Interpretacje wątków biblijnych w kulturze ludowej, Monografie Fundacji na rzecz Nauki Polskiej, Wydawnictwo Funna, Wrocław 2000, "Konteksty. Polska Sztuka Ludowa", R. LVI, nr 1-2, str. 242-248. 2003a Peru. Petroglify. Rozważania etnologiczne, Wydział Geografii Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, Warszawa, SS. 31, i!. 22. 2003b Wydanie Ewangelii św. Mateusza Stanisława Murzynowskiego, "Notatki Płockie", nr 2, str. 46-47. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/0298c924f014f7d480f08044afb5f5be.pdf 62e5290778717249dd1acef78b7995d2 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5432 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource malarstwo nieprofesjonalne Nikifor Krynicki (1895-1968) twórcy nieprofesjonalni Drowniak, Epifaniusz (Nikifor) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5050 Title A name given to the resource Epifaniusz Drowniak / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.226-236 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wisłocki, Seweryn Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text SEWERYN SĄD UZNAJE, ŻE NIKIFOR -TO EPIFANIUSZ DROWNIAK W dniu 26 marca 2003 r. "Sąd Rejonowy w Muszynie Wydział I Cywilny w następującym składzie: Przewodnicząca SSR Barbara Tischner po rozpoznaniu w dniu 13 III 2003 r. w Muszynie na rozprawie z wniosku Zjednoczenia Łemków Zarząd Główny z siedzibą w Bielance z udziałem Muzeum Okręgowego w Nowym Sączu i Prokuratury Okręgowej w Nowym Sączu o unieważnienie aktu urodzenia postanawia: l. Unieważnić akt urodzenia Nikifora Krynickiego sporządzony w Urzędzie Stanu Cywilnego w Krynicy na nr 4 77/1962/1 w dniu 18 X 1962 r. na podstawie postanowienia Sądu Powiatowego w Nowym Sączu Wydziału Zamiejscowego w Muszynie z dnia 18 września 1962 r. sygn. Akt N s. 122/62; U. Koszty postępowania między stronami wzajemnie znieść; III. Nie obciążać wniosk. kosztami postępowania na rzecz Skarbu Państwa Uzasadnienie Wnioskodawca Zarząd Zjednoczenia Łemków w Gorlicach we wniosku domagał się unieważnienia aktu urodzenia Nikifora Krynickiego, sporządzonego na podstawie postanowienia Sądu Powiatowego w Nowym Sączu Wydziału Zamiejscowego w Muszynie z dnia 18 września 1962 r. sygn. Akt Ns. 122/62, wywodząc, że Nikifor Krynicki to Epifaniusz Drowniak, dla którego sporządzono akt urodzenia pod nr. 35 w dniu jego chrztu 22 V 1895 r. w Greckokatolickiej Parafii w Krynicy. Uczestnik Muzeum Okręgowe w Nowym Sączu wniósł o oddalenie wniosku i zarzucił, że wnioskodawca nie ma legitymacji czynnej do złożenia nin. wniosku. Do niniejszego postępowania wstąpił Prokurator Okręgowy w Nowym Sączu, zgłaszając swój udział w sprawie o unieważnienie aktu stanu cywilnego Nikifora Krynickiego /k. 131 akt/. SĄD USTALIŁ NASTĘPUJĄCY WISŁOCKI Epifaniusz Drowniak J ako wprowadzenie - ten fragment z postanowienia oraz uzasadnienia wyroku sądu jest wystarczający. Rzeczowo i z wykluczeniem wszelkich zastrzeżeń, w specyficznie precyzyjnym języku prawniczym, Sąd Rejonowy w Muszynie przywraca krynickiemu "Matejce" jego pełną tożsamość: imię i nazwisko, prawdziwą datę urodzenia i rodzinę, czyli łemkowski rodowód. Doszło do tego wreszcie - w wymiarze formalnoprawnym - dzięki uporowi i konsekwencji Stefana Hłady­ ka, prezesa Zarządu Zjednoczenia Łemków. Podkreślam: w wymiarze formalnoprawnym, bowiem w kręgu znawców przedmiotu matactwa wokół osoby Nikifora wynikające z przesłanek politycznych (m.in. akcji ,:Wisła") sygnowane przez Mariana Włosińskiego i Stefana Półchłopka, a sterowane przez Andrzeja Banacha, zostały już dawno rozpoznane. Dowodem prawdy w tej mierze są bogate materiały dotyczące Nikifora opublikowane w monograficznym numerze "Polskiej Sztuki Ludowej" (R. XXXIX, 1985 r. nr 3-4). Obok tekstów STAN FAKTYCZNY: W dniu 21 V 1895 r. w Krynicy Eudokia Drowniak urodziła syna Epifaniusza Drowniaka, którego ojciec był nieznany. Eudokia Drewniak była córką Grzegorza Drowniaka i Tatiany z domu Krynicka. W dniu 22 V 1895 r. w Parafii Greckokatolickiej w Krynicy Epifaniusz Drowniak został ochrzczony imieniem "Epifaniusz". Jego rodzicami chrzestnymi byli Andrzej Kozak i Katarzyna wdowa po Jakubie Rystweju. W dniu 22 V 1895 r. sporządzony został pod nr. 35/1895 w Parafii Grecko-katolickiej w Krynicy akt urodzenia Epifaniusza Drewniaka urodzonego w dniu 21 V 1895 r. w Krynicy syna Eudokii Drewniak, córki Grzegorza i Tatiany z domu Krynickiej. Dowód: odpis zupełny aktu urodzenia Epifaniusza Drewniaka k. 13 akt oraz wyciąg z kopii ksiąg metrykalnych greckokatolickiej parafii Krynica przechowywanych w zespole Archiwum Biskupstwa Greckokatolickiego w Przemyślu k. 6 w aktach tut. Sądu sygn. Ns. 169/98/... /." Nikifor, fot. Jan Świderski 1965r. 226 �Seweryn Wislocki • EPIFANIUSZ DROWNIAK Nikifor, Pejzaż, akwarela A. Jackowskiego i J. Jarnuszkiewicz opublikowany wtedy został materiał niżej podpisanego Przyczynek do biografii Nikifora Drowniaka nazwanego Krynickim, przytaczająy m.in. za Pawłem Stefanowskim treść metryki urodzenia Nikifora - czyli Epifana Drowniaka. Należy podkreślić, iż wspomniany numer monograficzny "P.Sz.I.:' zawierał pierwsze, poważne opracowania etnograficzno-etnologiczne dotyczące kultury Łemków od czasu akcji "Wisła" w Polsce, a to, że się ukazał, począwszy od koncepcji po realizację (włącz­ nie, a może szczególnie z pokonaniem ogromnych oporów ówczesnych władz politycznych PRL oraz cenzury) było osobistą zasługą Aleksandra Jackowskiego. W każdym razie jest faktem, iż od tamtego czasu, a dotyczy to wydań z lat dziewięćdziesiątych ub. wieku, w Encyklopedii PWN, w jej wszystkich wariantach objętościowych, hasło Nikifor - to Epitafiusz Drowniak z prawdziwą datą urodzenia. Również w oparciu o tę publikację, jako w pełni wiarygodną, Państwowe Muzeum Etnograficzne w Warszawie w 1995 roku, zorganizowało ogromną wystawę dzieł Nikifora, w stulecie jego urodzin, wydając przy okazji kompetentnie opracowany katalog. Został w nim, obok tekstów Aleksandra Jackowskiego, Jadwigi Migdał i Andrzeja Osęki, opublikowany obszerny szkic mojego autorstwa "Epifan Drowniak - łem­ kowski <<Matejko>>, będący poszerzonym merytorycznie tekstem z "P.Sz.L." nr XXXIX, 1985 r., nr 3-4, z przytoczeniem prób mityzacji ukrainizującej Epifana Drowniaka z katalogu wystawy "Nikifor Drowniak- stulecie urodzin" w Galerii Sztuki Ukraińskiej w Krakowie. Opracowanie to, które po raz pierwszy dotarło do szerszej publiczności, zadając kłam licznym książkom Banacha na temat Nikifora i wynikłym z nich publikacjom prasowym, wywołało sporą sensację, czego dowodem był dwukrotny dodruk katalogu wystawy muzealnej! Nie należy zapominać także o wydanym w tymże 1995 r. monumentalnym opracowaniu A. Jackowskiego Sztuka zwana naiwną. Zarys encyklopedyczny w Polsce, (Wyd. Krupski i S-ka, Warszawa), gdzie pomieszczone zostało duże hasło dotyczące Nikifora. Wydawać by się mogło - skoro jest już tak dobrze, to po co proces? Rzeczywistość w tym konkretnym przypadku miała jednak cechy schizofrenicznego rozdwojenia. Z jednej strony tak jak powyżej, z drugiej, tej oficjalnej, urzędowej, było zupełnie coś innego. Urodził się w 1895 r. Epifaniusz Drowniak i zapowiadało się, że w swym życiu urzędowym będzie żył wiecznie. Po prostu nie mógł umrzeć, bo nie istniał w oficjalnych dokumentach. Na odmianę umarł w 1968 r. jakiś Nikifor Krynicki, który w ogóle się nie urodził! Nie ma takiego w księgach metrykalnych parafii greckokatolickiej w Krynicy - Wsi. W istniejącej do momentu tegoż historycznego wyroku sądu sytuacji nie można było zmienić fałszywej inskrypcji na grobie najwybitniejszego akwarelisty świata. Nie można było także umieścić stosownej tablicy na JEGO muzeum w Krynicy. Fakt ten boleśnie odczuwali Łemkowie, jako dalszy ciąg dyskryminacji z okresu PRL. Proces trwał bez mała 7 lat! Tyle trzeba było czasu i ogromnej ilości świadków o nieposzlakowanej wiarygodności, aby przezwyciężyć w demokratycznej i wolnej Polsce komunistyczny humbug o ewidentnej pro- �Nikifor przy pracy, fot. J. Świderski weniencji politycznej. Zjednoczenie Łemków 30 grudnia 1996 roku złożyło do Sądu Rejonowego w Nowym Sączu (Wydział I Cywilny) wniosek o sprostowanie aktu urodzenia Nikifora przezwanego Krynickim. Do wniosku dołączono dowody: istniejący w USC w Krynicy skrócony odpis aktu urodzenia Epifaniusza Drowniaka, ze wskazaniem, że w księgach metrykalnych parafii greckokatolickiej w Krynicy- Wsi, przechowywanych w Archiwum Biskupstwa Greckokatolickiego w Przemyślu (sygn. 7372, s. 174) istnieje zapis o urodzeniu tego samego człowieka. Celem rozwiania wąt­ pliwości, iż obydwa zapisy dotyczą osoby Nikifora, Zjednoczenie Łemków przedstawiło pisemne oświad­ czenia tegoż dowodzące. Największy ciężar gatunkowy posiadało w pierwszej fazie procesu oświadczenie księ­ dza Stefana Dziubiny, będącego w latach 1942-45 proboszczem greckokatolickiej parafii w Krynicy - Wsi (obecnie Krynicy Dolnej) i zarazem spowiednikiem Nikifora. Przytoczę je in extenso: ,~rew twierdzeniom, że był on głuchoniemy, oświadczam, że nie jest to prawdą. W czasie wielu rozmów z nim rozumiałem każde jego słowo, chociaż rzeczywiście mówił bardzo niewyraźnie i dlatego kto nie znał dobrze mowy łem­ kowskiej, uważał go za niemego. Ja, jako rodowity Łemko, rozumiałem go doskonale. Nieprawdą jest, że był on głuchy. Nadmieniam również, że rozmawiałem z nim w Krynicy po nadaniu mu nazwiska <<Krynicki>> i kiedy powiedziałem mu, że on nie nazywa się <<Krynicki>> , ale <<Drowniab, to on wtedy chytrze odpowiedział: -Ja znam o tim, ale ja nie głupi siedzieć w kryminale. Powiedział tak, gdyż jako Łemko był wysiedla- ny w czasie akcji <<Wisła>> , a gdy wracał do Krynicy, był nadal wysiedlany, a z nazwiskiem <<Krynicki>> zostawiono go w spokoju". W trakcie procesu wielu Łemków krynickich zeznało, iż Nikifor Krynicki i Epifaniusz Drowniak to ta sama osoba. Z początku sprawę rozpatrywał Sąd Rejonowy w Gorlicach pod przewodnictwem sędzi Krystyny Wszołek, który nie dawał wiary zeznaniom świad­ ków. Rzecz ta była co najmniej dziwna, choćby w świe­ tle powszechnie stosowanej współcześnie w Polsce praktyki określenia tożsamości Romów. W ich przypadku wystarczy oświadczenie przed sądem dwu świad­ ków romskiej narodowości, aby dany osobnik czy osobniczka otrzymali urzędowe akty swojej tożsamości. Stroną w procesie było Muzeum Okręgowe w Nowym Sączu reprezentujące skarb państwa, mające wątpliwości, czy urodzony w 1895 roku Epifaniusz Drowniak to ta sama osoba co Nikifor Krynicki. Znaczna część spuścizny artystycznej po malarzu jest w zbiorach tegoż muzeum i znajduje się od kilku lat w budynku dawnej wilii Romanówka, przeniesionej w rejon deptaku, przystosowanej do pełnienia funkcji muzealnej. To na budynku Romanówki Stefan Hładyk w imieniu Zjednoczenia Łemków chciał umieścić tablicę z prawdziwym nazwiskiem i prawdziwą datą urodzenia genialnego malarza. Sprzeciw ze strony muzeum stał się powodem procesu. Postacią głównie podważającą wiarygodność świadków, nieuznającą, iż metryka urodzenia Epifaniusza Drowniaka dotyczy nie kogo innego, tylko Nikifora przezwanego później Krynickim, był od początku kustosz Muzeum Okręgowe­ go w Nowym Sączu Zbigniew Wolanin. Sprawa ta ma swoją oddzielną, choć nie do końca zrozumiałą historię. W pierwszej połowie lat osiemdziesiątych pomagałem Antoniemu Krohowi, wybitnemu etnografowi, ówcześnie kustoszowi Muzeum Sądeckiego w nawią­ zaniu kontaktów ze środowiskiem łemkowskim w Krynicy, ze zrozumiałych względów wysoce nieufnym wobec osób z zewnątrz. Miało to miejsce w związku z przygotowaniem przez niego wystawy dotyczącej kultury materialnej i duchowej Łemków, a także tragicznych skutków akcji ,,Wisła". Wtedy Antoni Kroh zapoznał się z jednoznacznymi dowodami w środowisku łemkowskim dotyczącymi tożsamości Nikifora. Rzeczona wystawa doszła do skutku, była ogromnym wydarzeniem społecznym, politycznym i kulturalnym. Na niej pokazano po raz pierwszy publicznie, że Nikifor Krynicki to Epifaniusz Drowniak. Potem p. Kroh odszedł z pracy w muzeum, zmienił się dyrektor i nastąpiło zlekceważenie, czy wręcz zignorowanie dokonanych przez rzetelnego badacza ustaleń. Z jakich powodów się to stało, nie jestem tego w stanie określić, lecz przychylałbym się do opinii, iż niekoniecznie par excellence merytorycznych. Przemawia za tym fakt, iż wielokrotnie wskazywałem kustoszowi Z. Wolaninowi osoby w Krynicy będące nośnikami informacji źródłowych w tej mierze. Nie zda- 228 �Seweryn Wtslocki • EPIFANIUSZ DROWNIAK Nikifor, kompozycja złożona z 21 obrazków przedstawiających uzdrowienie chorej i Kościół w Krynicy, akwarela rzyło się, aby z nich skorzystał, prezentując z uporem godnym lepszej sprawy konsekwentnie negatywne stanowisko, twierdząc, że tożsamość Nikifora jest praktycznie nie do udowodnienia. Jak dalece usiłowano zagmatwać całą sprawę, jak dalece Muzeum Okręgowe w Nowym Sączu zabrnęło w kruczki prawne, niemające nic wspólnego z naukową metodologią badawczą, jedyną mu właściwą, jako statutowej placówce naukowej - dowodnie ilustruje postępowanie pełnomocnika muzeum w sądzie. Wyrażone przez niego stanowisko w imieniu Muzeum Okręgowego było następujące: - zakwestionowanie prawa Zjednoczenia Łemków do występowania w sprawie Nikifora. Zjednoczenie - zdaniem pełno­ mocnika - nie wykazało swego interesu prawnego do zmiany aktu urodzenia. Jednocześnie stwierdził on, że Zjednoczenie Łemków wkroczyło w sferę praw osobistych. Z takim wnioskiem mogliby wystąpić krewni Nikifora. Ponieważ nie ma ich wśród żyjących, albo inaczej - nikt nie jest w stanie dowieść swego pokrewieństwa z Nikiforem- w obecnym stanie rzeczy koło się zamyka. Wyrok korzystny dla Łemków byłby stwierdzeniem, że sąd powiatowy popełnił błąd, naru- szył ustawę i zasady postępowania cywilnego. Wyrok korzystny dla muzeum byłby przyznaniem się do błędu polegającego na przyjęciu wniosku strony Łemkow­ skiej. W takiej sytuacji najlepszym wyjściem będzie odroczenie sprawy na czas nieokreślony. Wynika z tego jasno pozanaukowy, ciągle jakby polityczny podtekst całej sprawy. Jest w tym stanowisku Muzeum Okręgowego w Nowym Sączu zawarta pełna negacja istniejących materiałów źródłowych, dużej liczby wiarygodnych informatorów, jak na złość ludziom złej woli, ciągle żyjących, a także publiczne przyznanie się do braku zainteresowania w wyjaśnie­ niu do końca podstawowych danych biograficznych krynickiego artysty. Należy zwrócić uwagę na sformułowanie - wyrok korzystny dla Łemków (!)-nie wyjaśnienie wątpliwo­ ści, nie dojście do prawdy, nie osoba malarza są tu ważne! Ważne jest, aby do wyświetlenia prawdy nie dopuścić, bowiem byłoby to korzystne dla Łemków! W tym kontekście trzeba uznać postawę Muzeum Okręgowego w Nowym Sączu, wyrażoną jednoznacznie przez jego pełnomocnika, jako mieszczącą się we współczesnym kontekście "spadku" po akcji ,,Wisła" ... �Nikifor przy pracy, fot. J. Świderski 1965r. Dodatkowym dowodem na to, co napisałem pojest wydany trzy lata temu przez Muzeum Okręgowe w Nowym Sączu album Nikifora, w którym pominięto informacje biograficzne. Trzeba w sposób zdecydowany zwrócić uwagę, iż taka postawa cechowała wyłącznie sądeckie muzeum, a sam proces był żenującym widowiskiem. Sąd zmusił Muzeum do rzetelności, do uznania dowodów o charakterze źródłowym! Jest to niechlubny casus w historii muzealnictwa polskiego! wyżej, *** Proces wywołał ożywienie wokół Nikifora i spraw z nim związanych. Pojawiły się spekulacje, na temat rzekomo zakulisowych jego przyczyn. A to sprawa zwrotu przez skarb państwa trudnych do wyobrażenia pieniędzy - owych 367 tys. zł., jakie Nikifor zostawił umierając na książeczkach oszczędnościowych PKO. A do tego odsetki za ponad 30 lat! W rzeczywistości w ogóle nie o to chodziło. Zjednoczenie Łemków już na początku procesu złożyło w sądzie stosowne oświadczenie określające jego rolę oraz oczekiwania Łemków. I tak, zgodnie ze statutem zadaniem zjednoczenia jest reprezentowanie i ochrona interesu Łemków, pobudzanie, pielęgnowanie i rozszerzanie działalności kulturalno-oświatowej w regionie łemkowskim i innych skupiskach ludności łemkowskiej . Co do oczekiwań Łemków? Nie oczekują oni zwrotu pieniędzy ani setek obrazów i osobistych pamiątek po Nikiforze. Zresztą nie mają do tego prawa. Chodzi w tym przypadku o moralną stronę sprawy. O symboliczne choćby zadośćuczynienie za krzywdy doznane zaraz po wojnie i jeszcze długo po niej. O zwrot zawłaszczonego artysty społeczności łemkowskiej, a więc także o to, by wygnani przed laty odwieczni mieszkań­ cy tej ziemi mogli, przyjeżdżając tutaj, pomodlić się nad grobem sławnego ziomka. Oznacza to przede wszystkim zgodę władz na zmianę tekstu i dat na pły­ cie grobowca w Krynicy. Wyrok sądu wychodzi naprzeciw tym oczekiwaniom. Ożywienie wywołane przez proces obrodziło także dwoma dokonaniami o ambicjach dokumentacyjnych. Film Człowiek zwany Nikiforem, którego reży­ serem i autorem scenariusza jest Grzegorz Siedlecki, to dzieło udane zarówno w płaszczyźnie dokumentacyjnej, jak i czysto filmowej, wręcz artystycznej. Film ten zbudowany został z umiejętnie zestawionych, precyzyjnie dobranych wypowiedzi ludzi związanych z Nikiforem w różnoraki sposób. Siedlecki zgromadził przed kamerą filmową osoby, które odegrały w tragifarsie, jaką było życie Epifana Drowniaka, zwanego Nikiforem, najróżniejsze role. Świetnie zrytmizowany, operujący kontrastem postaci, ich wypowiedzi, skalą emocji osobistych, trafnie grupujący relacje dotyczące meritum sprawy jak i te, które rysowały konteksty po- 230 �Seweryn Wislacki • EPIFANIUSZ DROWNIAK lityczny i społeczny, jest bez wątpienia dokumentem artystycznym, mającym własną wartość autonomicznego dzieła. Znawcy przedmiotu, badacze, etnolodzy przewijają się obok postaci zacnych, acz pospolitych, tudzież niezacnych, także pospolitych. Do tego kilka szwarccharakterów, nadal butnych, usiłujących się teraz "awansować" z podrzędnych wykonawców - do twórców (rzekomo dla dobra Nikifora) - humbugu z jego wyssaną z nie wiadomo czego "metryką" i zmyślonym nazwiskiem Krynicki. Całość tego pochodu otwiera czło­ wiek, który swoją karierę "artystyczną" w relacjach krajowej i europejskiej opiera wyłącznie na malowaniu pastiszy obrazów Nikifora. Żadna postać występująca w filmie nie wiedziała w jakim wystąpi towarzystwie, i każda z wypowiedzi filmowana była oddzielnie. Dzię­ ki temu powstało porażające wręcz autentycznością postaw i zabójczymi dla kłamców zestawieniami - panoptikum. Film ten powstały- jak pisałem - z inspiracji tymże procesem, w jego ostatniej fazie stał się dowodem dla sądu, i to dowodem, który mocno zaważył na ostatecznym wyroku! W tej sytuacji zwróciłem się do Grzegorza Siedleckiego o przedstawienie, jak do realizacji tego zamysłu doprowadził. Oto jego lakoniczna wypowiedź: Pomysl filmu powstal na podstawie artykułu w "Gazecie Wyborczej" z roku 1998 o toczącym się procesie Nikifora. W tym samym roku wyjechałem na dokumentację do Krynicy, gdzie m.in. spotkałem się z Marianem Wlosińskim - osobą, która uczestniczyła w nadawaniu Nikiforowi polskiego, wymyślonego nazwiska. Na Festiwalu Filmów Krótkometrażowych (w Krakowie przyp. SAW) poznałem przyszlą producentkę filmu, Agnieszkę Traczewską (Studio Filmowe "Largo" w Krakowie - przyp. SAW), której pomysł filmu się spodobał: "W poszukiwaniu tożsamości Nikifora". Po dokumentacji w archiwum Zachęty - wszystkich wycinków prasowych, rozmowach telefonicznych lub spotkaniach z przyszłymi rozmówcami filmu - powstal scenariusz. Zlożony w 1998/99 roku w Agencji Produkcji Filmowej, mimo najwyższych ocen kilka lat czekał w kolejce na pieniądze. To trudności finansowe - brak pełnego budżetu filmu - rozciągały w czasie rozpoczęcie jego realizacji. W końcu stalo się to możliwe, dzięki usilnym staraniom i zaangażowaniu producentki, w 200 l roku. Niektórzy świadkowie zmarli w międzyczasie, a co do występu pozostałych, którzy mataczyli przy sprawie, nie do końca bylem pewien, czy wezmą udział. Jednak udało się!". Filmem jest zainteresowane Museum of Modern Art w Nowym Jorku, jednak jak dotąd nie mogą się znaleźć pieniądze w Telewizji na wyprodukowanie wersji anglojęzycznej. Należy jeszcze gwoli ścisłości dodać, że do realizacji doszło dzięki współdziałaniu finansowemu Agencji Produkcji Filmów, Programu 2 TVP i Studia Filmowego "Largo" Drugim "produktem ubocznym" procesu jest książkaJaśnie Pan Nikifor Adama Kowalczewskiego. 1 Nikifor, Autoportret �Nikifor, Wnętrze nawet o niej, gdyby nie to, iż również została włączona przez sąd do materiałów dowodowych. Jest to prymitywny produkt, mający jednoznaczne cechy koniunkturalnego skorzystania z szerszego społecznie zainteresowania sprawą Nikifora, wywołanego przez inicjatywę Zjednoczenia Łemków. Kowalczewski- czyli "Jaśnie Pan Plagiator", swoje "dzieło" oparł głównie na kompilacji teksów Andrzeja Banacha, Aleksandra Jackowskiego i moich. Nie podając literatury przedmiotu, ani nie zaznaczając cytatów, zasugerował, iż całość publikacji jest jego oryginalnym opracowaniem. Aby mistyfikacja była pełna, bezczelny Pan Plagiator, przepisując całe fragmenty publikacji A. Jackowskiego i moich, prezentuje je tak, jakby były to fragmenty udzielonych wywiadów, czyli przykła­ dowo: ... - wspomina profesor Jackowski- str. 48 plagiatu Gest to fragment w całości przepisany z Notatek o Nikiforze Jackowskiego z "numeru łemkowskiego'',2 w plagiacie Kowalczewskiego str. 43 - 48), "Seweryn Wisłocki opowiada, ... "- str. 34 plagiatu) Jedynie tu i ówdzie A. Banach jest cytowany (np. str. 35 plagiatu z książki Historia o Nikiforze), ale to wynika prawdopodobnie z faktu, iż trudno byłoby Kowalczewskiemu z nieboszczyka zrobić swego rozmówcę! Tych kilka cytatów nie zmienia tego, że duże partie tekstu z książek Banacha zostały przepisane lub nieudolnie poprzerabiane i podane "jako swoje"! W odniesieniu do mojej publikacji pomieszczonej w rzec;::onym "numerze łemkowskim" "PSzC' Kowalezewski "korzystał" z niej obficie: "przyswoił" sobie metaforyczne porównanie Nikifora z Mowglim z Księ­ gi dżungli Kiplinga,4 przepisał w nieudolnej przeróbce, Nie wspomniałbym pod "hasłem" ,,Wisłocki wspomina ... " fragment dotyczący mojego dziadka Harasyma Gromosiaka i jego opieki nad Nikiforem, a także o jego wędrówkach po Łemkowszczyźnie,s przy wątku dotyczącym konfraterni żebraczej, kontaktu z nią Nikifora i jego chęci przystania do niej, brak jest podania źródła mojej publikacji, na którą ogólnikowo powołuje się Kowalczewski, 6 wątek "szpiegowski" jest przepisany w nieudolnej przeróbce,7 jako tekst własny. Kolejny raz pod "hasłem". "Seweryn Wisłocki opowiada ... " przytoczony zostaje fragment dotyczący Andrzeja Banacha i pewnego Rumuna, który dostał się do rodziny Gromosiaków na prawach "wojennego fuksu". Jest to nieudolnie przerobiony fragment mojego tekstu z "PSzC', 8 na dodatek źle przepisany. Historia z rumuńskim dezerterem miała miejsce jesienią 1939 r., czyli w czasie wojny, a nie jak niefrasobliwie napisał Pan Plagiator. "Ale to było oczywiście przed wojną". Skandal zwią­ zany z pochówkiem Nikifora, a potem z jego muzeum, został przepisany w nader prymitywnej przeróbce z mojego tekstu Epifan Dwomiak - lemkawski "Matejko, opublikowanego w katalogu wystawy dla uczczenia 100-lecia urodzin Artysty, zorganizowanej przez Państwo w Muzeum Etnograficznym w Warszawie, pt. Nikifor w 1995 r.9 Prymitywne przekręcenia są tu szczególnie rażące: polska elita intelektualna zamienia się w jakichś artystów protestujących w KC, Ludwig Zimmerer, który chciał utworzyć Muzeum Nikifora w Krynicy, dając narodowi za darmo swoją fenomenalną kolekcję polskiej sztuki ludowej i amatorskiej, zatrzymując dla siebie funkcję honorowego dożywotniego kustosza (czyli bez etatu), za co zobowią- 232 �Seweryn WISiocki • EPIFANIUSZ DROWNIAK Nikifor, Pejzaż z cerkwią zywał się do uzupełniania kolekcji ze swych funduszy - zamienia się w tekście Kowalczewskiego w małego karierowicza, któremu zależy na tym, aby być tam pierwszoplanową postacią! Wskazane przekręcenia świadczą nie tylko o niekompilatora i plagiatora, ale także o jego nieznajomości tematu i "locie" myśli. Nie wymieniłem oczywiście wszystkich "dwuznacznych" fragmentów zaczerpniętych z moich publikacji, jedynie ważniejsze, bądź bardziej charakterystyczne. Wszystkie znaleźć można wyłącznie w moich o wiele wcześniejszych tekstach, mających charakter informacji źródłowych. Oświadczam, że nigdy niejakiemu Adamowi Kowalczewskiemu żadnych wywiadów nie udzielałem. Nie znam go osobiście. Nie udzieliłem mu także zgody na wykorzystanie w takiej formie moich publikacji. Pozostaje jeszcze "na deser" grubsze przestępstwo A. Kowalczewskiego. Na 12 str. swego "dzieła" pisze on tak: "Przekonywająca jest więc teza o zaproszeniu Nikifora przez dwóch malarzy związanych z Aleksandrem Gierymskim. Kim oni byli? (... ) Kilka domysłów niepozbawionych podstaw snuje Seweryn Wislacki - tym drugim mógł być syn Tadeusza Stryjeńskiego - Karol". Na str. 14 m.in. czytamy: "Seweryn Wislacki opisuje swoją rozmowę z Zygmuntem Królem- krakowskim malarzem, który zetknął się z Nikiforem około 1922 r.". Obydwa odwołania się do mojego nazwiska (pisanego zres ztą konsekwentnie błędnie; poprawnie jest udolności Seweryn A. Wisłocki) i do rzekomych publikacji na wskazane tematy są zwyczajnym humbugiem. Jest to ordynarne kłamstwo. Jeśli nie- to żądam pokazania moich publikacji, które upoważniły Kowalczewskiego do napisania powyższych stwierdzeń. Kowalezewski nie zna słowa "fontaź". Pisze "fontaż", a w przepisanym fragmencie z Notatek o Nikiforze A. Jackowskiego - fontazie zamieniają się w fantazje!!! Takich prymitywnych lapsusów jest więcej, ale na tym tylko się zatrzymam. *** Zamykając ten specyficzny zapis dotyczący sądowego finału ustalenia tożsamości Nikifora jako Epifa- niusza Drowniaka, chcę wrócić do pewnych fragmentów uzasadnienia wyroku. W części zatytułowanej: Sąd ustalił następujący stan faktyczny mamy do czynienia z syntetycznym, opartym na udowodnionych zdarzeniach i faktach, życiorysem Epifana Drowniaka, w tym również z całościowo wypunktowaną jego świa­ tową karierą artystyczną. Część ta zamknięta jest peł­ nym wykazem dowodów procesowych. W szeroko rozbudowanej części trzeciej - W tym stanie rzeczy Sąd zważył - omawiającej zeznania świadków i przedstawione dowody, podzielił je na wiarygodne i niewiarygodne. Te pierwsze sumuje stwierdzenie: "Złożone więc przez nich zeznania i oświadczenia z tego wzglę­ du, że są autentyczne i prawdziwe, zasługują na wiarę. Na ich podstawie Sąd ustalił tożsamość Nikifora jako �Epifaniusza Drowniaka, syna Eudokii Drowniak urodzonego 21 V 1895 r. w Parafii Greckokatolickiej w Krynicy na nr 35/1895. Natomiast Sąd pominął dowody z zeznań świadka Zbigniewa Wolanina, który w zeznaniach nie miał żadnych istotnych wiadomości o pochodzeniu i tożsamości Nikifora, a wątpliwości (... ) . Zeznania św. Mariana Włosińskiego, św. Stefana Półchłopka złożone w sprawie Ns 169/98 nie stanowią materiału dowodowego istotnego w obecnie prowadzonej sprawie, bowiem wyjaśniają przyczyny dla których utworzono akt urodzenia Nikifora w toku postę­ powania przed Sądem Powiatowym w Nowym Sączu Wydziałem Zamiejscowym w Muszynie". Pisząc *** Przypisy Adam Kowalczewski, jaśnie Pan Nikifor, Wydawnictwo ADI, Łódź, 2003 r. Aleksander Jackowski, Jadwiga Jarnuszkiewicz, Notatki o Nikiforze, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", Warszawa, Rok XXXIX, 1985, nr 3-4, s. 227-238 Seweryn A. Wisłocki, Przyczynek do biografii Nikifora Drown.iaka nazwanego Krynickim, "Polska Sztuka Ludowa", j. w., s. 220221, w plagiacie s. 10-11 ibidem, s. 221; w plagiacie s. 8 patrz: przypis 3 ibidem, s. 223, w plagiacie s. 22-24 ibidem, s. 223; w plagiacie s. 31 ibidem, s. 223-224, w błędnej przeróbce s. 34 Seweryn A. Wisłocki, Epifan Drowniak- lemkawski "Matejko, w: Katalog wystawy "Nikifor", PME, Warszawa, 1995, s. 20-21; w plagiacie s. 57 ten tekst, uświadomiłem sobie, że 13 marca 2003 r. odbyła się przedostatnia rozprawa tego historycznego w swoim wymiarze procesu. Składałem na niej zeznania jako ostatni świadek powołany przez Zjednoczenie Łemków. Rozbudowane wnikliwymi pytaniami sędzi Barbary Tischner i podstępnymi pełno­ mocnika muzeum zeznanie trwało ok. półtorej godziny. Złożyłem również sądowi, jako dowód, kserokopię tzw. łemkowskiego numeru "PSze oraz kserokopię mojego tekstu z katalogu wystawy Nikifor w PME w Warszawie na stulecie urodzin Artysty. 26 marca 2003 r. na ostatniej, tzw. walnej rozprawie sąd zapoznał się w obecności obu stron i przybyłej licznie publiczności (głównie krynickich Łemków) z filmem Człowiek zwany Nikiforem Grzegorza Siedleckiego. Po tej dowodowej projekcji został uroczyście ogłoszony wyrok. Po uprawomocnieniu się jest on werdyktem obowiązującym, którego wiarygodność nie budzi wąt­ pliwości. Na zakończenie chcę podzielić się pewną refleksją. Wbrew emocjom- może dobrze się stało, iż proces ten trwał prawie siedem lat, że przesłuchano wszystkich żyjących świadków, którzy znali Nikifora osobiście, a także i tych, którzy mieli wiarygodne przekazy z pierwszej ręki (jak przykładowo ja - od mojej Matki Olgi z domu Gromosiak, Wisłockiej, córki Harasyma, w którego domu mieszkał Epifaniusz, zwany przed wojną pospolicie Nikifor). Sąd musiał "przekopać" się przez multum publikacji gmatwających obraz, a także zapoznać się materiałami o charakterze wiarygodnych opracowań źródłowych. W sytuacji mataczonej do ostatniej chwili jedynie tak rzetelnie, tak wnikliwie przeprowadzony proces i wieńczący go wyrok - mają wartość ustaleń nie do podważenia. W wymiarze "Kontekstów. Polskiej Sztuki Ludowej" jest to klamra, już(!) po siedemnastu latach przynosząca urzędową korektę dotyczącą tożsamości Nikifora, zgodnie z naszymi niegdysiejszymi ustaleniami. Dwór Bella Vita, Wola Zręczycka, 17.08.2003 r. Nikifor, Biskup w pokoju ok. 1937 akwarela, papier 234 �Jacek Olędzki 1933~2004 �� https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/c8ae613eac89ebf44dc72b0bd3683b4c.pdf 75e6790473688c3aaa76526517441575 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5433 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5051 Title A name given to the resource Człowiek niewygasłego wejrzenia / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.237-238 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wasilewski, Jerzy S. Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Type The nature or genre of the resource czas. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text acek Olędzki- to przede wszystkim oczy. Najpierw "oko", dar wypatrywania, kadrowania, ustawiania w najodpowiedniejszym świetle, tak by powstała fotografia pokazująca piękno, głębię i tajemnicę tam, gdzie inni nie umieli zobaczyć nic. Jego światłocienio­ we zdjęcia dwóch zwykłych dłoni w mongolskiej grze zręcznościowej wyglądają jak zapis tajnego języka albo ezoterycznych scen ze wschodniego teatru cieni. Nigdy nie byłem z nim w terenie, ale wiem, że te fotografie robił w jurcie długo w noc, bez końca przestawiając jakieś zmajstrowane z desek konstrukcje oświetlenio­ we; było to w obecności sędziwego profesora Dynowskiego, który próbował zasnąć i bardzo się wtedy zży­ mał, ale jeszcze po latach opowiadał o tym z szacunkiem dla Jackowej zawziętości. A potem jego "oczy" w szerszym znaczeniu - jako sposób patrzenia na drugiego człowieka, przenikania w głąb i kontaktu z nim. Niech lepszy ode mnie portrecista opisuje to niesamowite spojrzenie: przenikliwe, świdrujące, a przecież nie bez wilgotnej warstewki w oczach, która dawała nadzieję, że w jego patrzeniu spode łba jest życzliwość i ciekawość, jaki jest ten drugi. A jeśli ironia - to także ta ciepła, jeśli żart - to raczej ścichapęk, bez śmiechu. Kiedyś trochę się tych oczu bałem. "Trochę" to zresztą mało powiedziane. Dawno temu, jako student czwartego roku ówczesnej etnografii, miałem wygłosić na jego zajęciach referat na temat historycznej genezy polskiej sztuki ludowej. Czułem się przygnieciony odpowiedzialnością za przedstawienie tak zasadniczej kwestii wobec człowieka, który - jak sobie wyobraża­ łem - oczekiwał wypowiedzi arcymądrej i tylko na ta- JER ZY S. WAS ILEWSKI J Człowiek niewygasłego wejrzenia ką ostateczną prawdę zasługiwał. Pamiętam, że przemówienie po kilku minutach - sparaliżowany strachem, że nie przedstawiam mu nic poza akademickimi abstrakcjami. Swoim spojrzeniem obnażał nieautentyczność. Mój (nasz, pokoleniowy) młodzieńczy zapał w imitowaniu modnych książkowych konstrukcji (albo i w tworzeniu własnych, "śmiałych" uogólnień i modeli) brał na sztych swego krytycyzmu, uwagi dla detalu, ciekawości i szacunku dla prawdziwych ludzi, ich osobowości, realiów życia i kultury. Kiedy przeczytał mój artykuł o symbolice ruchu obrotowego w Mongolii, dał mi swoją fotografię kobiety, która zmiata śnieg z dachu jurty, posuwając się w lewo (a więc pod słoń­ ce, czyli wbrew "mojemu" kosmologicznemu paradygmatowi); przypomniał mi w ten sposób, że w codziennej praktyce człowiek działa inaczej niż w symboliczno-rytualnej teorii. rwałem �Z biegiem czasu i on zaadaptował do swego poznawczego światopoglądu odpowiadające mu elementy wielkich nurtów interpretacyjnych, ale zawsze po swojemu je przetwarzał. Nie budował na ich wzór sztywnych systemów, lecz jedynie brał z nich narzędzia dla ulepszenia własnego wglądu w drugiego człowieka. Kiedy zaczął przedstawiać polskie wierzenia magiczne na temat przyrody, to głównie po to, by zilustrować stosunek konkretnych ludzi do ich własnego otoczenia, a nie logikę czy strukturę modelu świata. Gdy gromadził mongolskie mity o pogodzie i żywiołach, to także miało to służyć lepszemu poznaniu i zrozumieniu ży­ jącego wśród nich człowieka, zakorzenionego w przyrodzie, a nie konstruowaniu abstrakcyjnego systemu myślenia mitycznego. Ciekawiło go raczej to, z jakimi uczuciami człowiek wykonuje działania magiczne czy religijne, a nie to, jaki jest ich sens, możliwy do odczytania w gabinecie z pomocą uniwersalnego słownika symboli. Mnie, zbierającemu wcześniej takie materiały, nie przyszło to nawet do głowy. Wiadomo - Olędzki. Był zawsze sobą, osobowością, osobą, człowiekiem osobnym. Ale ten odludek nie był nigdy mizantropem. Był badaczem terenowym jak mało kto - wykraczając poza wymogi etnograficznej obserwacji uczestniczącej realizował wśród swoich murzynowiaków uczestniczące uczestnictwo. Uświa­ damiam sobie teraz, nie bez zaskoczenia, że w gruncie rzeczy musiał mieć niemało wiary w człowieka. Patrząc na zmieniającą się wieś kurpiowską czy ginące kultury pozaeuropejskie nie biadolił nad ich upadkiem, nie skarżył się na zanik dawnej duchowości. Zamiast tego podziwiał ich zdolności adaptacyjne, bez ironii opisywał nowoczesne zapożyczenia, świadczące o inteligencji i sile przetrwania, choć kogoś innego mogłaby tylko razić groteskowość takiej modernizacji. Ostatnia książka, Ludzie wygaslego wejrzenia (1999), jest summą wszystkich Jackowych sposobów patrzenia, katalogiem od lat drążonych tematów, świa­ dectwem jego obsesji i idiosynkrazji. Nie miejsce tu na jej krytyczne recenzowanie. Ze swoim rozrzutem tematycznym, obfitością wspominków i dygresji oraz zalewem kilkustronicowych cytatów, pisana jakby w proteście przeciw terrorowi wszelkich przyjętych zasad wydawniczo-formalnych - copyrightowych, edytorskich, redakcyjnych, językowych i interpunkcyjnych zrobiła na mnie wrażenie problemowego collage'u, książki raczej sfastrygowanej niż "dobrze zeszytej". Jej czytanie to jak wędrówka przez trudny i uciążliwy, a geologicznie różnorodny teren. Ale, jak sam pisze, ujmując to w zdaniu na miarę Koheleta, "bywa jednak, że nawet Sahara użyczy cierpliwemu swojego Tasili" (s. 145). Jego opis pracy grupy afrykańskich artystów wykonujących odlewy z brą­ zu (s. 3 70) mógłby wejść do antologii najlepszych opisów w antropologii, takich gdzie badacz relacjonuje w zgęszczeniu istotną dla danej kultury scenę, której był naocznym świadkiem. Podróżujący z nim czytelnik widzi, że jest on wierny trasom i tematom swoich pierwszych podróży: nomadzi Azji Centralnej, subsaharyjska Afryka, zwykły człowiek jako twórca. Wraca do kwestii, które stawiał w młodości: przypominając mocny film Jacopettiego Pieski świat, znów pyta, ile w człowieku jest zwierzęcia; za Gabrielem Marcelem powtarza pytanie, czy warto mieć, czy być. Nie goni za aktualnością, nie używa takich słów jak postmodernizm, chociaż śmiało mógłby uchodzić za autentycznego, z bożej łaski, prekursora panowoczesnej postawy badawczej i pisarskiej. Wielkie kwestie stawia po swojemu, nie przywołuje aktualnie odmienianych nazwisk. To może dziwne, ale nie sięga nawet do autorów, którzy mogliby mu być bliscy. Nie cytuje filozoficznych wywodów Levinasa, nie komentuje antropologicznych wypowiedzi Kapuścińskiego on, taki znawca i miłośnik Afryki, nie powołuje się nawet na jego Heban. Może odpowiedziałby nam przekornie, iż nigdy nie interesowały go heban, kość słoniowa czy inne surowce "wysokie" - zbyt ostentacyjne, a do tego pozyskane kosztem natury. Wolał "sztukę ubogą", której dzieła robione są z tworzyw niepozornych, jak słoma, trzcina, sznurek, gałęzie wierzby, barani łój, wosk pszczeli, mąka do pieczenia małych ciastek ... Dlatego napisał pochwałę zwykłego haka- wynalazku ludzkiego, wielkiego "pod względem swej niezwykle pomysłowej i zarazem praktycznej przydatności" (s. 95). Dlatego uważnie przyglądał się - w różnych tekstach - takim działaniom, jak wiercenie palcem dziur w cegłach nadwiślańskich kościołów (w średniowieczu) czy zostawianie w autobusach maleńkich "vlepek" (współ­ cześnie). Traktował je z pełną powagą- jako elementarne "znaki istnienia" owych hoi polloi, ludzi pospolitych, w historii nieznaczących, wszystkich tych "Kieł­ bików i Uklejek" (co za znakomite określenie, wyło­ wione z nadwiślańskiego terenu badań - nie zapominajmy, czyj to termin, podobnie jak owe "znaki istnienia", "salony odnowy duchowej" i inne, którymi obiegowo się posługujemy). Jacek łączył w sobie i swoim pisarstwie cechy przeciwstawne. Szukam słów... może "smutny figlarz" albo -koniecznie z dużej litery- "Przekora"? Na ponurym obliczu, w oczach smutnego wodołaza coś się czasem zapalało i zaczynała się oryginalna krytyka, kpiąca ocena, zaskakujący wywód. Ten Przechera wodził nas wtedy za nos, wyprowadzał słuchających w pole, dawał mi nauczkę. Ale była to przekora tylko wobec nas, a za to najprawdziwsza pokora wobec Innych, wobec Drugiego Człowieka. 238 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/3325066c268d4239512a499f63bd7363.pdf bebcf398bd70a5ef4ec6ae107ec93a49 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5434 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5052 Title A name given to the resource "Bania Karmelicka albo antropologia współczesności / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.239-240 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Zowczak, Magdalena Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text iedy przywołuję obraz Jacka pogodnego, widzę Go w Murzynowie, w początkach lat osiemdziesiątych, w środku lata; Jacek zasiada w cieniu rozłożystego klonu przed swoim muzeum i, obserwując mnie, nuci figlarnie: Szła baba z łąk, ugryzł ją bąk ... Kilka razy prowadziłam badania w tej Jackowej ziemi wybranej i z Jego inspiracji, z pierwszą moją grupą laboratoryjną, a potem zbierając materiały do mojej książki. Murzynowo, przedmieście naftowej metropolii, nie należało do tzw. dobrych terenów badawczych: ogólnie rzecz biorąc niegościnne, niechętne, nieprzystępne, jak zresztą w ogóle Mazowsze. W dodatku kontakt z ludźmi obciążony był działaniami geografów, którzy utworzyli stację-obserwatorium w budynku byłej szkoły. Ponieważ moje wyjazdy badawcze koncentrowały się na wschodzie Polski, odczuwałam rażący kontrast w atmosferze rozmów na niekorzyść Murzynowa. Dopiero później zdałam sobie sprawę, że Jacek potrzebował opornej, niewdzięcznej rzeczywistości, żeby chronić się przed fałszywymi pozorami ła­ twych kontaktów; nie traktował bowiem etnografii jako ucieczki od rzeczywistości, ale przeciwnie, jako sztukę przyjmowania jej w postaci spotęgowanej aż do granic wytrzymałości. N ie można opisać, kim byłJacek dla mnie i moich kolegów, bez wzmianki o prowadzonej przez niego grupie laboratoryjnej (zwanej wówczas, w połowie lat siedemdziesiątych, proseminarium), w której uzyskaliśmy formację duchową i warsztatową. Bez względu na to, czyim pomysłem była ta formuła zajęć, to Jacek potrafił nadać jej duszę. Stał się dla nas pierwszym autorytetem i nieraz na ślepo angażowaliśmy się w realizację jego pomysłów. Był autorem kwestionariusza na temat zdarzeń cudownych, którego nauczyłam się na pamięć, zanim poszłam na K moją pierwszą etnograficzną rozmowę. Wprowadził surowy standard dokumentacji: jako pierwszy (i przez długi czas jedyny) wśród wykładowców domagał się od początkujących studentów posługiwania się magnetofonem i opracowywania materiałów w maszynopisie, a zarazem naciskał na odrzucenie atrybutów tajnego agenta. Marzyliśmy o napisaniu wspólnej książki. Był to rodzaj inicjacji w etnografię jako praktykę życiową, której towarzyszyła cicha rywalizacja pomiędzy naszą grupą i grupą Ludwika Stommy, jako że obie koncentrowały się na religijności ludowej. Różniły się jednak pod każdym innym względem, a więc typem więzi mię­ dzy prowadzącym i uczestnikami, sposobem traktowania rozmówców i atmosferą badań terenowych. Kiedy Jacek wyjeżdżał do Afryki, uznał, że bezpieczniej bę­ dzie pozostawić nas pod opieką Zbyszka Benedyktowicza. Może dlatego postrzegałam wówczas ową rywalizację na planie teoretycznym: fenomenologia przeciw strukturalizmowi, który zresztą był dla nas także niezwykle atrakcyjny. Jacek był jednak zawsze antyteoretyczny, nieufny wobec metodologicznych kanonów. Praktykował postawę egzystencjalną, inspirowaną filozofią Gabriela Marcela. Celem jego studiów były im- MAGDALENA ZOWCZAK Bania Karmelicka albo antropologia niezwykłości ponderabilia, esencja tego, co w kulturze elementarne i najtrudniej uchwytne: związki kategorii etycznych i estetycznych, typy religjności. Służyła temu obserwacja wychodząca od szczegółu: mimiki, gestu, specyficznych wyrażeń językowych, a jednocześnie wgląd w ekspresję materialną, usytuowaną jednak z reguły w takiej przestrzeni, która z perspektywy tzw. kultury wysokiej traktowana była z pogardą jako nieistotny margines albo wręcz śmietnik. Tu pomysły Jacka kontynuują tradycję studiów Jana Stanisława Bystronia, chociaż przewyższają je pod względem znajomości tzw. praxis, dostępnej tylko w bezpośrednim doświadcze­ niu. Analizowane w Jackowych rozważaniach ludowe wota i feretrony, jamki modlitewne, znaki kreślone przez niepiśmiennych chłopów, detale konstrukcji drewnianych i metalowych i ich zdobienia, nomenklatura kości głowy szczupaka, lalka z turzycy, wiejskie przybory toaletowe nabierają charakteru "znaków istnienia", stają się dokumentami fascynujących zachowań kulturowych. Jacek, wytrawny esteta, potrafił je eksponować i fotografować, wydobywając ich ukrytą urodę. Niezwykłe wrażenie wywierały na mnie zawsze Jego czarno-białe fotografie, na których figurki wotywne z ciasta i wosku czy pieczywo obrzędowe wyglą­ dają jak monumentalne rzeźby. Byłam kiedyś świad­ kiem zabawnego wydarzenia w Jackowym muzeum, gdzie zacierały się granice między życiem i ekspozycją, składającą się w znacznej mierze z przedmiotów codziennego użytku. Pewna pani, która przybyła zwiedzić muzeum, dostrzegła ułożone misternie na blasze kuchennej skorupki od jajek uzbierane z kilku dni. Przyglądała im się niepewnie przez dłuższą chwilę, jakby widziała takie eksponaty po raz pierwszy w życiu, po czym spytała, co mają przedstawiać. Jacek, jak chyba żaden ze znanych mi badaczy, potrafił budować refleksję w oparciu o wszystkie możliwe typy źródeł, od dziecięcych rysunków po archiwalne metryki. Było to jednak ciągle jeszcze za mało na potrzeby jego etnologii, więc posługiwał się eksperymentem, inicjowanym jego własnym działaniem. Ta gra, mająca cechy teatru, dawała niekiedy efekty surrealistyczne, jak w przypadku afrykańskich muszli, przechowywanych- według Jego komentarza- w niektó- �rych domach Murzynowa i wykreowanych w monografii tej wsi jako symboliczny akcent, znak losu, łączą­ cy Autora afrykanistę z Jego ziemią wybraną. Pewnego razu umówiliśmy się telefonicznie w Ogrodzie Saskim nieopodal jego domu. Odnalazłam go leżącego na wznak na środku asfaltowej ścieżki. Konwersował życzliwie z parą młodych ludzi, którzy w przeciwieństwie do innych przechodniów nie ominęli go szerokim łukiem, lecz podeszli i zagadnęli, czy nie trzeba mu w czymś pomóc. Eksperymentował w ten sposób ze sobą i ze wszystkimi, bez wyjątków czy strefy ochronnej. Spotkania z nim były poruszające, uruchamiały emocje, otwierały drogę do samopoznania, ale też - zależnie od kondycji obu stron - bywały czasami nie do zniesienia i budziły odruch obronny. Niełatwo było sprostać jego pomysłom. Jacek był wspaniałym gawędziarzem, snującym wielogodzinne narracje nasycone szczegółowymi ob- 240 serwacjami, ale też konfabulacją, która nadawała jego opowiadaniom potoczystość, barwy i wdzięk Paskowych pamiętników. Obdarzony takimi talentami, nie zawsze potrafił wypowiadać się równie atrakcyjnie w tekstach, które chyba też z reguły nie miały szczęścia do redaktorów. Wymagają więc od otwartego czytelnika wysiłku i niekiedy żmudnej rekonstrukcji, a do nieprzygotowanego mogą zupełnie nie trafiać. Niezależ­ nie od syntezy dokonanej przez samego Jacka w Ludziach wygaslego wejrzenia, warto byłoby wydać zbiór jego najlepszych tekstów rozproszonych (a jest w czym wybierać) wraz z wyborem zdjęć, w jednolitej redakcji. Myślę, że taki collage, popularyzujący na szerszym forum nieprawdopodobne bogactwo jego studiów, mógł­ by nosić tytuł wymyślony przez samego autora dla projektowanego przez niego periodyku (cytuję z jego listu): "Bania Karmelicka. Antropologia niezwykłości (cuda, ale nie tylko)". � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/7cf0d993719c5d63c6487bf99d46b459.pdf 122e6ae2b78811d533e0bc19a009c67a Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5435 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Subject The topic of the resource Olędzki, Jacek (1933-2004) Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5053 Title A name given to the resource Jacek / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.241 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jackowski, Aleksander Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text C iężko mi pogodzić się z jego śmiercią, był młod­ szy, pełen pasji do ostatnich chwil. Niepokorny, ale wierny w przyjaźni, choć rugał mnie niemiłosiernie za pomnik na placu Krasińskich. Patrzył na niego z okna swej mansardy i na mnie wylewał swą złość - byłem przecież kiedyś w wojsku, w artylerii oczekiwał, że to świństwo wysadzę. A ja już zmieszczaniałem, nawet tego nie umiałem zrobić dla przyjaciela! Był fascynujący, ale trudny. Fotykał się o własne nogi. "Świat" takich nie lubi, nigdy nie wiadomo, co im przyjdzie do głowy. Hierarchię urzędową przyjmował z pokorą, ale tak wyraźną, że dostrzegano w niej ironię. Zapewne słusznie. A przecież przerastał swoich utytułowanych zwierzchników i kolegów o głowę. Co najmniej. Wobec tego nie znalazło się dla niego po studiach miejsce w katedrze etnografii. Zresztą nie chciano w niej widzieć ani Ludwika Stommy, ani Zbyszka Benedyktowicza. Stomma został wtedy profesorem na paryskiej Sorbonie, Benedyktowicz uwikłał się w redagowanie "Kontekstów" (fantastyczne numery), związał się z katedrą dopiero w ostatnich latach. Jacek znalazł przytulisko w Instytucie Geografii, co miało tę dobrą stronę, iż mógł wyjechać na stypendium do Afryki, i co jeszcze ważniejsze - badać społeczność wsi Murzynowo. Przez lata. Systematycznie, mądrze. Parniętam seminarium folklorystyczne, które prowadziłem na zamku w Książu. Program był napięty, Jacek miał mówić od 8 do 10. Ale mówił tak fascynująco, że słuchaliśmy go do samego obiadu, a później do kolacji, i znów po niej. Byłem tak wzruszony, jak gdybym słuchał relacji Bronisława Malinowskiego z wyprawy do Trobriandów. Jacek umiał widzieć. Inni patrzą, lekceważą to, co dokoła - a dla niego ważne były rysunki dzieci na boisku, napisy w tramwajach wszystko. Interesowali go ludzie, umiał dostrzec w nich to, co ważne, ciekawe. W Mongolii, w Afryce, na Kurpiach. Cudownie patrzył, czuło się, że dla niego jest ważne to, co mówię. Znałem tylko dwóch takich ludzi umiejących słuchać- Ludwiga Zimmerera i Jacka. Mówiono im wszystko, już nawet nie jak na spowiedzi, ale na torturach. Wszystko. Przecież tak namiętnie słuchali! Ludzi z Murzynowa traktował jak przyjaciół. Szai co ważne- lubił. Oni o tym wiedzieli i starali się serdeczność odwzajemnić. To były kontakty mię­ dzyludzkie, a nie etnograficzne wywiady. Książka Munował rzynowo. Znaki istnienia i tożsamości kulturalnej mieszkańców wioski nadwiślańskiej XVIII-XX w. (W-wa, 1991) jest pozycją znakomitą, a Kultura artystyczna ludności kurpiowskiej (Wrocław, 1971) najciekawszą, jaką znam, relacją o kulturze ludowej . O sztuce. A sztukę Jacek widział znakomicie, obserwując i fotografując z całą świadomością artystycznej wartości obiektu. Umiał dostrzec urodę glinianego konika, kozy prostyńskiej, monumentalizm wotów woskowych, które odkrył w kurpiowskich peregrynacjach. Jego wrażliwość artystyczna była niezwykła i to nie tylko ALEKSANDER JACKOWSKI Jacek w środowisku antropologicznym. To on zwrócił mi uwagę na Jerzego Kalinę, zmusił do przyjścia na Dworzec Centralny, gdzie obaj badali reakcję publiczności na zawieszony pod sufitem wielki sześcian. Pogonił mnie na Świętokrzyską, gdzie Kalina stworzył znakomitą rzeźbę, wchodzących pod ulicę i wychodzących ludzi. W galerii przy bramie Uniwersytetu zrobił wystawę fascynujących rzeźb - z zapałek, suflera w jednym z warszawskich teatrów (Kornaś?). Zajmował się kowalstwem, rzeźbą, plastyką obrzędową, wotami, obrazami, wrażliwością estetyczną i preferencjami chło­ pów, światopoglądem, ich współczesnością i historią. Większość jego artykułów znaleźć można w rocznikach, "Kontekstów". Wiedział, że w tej redakcji ma prawdziwych przyjaciół, że czekamy z niecierpliwością na każdy jego tekst. Był wierny ludziom, z którymi się przyjaźnił. Wiedział, że ma wpatrzonych w siebie uczniów, budził w nich wrażliwość, poczucie odpowiedzialności. Czcią otaczał pamięć Andrzeja Hemki, który odszedł nie mogąc znieść naporu życia. Wpływał na studentów, rozszerzał pole ich wyobraźni. Ja też wiele mu zawdzię­ czam, był kimś. Tak jak niegdyś jego profesor Witold Dynowski, którego wykłady trudne były do zanotowania, ale zostawały w pamięci. Dynowski otwierał perspektywę na wielki świat, inne kultury, to było więcej niż znajomość szczegółu, uwarunkowań tylko jednego środowiska. Podobnie Jacek. Uczył patrzeć na świat, widzieć go i opisywać. Także fotografować. Ale czy ktoś zechce i zdoła pokazać na wystawie jego fantastyczne zdjęcia z Kurpi, Mongolii, Afryki? Byłyby dopełnieniem książek i artykułów. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/36236439bae37ed20d61ec687bd95a4c.pdf eced9b5e1d84cb204d4042c187a97c38 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:5441 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Licencja PIA Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2004 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:5059 Title A name given to the resource Noty o autorach / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2004 t.58 z.3-4 ; s.258-260 Language A language of the resource pol Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Jan Gondowicz- krytyk literacki i tłumacz. Archeolog wyobraźni. Współpracuje, prócz "Kontekstów", z "Nowymi Książkami", "Literaturą na Świecie" i "Tygodnikiem Powszechnym". Autor kilku tysięcy recenzji. Przekładał między innymi Biełego, Charmsa, Brodskiego, Flauberta, Jarry'ego, Queneau i Topora. Wydał bestiariusz Zoologia fantastyczna uzupełniona (1995). Usiłuje opublikować trzy książki własne i szereg ekscentrycznych tłumaczeń. Były dziennikarz, były krytyk filmowy, były wydawca. Utrzymuje się (z trudem) z redagowania dzieł polskich pisarzy współcze­ snych i skopanych przekładów. Mieszka w Warszawie. N o ty o autorach Wojciech Brojer - absolwent Wydziału Elektroniki Politechniki Warszawskiej, pracownik Instytutu Historii PAN w Warszawie. Wydał m.in. Sefer jecira - Księga Stworzenia (1995 , współautor); Diabeł w wyobraźni śre­ dniowiecznej (2003). Założenie Domu Bożego jest fragmentem przygotowywanej książki Studia nad wzgórzem Moria. Zygmunt Krzyżanowski - urodzony 11 lutego (30 stycznia nowego stylu) 1887 roku pod Kijowem. Miejsce jego urodzenia, nie zostało dokładnie ustalone. W 1919 roku, w pierwszym numerze pisma "Zori", ukazał się debiut Krzyżanowskiego - osadzony w epoce niemieckiego Sturm und Orangu dialogowy esej o urokach niepewności, ]acobi i ,,Jakoby". Późniejsze utwory nie zostały jednak opublikowane przez dłuższy czas. Dopiero w dziewięć lat po śmierci Krzyżanow­ skiego, czyli w roku 1959, w Związku Pisarzy powoła­ no na fali odwilży stosowną komisję, mającą udostęp­ nić jego twórczość czytelnikom. Pierwsze prozy Krzyżanowskiego ukazały się w prasie dopiero na przełomie 1988 i 1989 roku. By mogły przebić się do publiczności, musiał upaść komunizm. Mateusz Braun- absolwent Instytutu Etnologii i Antropologii UW Ryszard Ciarka- sekretarz redakcji "Kwartalnika Filmowego", pracownik Instytutu Sztuki PAN. Andrzej Coryell- malarz i rzeźbiarz mieszkający w Bazylei. W 1978 r. opublikował zbiór wierszy Les chameaux du myope (Wielbądy krótkowidza) wyd. Caracteres, Paryż. Powieść Spółka z lwem, wydano w 1986 r. w wyd. Czytelnik, a w 1991 r. -w języku francuskim- wyd. Actes Sud. Jest autorem aforyzmów i przypowieści, które ukazały się w ZeszYtach Uterackich, Frazie, Uteracjach, Aspektach, Toposie. W 2002 r. zrealizował film krótkometrażowy Album rodzinny, a w 2004 r. następny- Wodna kaligrafia. Wojciech Dąbrowski - antropolog pracujący w Australii i Papui-Nowej Gwinei. Studiował na Wydziale Afrykanistyki Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Doktoryzował się na Uniwersytecie Narodowym w Canberze (Australia), pisząc pracę na temat reakcji ludności Gór Zachodnich w Nowej Gwinei na obecność misji katolickiej. Wykładał na Uniwersytecie Narodowym w Canberze, Uniwersytecie Sydnejskim i na Uniwersytecie Macąu­ arie w Sydney. Pracował z Aborygenami Nowej Połu­ dniowej Walii przy zbieraniu materiałów dokumentują­ cych ich prawa do własności ziemi w ramach nowego ustawodawstwa federalnego (Native Title). Jest konsultantem naukowym filmów dokumentalnych i fabularnych poświęconych PNG i Trobriandom (Black Harvest, Joe Leahy's Neighbours, First Contact, Szlachetny Dzikus, In the Savage Land) i historii emigracji do Australii (Amnesia). Ostatnio pracuje wśród Aborygenów i nie-Aborygenów przy rozwijaniu metod nauczania opartych na zindywidualizowanej opiece mentorskiej. Krystyna Dudzińska - etnograf, Instytut Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW, badania nad religijnością necprotestantów na Podlasiu i Ukrainie, Religijność ewangelicznych chrześcijan-baptystów w dowisku prawosławnych i katolików (2003). Julia Hartwig - poetka, eseistka i tłumaczka, laureatka wielu nagród i wyróżnień. Opublikowała następu­ jące tomiki poetyckie: Pożegnania, Wolne ręce, Dwoistość, zieleń, Czuwanie, Obcowanie, Czułość, Nim opatrzY się Zobaczone, Przemija postać świata oraz ostatnie zbiory poetyckie- nie ma odpowiedzi (2001), za który była nominowana do Nagrody Nike, Wiersze amerykańskie (2002) oraz Błyski (2002); szkice: Z niedalekich podróży, Dziennik amerykański; monografie: Apolinaire, Gerard de Nerval; książki dla dzieci (pisane wraz z Arturem Międzyrzeckim): ]aś i Małgosia, Przygody poziomki, Tomcio Paluch, Wielki pościg. Agata Kapturkiewicz - studentka IV roku Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW oraz I roku Wiedzy o Teatrze na Akademii Tetralnej, pracuje jako asystentka w filmie. Ewa Klekot - ukończyła archeologię i etnografię na UW; adiunkt w Instytucie Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW; zajmuje się kulturowymi uwarunkowaniami przekazu wizualnego oraz populamą recepcją sztuki. Bartłomiej śro­ 258 Kowal -jest doktorantem Katedry Języ­ koznawstwa Ogólnego i Bałtystyki UW, a także studentem etnologii. Interesuje się językoznawstwem i antropologią oraz związkami między tymi dwiema dziedzinami. �NOTY O AUTORACH Lubomir Kosiński - zm. w 2004 r. starszy kustosz, w dziale Dokumentacji Archiwalnej i Fotograficzno-Filmowej Państwowego Muzeum Etnograficznego w Warszawie. kie w Instytucie Lingwistyki Stosowanej UW (2000). Stypendium badawcze w Universitat Trier i Centre Universitaire de Luxembourg (2002). Praca dydaktyczna dla Goethe-Institut w Warszawie (2002-2004). Anna E. Kubiak- antropolog kultury, adiunkt w Instytucie Filozofii i Socjologii PAN. Autorka pracy na temat nowych ruchów religijnych Delicje i lewa ręka Kryszny, 1997, za którą otrzymała nagrodę im. Stanisła­ wa Ossowskiego; zamierza opublikować swoje Dzienniki prowadzone podczas dwuletnich badań terenowych nad ruchem Hare Kryszna. Od 1996 roku prowadzi badania nad kulturą New Age w Polsce, Anglii, Szkocji i Danii. Przygotowuje do druku książkę NEW AGE. Lech Mróz - Profesor dr hab. etnolog, zajmuje się problemami etnicznymi, autor wielu prac o Cyganach m.in. Anna Kucio - absolewntka Instytutu Romanistyki Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Do jej zainteresowań badawczych należy szeroko rozumiana wielokulturowość i komunikacja międzykulturowa, w szczególności kwestie dotyczące frankofonii (stosunki etniczne, zmiana językowa i kulturowa we francuskich obszarach językowych świata, literatura wyżej wymienionych). Lechosław Lameński- dr hab., prof. nadzw. KUL, historyk sztuki i krytyk, Dyrektor lnsrytutu Historii Sztuki KUL, a zarazem Kierownik Katedry Historii Sztuki Nowoczesnej, autor monografii: To- masz Oskar Sosnowski 181 0-1886 rzeźbiarz polski w RzYmie, 1997; oraz wielu artykułów, wstępów do katalogów, recenzji i haseł do encyklopedii, głównie z zakresu sztuki polskiej (architektury, rzeźby i malarstwa) od II poł. XIX wieku do 1939 roku. Aleksandra Metbechowska-Luty - historyk sztuki, studia na UW, doktorat z nauk humanistycznych (UW 1966). Specjalizacja: historyk sztuki polskiej XIX/XX w. Adiunkt w Instytucie Sztuki PAN (gdzie pracowała w latach 1955-1985), Pracownia Słownika Artystów Polskich. Autorka 46 artykułów i 7 książek, m.in. Teofil Kwiatkowski (monografia), Ossolineum, Wrocław 1966; Widmo. Życie i twórczość Ludwika De Laveaux, Wrocław 1988; Posągi i ludzie. Antologia tekstów o rzeź­ bie polskiej XIX w., IS PAN, Warszawa 1993 (wspólnie z Piotrem Szubertem); Mali mistrzowie polskiego pejzażu . XIX w., Neriton, Warszawa 1997; Nokturny. Widoki nocy w malarstwie polskim, Arkady, Warszawa 1999. Grzegorz Pawłowski - absolwent filologii germańskiej KUL (1999). Studia humanistyczne w Centre Universitaire de Luxembourg (1994-95) oraz w Universitat Salzburg (1997). Praktyka metodyczno-dydaktyczna w Centre de Langues, stypendium Ministre des Affaires Culturelles Grancl-Ouche de Luxembourg (1996). Praca w charakterze reportera i nauczyciela fotografiki w ramach Academie d'ete w Larochette, Echtemach i Luksemburgu dla Cercle Europeen pour la Propagation des Artes ( 1997, 1998). Studia doktoranc- Dzieje Cyganów- Romów w Rzeczpospolitej XV-XVIII w., Warszawa 2001; Etnos Przebudzony [red.] Warszawa 2004. Dyrektor Instytutu Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW Andrzej Pieńkos - adiunkt w Instytucie Historii Sztuki UW. Wraz z żoną, Jolantą Chrzanowską-Pień­ kos opublikował Słownik artystyczny Paryża i regionu Ile-de-France (Warszawa 1996) i Leksykon polskiej sztuki XX w. (Poznań 1997). Prace z zakresu historii sztuki nowoczesnej (książka Okropności sztuki, Gdańsk 2000), krytyki artystycznej i eseistyki dotyczącej kultury publikował w licznych czasopismach. Magdalena Prosińska - absolwentka Katedry Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW (praca magisterska na temat pielgrzymek na Podhalu) i Studiów Ochrony Światowego Dziedzictwa (World Heritage Studies) na Wydziale Architektury Folitechniki Brandenburskiej w Cottbus (praca magisterska na temat zmian w tradycyjnej, drewnianej architekturze Nungów z Van Quan, w północno-wschodnim Wietnamie). Zainteresowania badawcze i projekty dotyczące zmian w krajobrazie kulturowym wsi, dokumentacja, ochrona i rozwój dziedzictwa. Mieszka w Berlinie. Tomasz Rodowicz - historyk filozofii (ATK), aktor, i muzyk. W 1972 założył z przyjaciółmi w Warszawie pierwszy w Polsce ośrodek socjoterapii dla młodzieży uzależnionej. W latach 1974-76 współpracował z Teatrem Laboratorium we Wrocławiu przy projektach parateatralnych. Zaproszony przez Włodzimierza Staniewskiego, współtworzy z nim Ośrodek Praktyk Teatralnych "Gardzienice", gdzie pracuje do dziś. W 1985 wyreżyserował w Munster (Niemcy) Prometeusza wg Ajschylosa. W latach 1992-94 współpracował z teatrem Tanto w Wiedniu, w 1996 w duńskim Oyfn Veg. W "Gardzienicach" jest współodpowiedzialny za stronę muzyczną projektów; w 2000 r. wydał płytę z muzyką antyczną Metamorfozy. W Akademii Praktyk Teatralnych prowadzi trening fizyczny i zajęcia głoso­ we. Pracuje nad projektem Orkiestra Antyczna. Maria Rogińska- doktorantka nych przy IFIS PAN. Szkoły Nauk Społecz­ Maciej Rożalski - absolwent Instytutu Filozofii i Socjologii Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, obecnie na studiach doktoranckich w Instytucie Sztuki PAN. Zajmuje się zagadnieniami z zakresu pogranicza antropo- �rzył logii kultury, filozofii kultury i estetyki - szczególnie rolą ruchu, tańca, krwawej ofiary, spożywania w sztuce i rytuałach różnych kultur i systemów religijnych. Sam zajmuje się teatrem, między innymi jako uczestnik akademii Ośrodka Praktyk Teatralnych "Gardzienice" oraz jako performer teatrów ulicznych. Towarzystwo Kursów Naukowych, konwersatorium i Przyszłość (DiP) , współdziałał ze śro­ dowiskami katolickimi - Klubem Inteligencji Katolickiej, z "Tygodnikiem Powszechnym", z ,,Więzią", z Katolickim Uniwersytetem Lubelskim, z "Laskami" i z Duszpasterstwami Ludzi Pracy. Szczególnie bliskie kontakty miał z kościołem św. Stanisława Kostki i z górnikami. W roku 1980 w Gdańsku został doradcą "Solidarności" i działał w niej do końca swoich dni. Udział w ruchu "Solidarność" widział jako dalszy ciąg uczestnictwa w Powstaniu Warszawskim. Brał udział w wielu konferencjach międzynarodo­ wych, m.in. Rencontres de Geneve, Klub Rzymski, W.F.S.F, Wiłton Park. Zarówno w swojej twórczości, jak i działalności reprezentował myśl niepodległościowego i humanistycznego socjalizmu, ładu społecznego opartego na idei braterstwa i chrześcijańskiego personalizmu. Było to permanentnym "powstawaniem" przeciwko wszelkim przejawom totalitaryzmu i nieprawościom władzy. Był członkiem polskiego PEN Clubu, który w r. 1990 ustanowił nagrodę jego imienia. Autor kilku książek i ok. 150 artykułów. Najważniej­ sze pozycje: O socjalistycznym humanizmie, Zapiski z lat 1950-1953, Próby świadectwa, niepokoje amerykańskie, Doświadczenie Maja Stachowiak - studentka Kolegium Międzywy­ działowych Indywidualnych Studiów Humanistycznych na UW; w ramach studiów realizuje minimum programowe w Instytucie Antropologii Kulturowej i Etnologii oraz w Instytucie Stosunków Międzynaro­ dowych. Tomasz Wit Szerszeń- student MISH-u na UW oraz w Studium Fotografii w PWSFTViT w Łodzi. Publikował w "Kontekstach". Wiesław Szpilka - etnolog (studia UJ), studia doktoranckie Instytut Sztuki PAN, pisze pracę doktorską poświęconą etnologicznej interpretacji kultury masowej. Mieszka w Kościelisku. Jan Strzelecki, urodzony 4 VII 1919 r. w Warszawie, zmarł 11 VII 1989 r. w wyniku brutalnego napadu w do dziś niewyjaśnionych okolicznościach. Był socjologiem-filozofem, publicystą, eseistą. Rozpoczęte przed wojną studia kontynuował W czasie wojny; studiował na tajnym uniwersytecie. Działał w grupie młodzieży "Płomienie" związanej z organizacją ,,Wolność- Równość- Niepodległość". Współredago­ wał pisma młodzieży socjalistycznej "Płomienie", "Mło­ Socjalistyczna" i "Droga". Uczestniczył w działa­ niach bojowych, m.in. w pomocy Warszawskiemu Gettu. W Powstaniu Warszawskim walczył w batalionie "Żywiciel" (AK). Dwukrotnie ranny, odznaczony Krzyżem Walecznych i Krzyżem Powstańczym. Powojnie, w 1946 r., został asystentem prof. Stanisława Ossowskiego w Katedrze Socjologii Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego, a także przewodniczącym akademickiego Związku Niezależnej Młodzieży Socjalistycznej (AZNMS), członkiem PPS i jej Rady Naczelnej. (Po połączeniu PPR i PPS stał się członkiem PZPR, z której go usunięto w roku 1978 za permanentną dzież działalność opozycyjną). Już w roku 1946 był aresztowany pod zarzutem należenia do WIN, zwolniony dzięki ostrej interwencji władz PPS. Od tego jednak czasu był stale, aż do tragicznej śmierci, inwigilowany przez służby bezpieczeństwa. W 1952 r. usunięty z pracy na UW jako "ideologiczny demoralizator młodzieży akademickiej". Nigdy więcej nie pozwolono mu wrócić do pracy z młodzieżą. W latach 1957-1988 pracował w Polskiej Akademii Nauk. Uczestniczył w wielu inicjatywach niezależnych i opozycyjnych - był współtwórcą i prezesem Klubu Krzywego Koła, współpracował z KOR-em, współtwo- Socjalizmu model liryczny, Kontynuacje, Solidarite. Analyse d'un mouvement social (wyniki badań socjologicznych przeprowadzonych wspólnie z prof Alainem Touraine). Jadwiga Brzezińska-Strzelecka - psycholog. Studiowała na Uniwersytecie Warszawskim u prof. Stefana Baleya, prowadzącego Katedrę Psychologii wychowawczej. Kolejno pracowała: jako asystentka swego profesora, jako redaktor literatury dla dzieci i młodzie­ ży, w spółdzielni wydawniczej Czytelnik, następnie jako psycholog w Poradni Społeczno Wychowawczej. Pełniła też niejednokrotnie funkcję biegłego sądowego w procesach nieletnich przestępców. W czasie wojny należała do AK. Odznaczona medalem "Sprawiedliwej wśród Narodów Świata" Agnieszka Śmiertka - studentka Instytutu Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW, absolwentka Instytutu Anglistyki Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Interesuje się kulturą Wielkiej Brytanii XIX i XX wieku, a w szczególności życiem codziennym w czasach wiktoriańskich oraz kulturą niderlandzkiego obszaru językowego. Gabriela Świtek - historyk sztuki. Adiunkt w Zakła­ dzie Dziejów Myśli o Sztuce, Instytut Historii Sztuki Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Absolwentka University of Cambridge (wydział architektury, praca doktorska z dziedziny historii i filozofii architektury, 1999). Kurator w Zachęcie Narodowej Galerii Sztuki w Warszawie (m.in. kurator wystawy Daniela Libeskinda, Fundamenty pamięci, 2004). / 260 �NOTY O AUTORACH Jerzy Sławomir Wasilewski- etnolog, doktor habilitowany, pracuje w Katedrze Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW W latach 1971-80 był uczestnikiem corocznej ekspedycji IHKM PAN do Mongolii. Prowadził też penetrację etnograficzną innych krajów Azji. Autor książek: Podróż do piekieł, rzecz o szamań­ skich misteriach, Warszawa 1979, Tabu a paradygmaty etnologii, Warszawa 1989. Seweryn A. Wisłocki - etnolog, krytyk sztuki, eseista. Zajmuje się śląską sztuką nieelitarną, (współtwór­ ca Kolekcji Sztuki Nieprofesjonalnej w Muzeum Śląskim), oraz problematyką interetniczności kultury śląskiej. Autor licznych publikacji, m.in. książki Górniczy Śląsk w sztuce Górnego Śląska. Mit, sacrum, kreacja (1996). Anthony Vidler - historyk i krytyk architektury nowoczesnej i współczesnej. Absolwent m.in. Wydziału Architektury, University of Cambridge. Wykładał m.in. w Princeton University School of Architecture oraz na Wydziale Historii Sztuki, University of California, Los Angeles. Od 2002 dziekan The Cooper Union School of Architecture w Nowym Jorku. Specjalizacja: francuska architektura od czasów Oświecenia do współczesności. Ważniejsze publikacje: The Writing on the Walls: Architectural Theory in the Late Enlightenment (Princeton Architectural Press, 1987), Claude-Nicolas Ledoux: Architecture and Social Reform at the End of the Ancien Regime (MIT Press, 1990), The Architectural Uncanny: Essays in the Modem Unhomely (MIT Press, 1992), Warped Space: Architecture and Anxiety in Modem Culture (MIT Press, 2000). Joanna Zalewska - studentka Instytutu Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej UW. Psycholog. Pracuje w Instytucie Psychologii Zdrowia przy Polskim Towarzystwie Psychologicznym, gdzie współtworzy portal internetowy poświęcony tematyce psychologicznej. Interesuje się antropologią współczesności. Magdalena Zowczak, etnolog, dr hab., profesor w Instytucie Etnologii i Antropologii Kulturowej Uniwersytetu Warszawskiego. Zajmuje się antropologią religii: związkami między kulturą religijną a tożsamością, studiami nad apokryfem i modlitwą oraz współczesną ekspresją religijną. Prowadziła badania etnograficzne na Litwie, Białorusi i Ukrainie. Napisała m. innymi: Bohater wsi. Mit i stereotypy, Wiedza o kulturze, Wrocław 1991, Biblia ludowa. Interpretacje wątków biblijnych w kulturze ludowej, Wyd. FUNNA, Wrocław 2000, współautorka tomu Podole i Wołyń. Szkice etnograficzne, DiG, Warszawa 2003. Summary of articles Grzegorz Pawłowski My Home, Jerusalem Reminiscences from a voyage to the Eternal City of Jerusalem. The effect of awaiting successive images has assumed the shape of a series of photographs which document experiencing the fragmented shapes ofhistory. Wojciech Brojer The Establishment of the House of God As long as they wandered, God accompanied them and preceded them in the Ark of the Covenant and below the Tabernacle. Once they settled clown in the Promised Land, it became necessary to build Him a House. Who, and in what manner was to decide where in the homeland of the twelve generations of Israel should the Tempie of Jehovah be erected? The answer to this question is to be found in the texts of the Jahvist (ninth century B. C.), cited in chapter 24 of 2 Samuel (2 Kings) and repeated (almost) faithfully seven hundred years later in the Chronides (l ChronicIe, 21). The account given by Samuel is immersed in the political re ality of the emergent Kingdom of Israel and Juda, the organisational undertakings of King Da- vid, and the revolt against the new structures. The inspiration, however, came from God (the wrath of Jehovah), and the foundation of the House of God was composed of hierophancy together with its drastic consequences and the abrupt intrusion of divine energy into earthly reality; the Temple's construction site emerged in a dramatic dialogue between God and David. Heretofore destructive energy assumed the form of Jehovah's altar in Jerusalem and on M t. Zion -land obtained from the King of the Jebusites. Anthony Vidler The Architectural Uncanny. Essays in the Modem Unhomely. Unhomely Houses is the first chapter of Anthony Vidler's The Architectural Uncanny: Essays in the Modem Unhomely (MIT Press, 1992), in which the author traced the motif of haunted houses recurring in Romantic literature, i. a. in the stories of Edgar Allan Poe (The Fall of the House of Usher), Victor Hugo (Les Travailleurs de la mer), and E. T. A. Hoffmann (The Golden Flower Pot, Rath Krespel). By analysing literary imagesof unusual houses and, at the same time, refer- �ring to The "Uncanny", the celebrated text by Sigismund Freud, Vidler attempted to define the element of the "uncanny" as a special experience in architecture. Assorted symptoms of spatial eeriness, e. g. the feeling of disorientation, instability, and claustrophobia experienced when faced with the abyss of an imaginary void, a labyrinth or a prison, are discovered also in literary descriptions by Thomas De Quincy (Confessions of an English Opium-eater) and Charles Nodier (Piranese, contes psychologiques), one of the many examples of the Romantic, sometimes "mistaken" interpretations of Giambattista Piranesi 's Carceri d'Invenzione series. agent, obtained thanks to a pact with an unclean spirit and used to expand an insufferably cramped flat, leads to an explosion of the void: the flat hecomes a breeding ground for an alternative, prison-like universe. Tomasz Rodowicz Home, or Wandering in Time An account of the first excursion made by the actors of the Gardzienice Theatre in Septernber 1982 to northern Norway (Lapland) and the only nomadic tribe in Europe, the Sami. lts members have retained their distinctness, identity, occupation (reindeer breeding) and archaic songs known as JOJK. A moving description of the experience of seeking the reindeer, loneliness, and the feeling of being los t, together with an attempt at defining the true nature of the home. Mańa Rogińska, The Road Home. Certain Aspects of the Model of theWorld in Russian Orthodox Narration from the End ofthe century. Andrzej Coryell Drawing a Home A reflection by an author of aphorisms and poetry, expressing the dream-like dimension of a home. In the presented reflections on the organisation and conceptualisation of Iiving space in post-Soviet Russia (1991-2004) the loss of the habits of sacralising space is confronted with a tangible longing for the Home, conceived as a sacral locum. The author attempted to examine, in the spirit of structuralism and phenomenology, the status of the home in models of the word contained implicitly (K. Levi-Strauss) in Russian mythology. She sought an image of the home in eontemparary Russian Orthodox narration (upon the basis of 900 documents of daily life) by resorting to a presumption of a profound analogy between the religious and secular order, disclosed by Russian history as a whole. In this perspective, the text delves into the theme of the home and the border, the home and prison, the home envisaged as a stop along the way, members of the household and newcomers, the home and fate, the home and the family, sight and sound in the space of the home, static and dynamie qualities, and time and eternity. The author analysed concepts of the smalt and large home (Fatherland, native land), which appear as elements of a wartime image of the world, typical for comemporary Russia. Jan Gondowicz, Collector of Fissures A biogramme of Sigismund Dominikovich Krzhizhanovsky vel Zygmunt Krzyżanowski (1887-1950), whose voluminous prose and numerous essays were revealed in Russia some fifteen years ago. This sophisticated and concise author - a Pole writing in Russian - transformed philosophical and physical concepts into succinct and astonishing tales worthy of Calvin, Buzzatti, Landolfi, Rosendorfer or Borges, and maintained in their spirit. Zygmunt Krzyżanowski Quadraturite This novel (Kvadraturin, 1926) from the collection Chem lyudi miortvi, not published during Zygmunt Krzyżanowski' s lifetime, starts in the manner of Bulhakov and ends in a truły Kafkaesque vein. A miraculous Jerzy S. Wasilewski On the Trail of an Imaginary Escape The Long March by Slavomir Rawicz - a description of an impressive escape to British lndia across Mongolia, Tibet and the Himalayas, accomplished by a Pole arrested by the Russians in 1939 and detained in a Siberian labour camp - has recently enjoyed a worldwide career, and is treated as a document. To an ethnographer farnihar with the terrains in question it remains obvious fiction, brimming with naive images of the East and glaring errors in depictions of cultural reality. The plot is full of infantile inventions, and totally lacks details which simply had to be included if the described events really took place. A critical review of episodes, landscapes, and portrayals of the natives proves that the book was written by someone who had never been there. The current popularity of the publicarion demonstrates the degree to which the boundary between the virtual and the real has become obliterated. The reader is increasingly less concerned with finding out whether something was an historical fact or fiction, vero or merely bene trovato. Maciej Rożalski Candomble Candomble is a generał term pertaining to a group of religious cults in Brazil. There is no single, strict definition of the essence of this phenomenon, which cannot be even described as a cohesive religious formula, since Candomble is extremely differentiated and syncretic. Depending on the region in which it takes place the ritual is composed of various elements. Diverse impacts, partially of Catholicism and partly of local Indian culture, together with the religious beliefs brought over from Africa by black slaves, produced a unique mixture characteristic for the multi-cultural and ambiguous qualities of its form. As a rule, men- 262 �SUMMARY OF ARTICLES tion is made of a set of cults, thus avoiding eventual problems associated with definitions. There does exist, however, a certa in joint feature typical for all offshoots of Candomble and worthy of special attention - so-called passession which, according to the adherents of the cult, is a manner in which the pantheon of the worshipped deities reveals itself. The gods descend into dancers selected for this purpose by assuming eontroi over their bodies. The nature of this divine passession remains unexplained. On the other hand, it is known that it appears both in Brazil and in other cults of African origin in Cuba and Haiti, not to mention large parts of Africa, where it originated. lt is even possible that this form of religious activity was present already in the rituals of ancient Greece. The author tells one of the stories about Candomble, the Brazilian cult of possession. Jacek Olędzki Poetic Diaries. Peru, the Iconosphere of the Most Extraordinary Petroglyphs In 2002 the author organised at Warsaw University a ("ceiling") display of Peruvian petroglyphs. In this extremely personał sketch he describes his interest in the phenomenon, and takes the opportunity to present anthropological themes and publications which he regards as important. Jacek Olędzki Quiet and Loud A highly personał interpretation of Rondo de Gaulle'a (The de Gaulle Rondo), a book by Olga Stanisławska - a reporter's account of a trip to Africa. Dąbrowski Verandah Verandah is a description of the first four weeks of Wojciech Z. the author's stay in New Guinea and the historical event which took place at the time- a missionary expedition across the jungle to terrains which up to then have remained heathen. For two years the author conducted on-the-spot work in the Western Highlands of Papua-New Guinea. His research concerns changes of the consciousness among tribes of the Hagen culture, living in Jimi Valley, which in the second half of the twentieth century found themselves under the impact of a powerful gravitation of Western civilisation. In contrast to many other earlier colonised lands, Papua-New Guinea, which from the 1930s remained under Australian administration, did not experience a mass-scale influx of settlers and the resultant sudden attack launched against its tribal organisation. Magdalena Prośińska Feeding a Dead The reportage, written by an ethnographer working in Van Quan, North-eastern Vietnam, tells a story of her experience of meeting a lady-shaman called a then singer, who invites her to assist in a ritual called feeding of a dead person. The Tay shaman calls the soul ofMr. Tuan, who died one hundred days before and leads him through dangers of an Underground world. An army of the Then spirits helps the shaman and Mr. Tuan to reach the Land of Ancestors. The artide describes preparations for the ritual and gives many details about the ceremcny and people taking part in it. Jan Strzelecki, Jadwiga Strzelecka The presented block Tomasz Szerszeń BRISEES or Traces of Africa. On the African Journal of Michel Leiris In Poland, Michel Leiris is associated predominantly with the surrealistic movement and placed within a constellation of such names as Georges Bataille or Antonin Artaud (the recently translated into Polish De la litterature consideree comme une tauromachie /Lustro Tauromachii l stems from Bataillean inspiration which explains such an interpretation of Leiris' writing in Poland). Meanwhile, Leiris was also an ethnographer. Years later, interest in his works was disclosed by such influential anthropologists as James Clifford. The author of text presented in this issue concentrates his attention on Afrique fantorne (1934) - a journal written by Leiris during his ethnographic expedition across Africa. The journey came as a breakthrough for Michel Leiris: all problems, topies, manners of writing characteristic for his later works originate in Afrique fantome. This intriguing text evades all classifications: it combines the features of an intimate diary, an adventure story, an ethnographic treatise, and traveller's notes ... The author stresses the connection between "ethnography", "art'' and "life" - Afrique fantorne is simultaneously "ethnograhy" and "autobiography". of texts relating to the tragically deceased ]an Strzelecki sociologist, mountaineer, political activist and publicist, encompassed predominantly that part of his life which was associated with mountain climbing and research expeditions. The texts inducle reminiscences by Strzelecki's wife, Jadwiga, documenting his mountain excursions (primarily in the Tatra M ts.); an interview conducted by Andrzej Wilczkowski, brimming with fascinating anecdotes, in which Strzelecki recalled his first encounters with the mountains and the beginnings of his career as a mountain clirober and alpinist; Strzelecki's "ethnographic" recollections from an International Sodological Seminar held in Vittakivi (Finland), as well as his private notes and letters linked with the Spitsbergen expedition. Wiesław Szpilka On Sealskins "Sealskining" is a special type of skiing which thanks to a suitable construction of the skis, the bindings, and the shoes, and by using two glued-on strips of fa brie makes it possible to reach, and descend from, every arbitrarily chosen spot. Ski-touringand ski-Alpine mountaineering also describe the phenomenon in question, which offers a feeling of unrestrained liberty, but also the experiences of exertion, pain and hazard. �Andrzej Pieńkos The San Michel Book and Home From the time of eighteenth-century expeditions the island of Capri remained a popular destination of artists and researchers alike. In 1876 Axel Munthe, a young physician from Sweden, feli under the spell of the island's beauty and commenced building his dream residence, which he named Villa San Michel. In 1929 he published his life's work, an autobiographical novel entitled The Book from San Michel, a source of information about a profound fascination with classical culture, which gave rise to the construction of the author's highly individual home. The villa was not subjected to any architectural conceptions, nor did its owner employ a professional architect. The end result was the outcome of inspiration sought among the ruins of Capri and the labaur of severallocal workers. A. Pieńkos analysed this interesting example of hazardous architectural eclecticism, and inquired into the essence of this phenomenon, the limits of aesthetic fascination, and the arbitrariness of an artistic collage. longing to existence, albeit free from the commonplace and banality; in this unique manner, he elevates and consecrates details of daily life, devising his own imaginarium of man's real and supra-sensual existence. De Tramecourt uses gouache, pasteis and oil paint; he seeks special texture effects and strives to improve impasto and glaze. As a habitual partkipant in artistic life, he frequently showed his works in assorted Polish, German and French cities. The most relevant impulse in selecting the artist's path of life proved to be a deeply encoded determination and a conviction that he must devote himself to art, which has become the sole reason for his existence. Lechosław Lameński, To Conserve, to Restore, or Perhaps Simply to Tear It All Down? A review of three books written upon the initiative of Jarosław Krawczyk, editor-in-chief of the monthly "Mówią Wieki", concerning the history of the protection and conservation of monuments of architecture: Wokół Aleksandra Metbechowska-Luty Places, Traces, Sha- dows. On the Oeuvre of Daniel de Tramecourt As an artist Daniel de Tramecourt is both an amateur and a professional. He had never graduated from an Academy of Fine Arts, and in 1964-1967 he attended an secondary arts school in Lublin, where he learned the basie warkshop skilis and embarked upon individual work. For long he has succumbed to various fascinations, and is captivated by the art of Bosch, the Surrealists, Witold Wojtkiewicz, Jean Dubuffet, and Francis Bacon; in about 1995 he chose his master- the acclaimed painter Jacek Sienicki, in whose works he discavered a spiritual affiliation. De Tramecourt applied graphic techniques and drew and sculpted a lot, but painting remains the core of his oeuvre. He recreates the surrounding world: sites, landscapes, houses, interiors and objects, but also that which he sees with the "inner eye" and which had been rendered indelible in traditional mernory - archetypical motifs taken from philosophy, literature, art, the Bibie and mythology, and thus those realms which contain the ever-present idea of returnability, the "eterna! return" to the sources. In this manner, his art not only mirrors substitutes of reality, but glows with the shadows of "primary things". During the 1980s de Tramecourt painted quasi-ludic grotesques, intensively "coloured" genre scenes enacted in the market square of Kazimierz Dolny. Subsequently, he entered the domain of the human dwelling - up this very day de Tramecourt executes magnificent likenesses of the universal space of the home and metaphorical, usually deformed, portraits of men and women shouldering the heavy burden of existence, but also endowed with a secret spirituallife. De Tramecourt paints still life compositions and utensils: tables, chairs, fish, wine, fruit and flowers, which become iconic signs be- Wawelu. Antologia tekstów z lat 190 1-1909 (Abo- ut Wawel. An Anthology ofTexts from the Years 19011909, Warszawa-Kraków 2001), Alois Riegl, Georg Dehio i kult zabytków (Alois Riegl, Georg Dehio and the Cult of Historical Monuments, Warszawa 2002) and Zabytek i historia. Wokół problemów konserwacji i ochrony zabytków w XIX wieku. Antologia (The Historical Monument and History. On the Conservation and Protection of Historical Monuments During the Nineteenth Century. An Anthology, Warszawa 2002). Ewa Klekot National Heritage Monumentsand the Re- lation towards the Past Ewa Klekot wrote about the modern and postmodern comprehension of the concepts of "history" and "heritage", the rhetoric which emotionally appropriates ("colonises"} past experiences, precisely as an "heritage", in order to legitimise the presence, and the role played within such rhetoric by the concept of "monuments of the past". The artideisan introduction to texts presenting the outcome of the research conducted by students of the Institute of Ethnology at Warsaw University among visitors touring the royal castles in Cracow and Warsaw. Joanna Zalewska (National heritage monuments - who do they belong to?} examined egalitarianism and elitism, as well as participation and exclusion in the attitudes of visitors touring the monuments. Agnieszka Śmiertka (Monuments and guidebooks, or the source of the tourist's knowledge about what is worth seeing} studied the image of the two castles as seen by individual tourists using guidebooks. Anna Kucio (Knowledge about national heritage monuments upon the example of the Royal Castle in Warsaw 264 �SUMMARY OF ARTICLES and Wawel Castle) clemonstrared the fact that knowledge about national heritage monuments is not histofical but haphazard lore about the past, whose part is composed of symbols and patriotic feelings. real name of the famous naive painter from Krynica, known as Nikifor, was Epifaniusz Drowniak. The tria! was the outcome of years-long efforts on the part of the Łemko Union to recognise the artist's Łemko descent. Bartłomiej Kowal (Between tourism and religion. Experiences of national heritage upon the example of the Royal Castle in Warsaw and Wawel Castle) - with a differen- Peter Martyn, The former highway inn of Paweł Out- tion between the concepts of "emotional experiencing" and "experiencing as such" as his point of departure, the authar showed how in the case of visitors at Wawel Castle and the Royal Castle in Warsaw tourist experiences change into experiencing the "national heritage". Agata Kapturkiewicz (Must a national heritage monument be authentic?) described the ways in which a tourist understands authenticity, and the manner in which the latter influences the evaluation of a given site as a heritage monument. Maja Stachowiak (Power and politics within the context of national heritage monuments in the opinion of the visitors) attempted to reconstruct the common understanding of the concepts of "power" and "politics", and wrote about the ways of situating them within the space of national heritage monuments: the inclusion of the former and the exclusion of the latter. Wiesław Szpilka Wit Persona! notes made after reading Dariusz Czaja's Sygnatura i fragment. Narracje antropologiczne (Signa tu re and Fragment. Anthropological Narrations), a book which demonstrates how assorted spaces of culture can become the domain of ethnographic analysis. A eonfrontarion of various perceptions, forms of presence, and shapes of the same, performed in order to come elaser to the ultimate sense. Mateusz Braun A True Myth, or How Karol Wojtyła Became the Pope The historical event of the election ofKarol Wojto the office of Pope, as perceived by the community of Gorlice, possesses the symptoms of a mirade and is located within mythical space. The story recounted by the authar pertains to the oath sworn by the Pope's father during the battle of Gorlice, one of the bloodiest clashes during World War l. This tale has aU the features necessary to create a myth about the miraculous intervention of Providence. tyła Seweryn A. Wisłocki, Mostowski at Poronin: an historie monument of wooden architecture in (dire) peril This open letter is intended to inform readers of the threat that an appallingly ill-conceived 'road improvement" scheme poses not only to an outstanding example of vernacular wooden architecture but equally a place of exceptional natura! beauty. The planning scheme, which forms part of the generał transforming of the highway from Cracow to Zakopane into a dual carriageway, is intended to link this concrete and tar-macadammed 'zakopianka" with the regional road that leads to Slovakia. The apparent indifference shown by the !ocal authorities of Poronin towards the former inn at the confluence of the Poroniec mountain stream and River Zakopianka may be explained partly by its overexaggerated association with V.l. Lenin, but also by the likelihood that the 'Tatras Junction" is merely a sign of what is to come; namely, the entire area's redevelopment. The forces of change currently moving in on an enclave of uniqueness, where people achieved a remarkable degree of harmony with a beautiful but harsh natura! environment, may be seen as part of an ongoing catastrophe. The entire region could only have been spared the worst excesses of modern 'civilisation' if the !ocal highlanders themselves had demonstrated an intuitive foresight which, due to a paradoxical course in their more recent history, they seem to have all but completely forfeited. Having in large part introduced themselves to the ~merican' way of life by escaping - much like the lrish - rura! poverty and overcrowding, embracing with arms ever wider outstretched successive achievements of the industrial and techno-informational ages, the Highlanders currently find themselves between the devil of material well-being that has so long enticed them and the growing despair of witnessing their once safe, but now insecure, homeland being turned into a spiritual no less than an environmental wasteland. The Court Rules that Nikifor is EpifaniuszDrowniak On 26 March 2003, aftera seven-years long tria!, the Regional Court in Muszyna proclaimed that the Nr inw. .J(,..'(.~ ............ . � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/293d898866e50a4008b589e41af14fa8.pdf d4445d14fdd734c21c453aa871138133 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3084 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2001 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2888 Title A name given to the resource Moja mapa kraju i okolic / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4, s.482-492 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jackowski, Aleksander Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text AUtwiuii-r Jutkouífci» MOIA MAPA KRAJU 1 OKOUC ALEKSANDER JACKOWSKI Moja mapa kraju i okolic S poro jeżdżę, zwłaszcza o kraju. Wiele widzę, uczestnicząc w jury konkursu na Małe Ojczy­ zny. Widzisz, to opisuj - poprosił redaktor. N o , to opisuję. Będą to notatki, luźne myśli. Zastanawiałem się, jak je nazwać, jak porządkować? W istocie me ma większego znaczenia, czy przyjmę klucz chronologicz­ ny, czy tematyczny. A czemu nie geograficzny? Przecież wszystko gdzieś się działo. Będzie to więc moja mapa kraju. Subiektywna, niedokładna, wybiórcza. Począt­ kowo myślałem o tym, aby zacząć od Bydgoszczy, póź­ niej pisać o Lublinie, Jordanowie, Nadrzeczu. P Dzieją się tam rzeczy ciekawe, czasem wręcz fascy­ nujące. O stolicy nie pomyślałem, życie artystyczne a przecież to ono mnie głównie interesuje - płynie w niej leniwie, potwierdza się sąd marszałka Piłsudskie­ go, iż Polska jest jak obwarzanek, wszystko, co cieka­ we, znajduje się na obrzeżach. A jednak zacznę od Warszawy za sprawą kilku wydarzeń, które gwałtownie podniosły w niej temperaturę życia kulturalnego. Warszawa Najpierw było spokojnie, wręcz nudnie. Kongres K u l ­ tury Polskiej. Impreza, o której niewiele można było oczekiwać, chyba że za jej sens uznamy szum medialny i udział w oficjalnych sesjach prezydenta, premiera, ministta kultury. Kongresy służą na świecie spotka­ niom, kontaktom bezpośrednim, ale tym razem skład uczestników nie ułatwiał tego. W tłumie działaczy te­ renowych, urzędników trudno było dostrzec wybitne­ go twórcę, krytyka, artystę. D o tego większość uczest­ ników była już w wieku, kiedy się sumuje doświadcze­ nia, a nie dąży do zmiany świata. T r u d n o się więc dzi­ wić, że w noworocznej ankiecie „Przeglądu" uznano kongres za największy bubel kulturalny roku. Kosz­ towny - ale trzeba przyznać - znakomicie zorganizo­ wany (ukłon w stronę Fundacji Kultury). W odróżnie­ niu od nieco wcześniejszego Kongresu Kultury Chrze­ ścijańskiej w Lublinie, na którym ciekawa była kon­ frontacja przemyśleń teologów, filozofów świeckich P 4& (m.m. Leszka Kołakowskiego) i hierarchów - w War­ szawie nie było nawet szans na podjęcie ważnych pro­ blemów sztuki, krytyki, zastanowienie się nad wciąż pogłębiającą się degradacją kulturalną wsi. Zabrakło kompetencji i wyobraźni. Nawet imprezy towarzyszące przeszły bez echa, choć Wesele w inscenizacji Jerzego Grzegorzewskiego mogło sprowokować do dyskusji o stanie teatru, kondycji aktora. Podobnie wystawy rzeźb Magdaleny Abakanowicz i obrazów profesorów ASP nie spotkały się z żadną reakcją, a przecież była szansa zastanowienia się nad wieloma problemami, jak choćby pedagog - uczeń, odbiorca, krytyk. Muzykę polską zaprezentowano wykonaniem dzieł tylko Krzysztofa Pendereckiego, a przecież pod tym hasłem koncertu należało pokazać także innych twórców, że wspom fis choćby Henryka Mikołaja Góreckiego, Pawła Szymańskiego, Pawła Mykietyna. Temperaturę artystycznego życia podniosły dwie wystawy w salach Zachęty, Świętującej właśnie stule­ cie swego gmachu (bo przecież nie programu instytu­ cji!). Jedna, Klasycy X X wieku z rewelacyjnym, jak na nasze warunki, wyborem dziel wypożyczonych przez muzea europejskie i amerykańskie „na słowo", bez ubezpieczeń (kolosalnych!); druga - ukazująca sztukę polską XX wieku w optyce znawcy sztuki europej­ skiej, dyrektora Biennale w Wenecji Haralda SzeNie wiem, czy podejmując się wyboru, zdawał on sobie sprawę z tego, jak trafną nazwę zapropono­ wał: Uważaj wychodząc z własnych snów, możesz się znaleźć w cudzych. N o i znalazł się... Ale o t y m za chwilę, trzymajmy się chronologii. Czego? Skandali. Całej sekwencji skandali. Zaczęło się od małej wystawki zapełniającej salę tuż obok Klasyków. Był to niefortunnie zatytułowany (dla widza nawykłego do ścisłości) zestaw kilkudziesięciu fotosów filmowych, przedstawiających aktorów z całe­ go świata grających w hitlerowskich mundurach: Nazi­ ści. A u t o r wystawy Piott Uklański nie wchodził w to, czy grali drani, a byli porządni, jak nasz Kloss, czy też wcielali się w postacie oprawców. Refleksje pozostawił widzom. Byłem parę razy na tej wystawie, słyszałem ko­ mentarze - a co to ma ze sztuką wspólnego? dlaczego w Zachęcie? Ale wszystko pizebiegało spokojnie do momentu, kiedy w akcję wkroczył Daniel Olbrychski, poruszony tym, że pokazano jego fotos z filmu Claudea Leloucha. Krewki i boleśnie dbający o swą popularność aktot zareagował brawurowo. Franciszek Starowieyski powiedział później, że to był najlepszy happening w tej instytucji. Olbrychski zagrał święte oburzenie. Uznał, że wystawa obraża jego i jeszcze kdku kolegów. Jakim prawem nazwano j^o nazistą? Podobno sprowokowało go pytanie jakiejś dziewczynki - T o Pan jest nazistą? „Spontanicznie" wtargnął w płaszczu do Zachęty, nie zatrzymywany przez nikogo (Jak to? Zatrzymać pana �Aleksander Jadtowld* Olbrychskiego?). W sali już czekał tłumek dziennika­ rzy, fotografów i . . . gotowa do pracy kamera. A k t o r po­ czekał, aż pójdzie w ruch, wtedy wyciągnął spod płasz­ cza Kmicicową szablę i pociął nią kilka fotogramów, wyrażając tym swe oburzenie. Zaczęła się dyskusja, miał czy nie mial racji, woźne­ go wyrzucono, minister na wszelki wypadek kazał wy­ stawę zamknąć. Niestety, brawurowa akcja, przypomi­ nająca aktora w dziennikach telewizyjnych, i to nie tyl­ ko polskich, miała także inny aspekt - podważyła za­ ufanie do dyrekcji Zachęty, która nie umiała ochronić powierzonych jej prac, a przecież obok, w sąsiedniej sa­ li wisiały dzieła Picassa, Salvadore Dalego. Ciekawe, czy po tym wyczynie znajdą się muzea gotowe wypoży­ czyć Zachęcie cenne eksponaty bez ubezpieczenia? Nie chcę myśleć, co by się mogło stać, gdyby z szabelką przyszedł ktoś nie lubiący Picassa, np. miłośnik kobie­ cej urody. Atmosfera została podgrzana, o niczym innym nie mówiono w towarzyskim światku stolicy. Nic bowiem tak dobrze nie robi sztuce jak skandal. Nawet w odle­ głym Barcinie, idąc w ślady Artysty, była pani bur­ mistrz wtargnęła do Urzędu Miasta uzbrojona w szablę samuraja, chcąc zaprowadzić porządek. Ale w tym przypadku happening skończył się smutno, kaftanem bezpieczeństwa i odwiezieniem do szpitala w Świeciu. Ze skandalami jak z tramwajami. Jeden idzie za dru­ gim. Dopiero co przebrzmiało echo występu pana Da­ niela, który - jakby skruszony - w tejże Zachęcie towa­ rzyszy! prezydentowi w odsłonięciu tablicy upamiętnia­ jącej zabójstwo Gabriela Narutowicza, deklamując strofy Norwida - gdy drugi skanadal przyćmił pamięć pierwszego. Sprowokowała go kompozycja włoskiego artysry Maurizia Cattelaniego, przedstawiająca naszego Papieża ugodzonego meteorytem. Przygnieciony ka­ mieniem leżał jak Chrystus pod krzyżem z l u d o w c h kapliczek. Głowę trzymał wysoko, pastorał też wskazy­ wał, że Papież nie poddaje się cierpieniu. MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC sobie ciężar współczesnych problemów Kościoła. Więc - rozumiem myśl autora - Papież przytłoczony, umę­ czony, a przecież nie poddający się. - A dlaczego mete­ oryt z nieba? T u już nie umiałem znaleźć odpowiedzi. A czy wie pan, że ten Cattelani to świnia? - A słyszał pan, odpowiedziałem, że i Caravaggio nie był świętym. Bandzior, a jakie piękne jest jego Złożenie do Grobu, które przed kilku laty podziwialiśmy w Muzeum Naro­ dowym. Skandal, którego wyczekiwano, nastąpił. Do akcji wkroczył nieznany dotąd opinii poseł A d o l f Tomczak i - jak o niej pisano - Niedobra Nowina-Konopczyna. Legitymacje poselskie zapewniają bezkarność, nawet w Zachęcie. Poseł i poślica mocno się natrudzili, by zdjąć kamień z Papieża. Ciężki był! - skarżył się pan Tomczak. Salę zamknięto, podobno Cattelani wył z ra­ dości. Także nasz kowboj - Wojciech Cejrowski - pró­ bował przykryć rzeźbę prześcieradłem, ale ponieważ nie był posłem, obezwładniono go i wyproszono z budynku. W takiej atmosferze dyskusja o wystawie zeszła na daleki plan. A przecież Szeeman swym wyborem zaszo­ kował. T y m , co pokazał, i jeszcze bardziej tym, czego nie pokazał. Każdy z nas może mu mieć wiele do zarzu­ cenia. W porządku. T o też wspaniale byłoby wkrótce po tej zobaczyć następne wystawy - wybory różnych krytyków, artystów, pisarzy. Takie wystawy widziałem np. w londyńskiej National Galłery. Bardzo ciekawe. Jakże chętnie zobaczyłbym u nas wybór zrobiony przez Czesława Miłosza, Jacka Sempolińskiego i, powiedzmy, Wojciecha Krukowskiego. Różne spojrzenia. 7 Co ta rzeźba miała wspólnego z ekspozycją? Kurator wystawy wyjaśniał, że potraktował ją jako hołd oddany polskiej sztuce i temu, kto jest najlepszym ambasado­ rem Polski na świecie. Zawrzało. Jeszcze przed wernisażem stadko reporte­ rów atakowało znane osobistości, krytyków. 1 mnie ob­ iegli. Co myślę o rzeźbie Papieża? Próby mówienia 0 rzeczywistych problemach wystawy ignorowano, cie­ kawiła tylko reakcja na tę rzeźbę. Czy panu się podo­ ba? Kilkanaście mikrofonów podniosło się jak główki węży. Odpowiedziałem, że jest to raczej publicystyka, 1 jeśli o niej mówić, to nie w kategoriach dobrej czy złej rzeźby, lecz symboliki. N o właśnie! - atakowano. Więc wspomniałem o tym, jak Tycjan czy Velasquez pokazy­ wali papieży. Oficjalnych, tronujących. A nasz - mówi­ łem - to pielgrzym, następca Piotrowy, który dźwiga na 483 Co było ważne w propozycji Szeemana? Pierwsze: koncepcja wystawy jako dzieła sztuki, reżyseria nastro­ j u , sale zawieszone od podłogi po sufit (plakaty) i dają­ ce oddech, z dużym luzem, wręcz teatralny efekt dwóch wielkich sal - jedna, cała sprowadzona do bia­ ławej powierzchni mydła (śmierdzącego). T o Bałka. Zaskoczenie „zmarnować" całą salę dla takiego pomy­ słu? A w następnej, Matejkowskiej - z powidoku bieli przerzucamy się na szkarłatną plamę krwi. Tylko jeden, mocno oświetlony obiekt, figura Jana Pawła I I , ugodzo­ nego meteorytem. O rzeźbie jako takiej nie ma co mó­ wić. Publicystyka. Jeśli spierać się, to o to, co znaczy meteor? Czy Papież pada, czy się podnosi? Pytanie, co to ma wspólnego z wyborem dzieł stule­ cia? N i c , zwłaszcza że praca Wiocha. Jedyne, co uza­ sadnia tę salę, to efekt teatralny. Znakomita koda fina­ łowa ekspozycji, którą oglądało się z żywym zaintereso­ waniem. A u t o r pokazał, co jego zdaniem - cudzoziem­ ca, eksperta - jest ciekawe w sztuce polskiej. Więc cel­ ny wybór obrazów Jacka Malczewskiego i Witkacego. Zabawne zestawienie napuszonego autoportretu Mal­ czewskiego ze stojącą naprzeciw woskową figurą - au­ toportretem Pawła Althamera, żałosnego w swej nago­ ści. Ciekawie skontrastowane intymne rzeźby A l i n y �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC Szapocznikow z konstruktywistami, Kantor z akwarela­ mi Nikifora. Włączenie jego do panteonu sztuki „wyso­ kiej" dla mnie oczywiste. Nieraz to postulowałem. Da­ lej - mądte wyeksponowanie filmów o walorach pla­ stycznych (Hasa, Trelińskiego). Plakat. T o oczywiste, właśnie w plakacie mamy wybitne dokonania w skali światowej. (Idąc tym tropem, dodałbym karykaturę po­ lityczną, rysunki Mleczki, Czeczota, Dudzińskiego). A czego brak? Kolorystów! W pierwszej chwili po­ myślałem - jak to? Przecież walka o sztukę toczyła się u schyłku okresu międzywojennego właśnie za sprawą kapistów. A t u - nikogo. Sam byłem emocjonalnie związany z koloryzmem i nagle Szeeman kazał m i spoj­ rzeć inaczej. Koloryzm był w swoim czasie naszą polską wojną o sztukę, wojną z Bractwem św. Łukasza, ale z perspektywy osiągnięć? Z petspektywy Paryża, Bonnarda... Czego bym bronił? Makowskiego (Tadeusza), może Nachta-Samborskiego, Potworowskiego. A l e t u już zmieniamy koncepcję autora. Jego wybór pokazuje bo­ wiem to, co u nas nowe, twórcze, ciekawe dla „Europej­ czyka". Więc nie dobrze czy nawet świetnie namalowa­ ne obrazy. Wówczas bowiem upomnieć się można o wie­ lu malarzy, że wymienię Brzozowskiego, Tchorzewskie­ go, Lebensteina. Pozostańmy jednak przy założeniach Szeemana. Idąc jego tropem, zabrakło m i Hasiora (ale czy pokazano go Szeemanowi w Zakopanem?), fotogra­ fii pomnika Haupta i Duszenki w Treblince, a z żyjących malarzy Nowosielskiego i Tarasewicza. Czy to dobrze, czy źle, że zrobienie jubileuszowej wy­ stawy powierzono „obcemu"? Nie mam wątpliwości, że to był interesujący eksperyment. Przecież na tej wysta­ wie świat się nie kończy. Tyle o Zachęcie. A l e ze skandalami nie koniec. W tym samym czasie otwatto wystawę 32 młodych pla­ styków w Zamku Ujazdowskim. Publiczność oglądała wystawione prace, komentując je różnie. Atmosfera się ożywiła wyraźnie, gdy zaprotestował biskup polowy. Co go tak wzburzyło? W jednej z sal puszczono wideo A r ­ tura Żmijewskiego - musztrę z bronią Kompanii Repre­ zentacyjnej Wojska Polskiego. Katabiny, wojskowe kaszkiety, buty, reszta - jak Pan Bóg stworzył. N o i skandal. Obraza wojska. Przyglądałem się musztrze, rzeczywiście wybrano niespecjalnie dorodne okazy, choć nieporównanie masywniejsze od tych na przeciw­ ległej ścianie, biedaków z Dworca Centralnego. A u t o r Paweł Althamer rozebrał tych nieszczęśników i kazał im tańczyć w koło, trzymając się za ręce Takie nawią­ zanie do Błędnego koła Jacka Malczewskiego (a może do Matisse'a). Żenujące. Rozumiem, że się chce przekra­ czać granice tego co jest — a nie jest sztuką" popodważać granice dobrego smaku piękna (robił to już Rembrandt i nieźle m u to wychodziło) — ale ten numer z biedakami jest dla mnie żenujący 484 Ponieważ środowisko Radia Maryja do Zamku Ujaz- i dowskiego raczej nie uczęszcza, pozostał niezauważony ukrzyżowany demon (?) z dziwnym krzyżem nad głową. Czarny, satanistyczny? Czy uda się mu ocalić od skan­ dalu? Problem jest szerszy, nie da się ograniczyć do jedne-! go dzieła eksplodującego skandalem. Sztuka dzisiejsze­ go czasu szokuje, daleko wykracza poza tradycyjne for­ my. Tego się nie zmieni, nie cofnie. Artyści szukają no­ wej przestrzeni działania, badają coraz to inne środki ekspresji. Muszą atakować wyobraźnię i wrażliwość od­ biorcy, który - tak jak i oni - jest poddany presji tele­ wizji, otępiany brutalnością, wciąż zaskakiwany świa-! domością rzeczy strasznych, przed którymi każda próba ucieczki jest złudzeniem. Żyjemy w świecie, którego sztuka zmienić nie jest w stanie. Uciekamy w nią, ale tylko przeszłość, już ucukrowana, może nam zapewnić poczucie bezpieczeństwa. Problemem staje się więc nie zdetzenie z dziełem, które szokuje, ale miejsce, w któ­ rym wiemy, że go nie spotkamy, bądź takie, w którym ' chcemy być zaskakiwani, szokowani, zmuszani do re­ fleksji. Rada, najbardziej prymitywna z prymitywnych może być tylko jedna — wyraźna stratyfikacja galerii Świadomość że t u — w Centrum Sztuki Współczesnej — zobaczę wszelakie ptóby udane i nieudane płaskie i głębokie rodzime i z całego świata natomiast zupet nie inne doznania czekają mnie w Muzeum Narodo­ wym Kordesardzie i Zachęcie (oeraniczam sie do Warszawy) Bvć może edvbv Zachęta stała sie galeria środka ookaz iaca d ieła doir ale snra d one e rokim sp n e k t rum a r tystycz t l tv n yc h propozycji• mórib™ og ym w niej zobaczyć zarówno wybór bzeemana, jak tez obr a z Tl a c lic a c» i p n n i • r Ki I •e c o p r a r i KkI Lni i e I n i ?i K a i ń I a n iIca nzip* f o n L-o ł H ' Ab k k k ta Hasiora, Abakanowicz, a także najciekawsze, juz „sprawdzone dzieia mtodycn. Natomiast rzeczy nowe, eksperymentalne, zwrócone k u własnej (młodej pu­ bliczności niechby przyciągały uwagę w Zamku Ujaz­ dowskim. Nie ze t u lepsza sztuka, tam gorsza, tylko selekcja z mysią o odbiorcy. O ukształtowanej (tak się juz dzieje.) własnej publiczności, kręgu krytyków. la­ ką hmę programową ma galeria Poksal Studio - a na drugim biegunie Zapiecek, galeria Napiórkowskiej. W centrum Kordegarda, Zachęta. Zwróćmy uwagę, ze tak się dzieje z Y ą . Festiwale Muzyki Wspólczesnej są okazją dla debiutów, eksperymentów, nato­ miast Filharmonia pokazuje dzieła juz sprawdzone, ta-1 kie, które firma rekomenduje swym słuchaczom. Bronię prawa do satysfakcji estetycznej - nazwijmy to starszej publiczności i prawa młodych do ekspery-1 mentu, do wiedzy o tym, co - gdzie aktualnie powsta­ je. Szczególna sytuacja postawangardy wynika z wielu przyczyn, których analiza nie jest na tym miejscu moż­ liwa. Zwrócę więc tylko uwagę na okoliczności, które towarzyszą współczesnej twórczości plastycznej: m u z k �Aleksander ]ackou/sk¡* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC -załamanie systemu wartości. Zanegowanie katego­ rii piękna, - rozszerzenie granic estetycznych i etycznych. Szok, zaskoczenie jako kategoria estetyczna, Bydgoszcz Konkurs i m . Teofila Ociepki i wystawa prac. Ważny powód, by zastanowić się nad tym, czym jest twórczość spontaniczna, powstała z wewnętrznego napięcia, taka, którą nazywamy A r t Brut, surowa, naiwna, prymityw­ na. O tym, jak jest dziś postrzegana, świadczy warszaw­ ska decyzja Haralda Szeemana włączenia do panteonu sztuki polskiej X X wieku Łemka, mieszkającego w Kry­ nicy - Nikifora, a we Francji niepodważalna pozycja H e n r i Rousseau. - konkurencja, walka o prawo do własnego głosu. Krzyku. Nawet grymasu. Działa dziś na świecie więcej artystów plastyków, niż i c h żyło na całej przestrzeni wieków! - wielość form ekspresji wizualnej: fotografia, film, wideo, plakat, moda haut-cuture, reklama, wzornic­ two, grafika komputerowa, Malarstwo profesjonalne wydaje się tracić energię, a twórczość ewoluuje, szukając nowych obszarów zwią­ zanych z komputerem, operowaniem światłem i dźwię­ kiem. Kryzys sztuki? Kultury? A może tylko zmiana form ekspresji? - włączenie przeszłości w nasze życie, łatwość podró­ żowania, przeżywania dzieł muzealnych, reprodukcje, powszechna dostępność płyt, albumów, - odrzucenie sprawności rzemieślniczej jako ważne­ go kryterium oceny, co sprawia, że kryterium takiego trzeba szukać w samym dziele, systemie, w jakim funk­ cjonuje. Jednak gwarancją tego, że twórczość potrzebna jest, zarówno temu, kto ją uprawia, jak i odbiorcy, jest zja­ wisko, z jakim mamy do czynienia na tej wystawie. N a ­ zwy są kalekie, niewiele wyjaśniają. Mówimy „naiwni" (Francuzi nazywają i c h pięknie „malarze czystego ser­ ca"), mówimy A r t Brut, czyli twórczość nie poddana wpływom kultury, samorodna, ale są to tylko ogólniki. Istota twórczości tu prezentowanej polega na tym, że jest ona emanacją ludzkiej osobowości, wyraża świat duchowy bezpośrednio, bez posługiwania się konwen­ cjami. Wydawać by się mogło, że jest to malarstwo po¬ za czasem poza miejscem, związane tylko z osobowo­ ścią twórcy. T a k z n i m nieodłącznie związane jak nie­ powtarzalne są linie papilarne. Spójrz, od razu widzisz Żarski a tam Chełmowski, Rebelski, Wałęga, Ko­ sek Łączy ich talent, niesamowita intuicja malarska, pozwalająca znajdować - nie szukając rozwiązywać trudne problemy artystyczne nie myśląc o tym jak to się robi czy robiło Łączy ich to że żyją sztuką że dla wielu jest ona jedyną formą istnienia wręcz koniecz­ nością A przecież każda osobowość zwłaszcza wybit­ na jest inna można więc o ich twórczości D o w i e d z i e ć za Mironem Białoszewskim że jest „osobna". W takiej sytuacji nie może dziwić szukanie przez twórców „nisz", własnych form wypowiedzi, które ma­ ją ich wypromować. W tłoku, aby zostać usłyszanym, ttzeba krzyczeć. Rzeczą krytyki jest porządkowanie fak­ tów, ale krytyka obumiera. Nie ma forum dla wypowie­ dzi, redaktorzy opędzają się nawet od współpracowni­ ków redakcji. Przy t y m obok krytyki „merytorycznej" jest także zjawisko lobbingu, tworzenie się różnych mód, w których sława, popularność i sukces finansowy wcale nie pokrywają się z ocen^. krytyki. Dla mnie zna¬ komici, najwięksi: Nowosielski, Panek, Tarasewicz, Siennicki, w każdej publicznej ankiecie przegrają z D u ­ dą Graczem. Też zresztą dobrym, tyle że „inaczej". • • • Dopisuję w korekcie. A b y nie zaogniać sytuacji, A n ¬ da Rottenberg, postanowiła, w porozumieniu z mini| strem, ustąpić ze stanowiska. W zamian minister miał ją mianować swym pełnomocnikiem do spraw muzeum sztuki współczesnej, a także powołać w skład zespołu, który wybierze jej następcę. N o i co? Pan minister wy­ cofał się, a A n d a Rottenberg dała ogłoszenie w gazecie -szukam pracy. Wstyd. Tenże minister zwalnia kompetentnego dyrektora Ośrodka Dokumentacji Zabytków. M a prawo, ale po­ daje przez swego rzecznika kłamliwe uzusadnienie - za wynajęcie domu, wiedząc, iż właśnie za to został zwol­ niony poprzedni dyrektor, nie mówiąc już o tym, że „prosiło" go o to właśnie ministerstwo. Największym skandalem jest to, co się dzieje dokoła nominacji ministrów kultury. Decydują motywy poli­ tyczne, szuka się miejsca dla kogoś, kogo nie można za¬ trudnić gdzie indziej. Poniewać zdrowie, oświata, gospodatka wymagają kompetencji. Tylko na kulturze i zna się każdy. Konkurs, którego plonem jest wystawa, nazwano imieniem Teofila Ociepki. Ociepka, choć Ślązak, ostatnie lata życia spędził w Bydgoszczy, a należał obok Nikifora do najbardziej znanych malarzy „naiw­ nych". Mistyk, okultysta, święcie wierzący w księgi, które czytał, miał poza tą naiwnością cechy, które wy­ rażają istotę założeń konkursu i ramy tej wystawy: au¬ tentyzm, ekspresję, osobowość, intuicję twórczą. A u ­ tentyzm. A więc odnalezienie w sobie tego tonu, któ­ ry jest mój, nie wyuczony, prawdziwy. T u nie ma kal­ kulacji, nie, ma wyboru środków, konwencji. Jestem ja. Ja i świat. 485 Forma dzieła jest syntezą widzenia i możliwości wytazowych. Syntezą nie wymyśloną, nie szukaną, ale da­ ną. Każdy z bohaterów wystawy poproszony, by nama- �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU 1 OKOLIC lowal coś w innej konwencji, byłby bezradny. O n two­ rzy, rozbudowuje to, co jego, własne. Artysta uczony wybiera spośród wielu możliwości, świadomy tego, co i gdzie powstaje. Pozbywa się bala­ stu wiedzy, by zostać sobą. Nasz bohater niczego nie wybiera, buduje swą twórczość od środka. O d tego, co jest tylko jemu dane. Nieraz wydawać się może, że chroni g o jakaś psychiczna blokada, inny b y się zała­ mał, słysząc opinie sąsiadów, kolegów - on na to nie zważa, robi, co chce. Może nawet w pewnych przypad­ kach to, co musi. Mówimy: naiwny. A czym jest w sztuce naiwność? Czym, jak nie synonimem dobroci, poezji, niewinności. Oglądam obrazy pani Bronisławy Babik, jeden zatytu­ łowała Aniołowie malują skrzydła motylom. Piękne! Przecież to czysta poezja. Inna malatka pani Barbara Chęcka pisze na malunku: „Śniło mi się, że wychodzę za mąż". Piękne, szczere, niezwykle lakonicznie malo­ wane obrazy. Czuję w nich trud, ogromny wysiłek, któ­ rego efektem jest t a lakoniczność. Dostrzegam człowie­ k a . Coś, o czym zazwyczaj nie myślę, oglądając dzieła profesjonalnych artystów. W obrazach wielu uczestni­ ków konkursu, a są nimi przecież także ludzie z Domów Opieki Społecznej, dominuje powaga. Potrzeba twór­ cza bywa tak silna, że realizują ją czasem niewiarygod¬ nym wysiłkiem. Nie chcę przytaczać nazwisk, n a wysta­ wie mówi za siebie sam obraz i nie powinna tego wra­ żenia przesłaniać litość nad kalekim chłopcem, który może malować tylko leżąc na podłodze, lewą ręką. Ale jak wrażliwie, jak pięknie malować! Na poprzednim konkursie przeżyłem chwile takiego wzruszenia, ż e do­ słownie odebrało m i głos. Wręczałem pierwszą dę „komuś", kto przysłał kartony, znakomite w kolorytakie które śmiało mogłyby wisieć w każdej g a ­ lerii. I zobaczyłem tego ,kogoś" n a wózku inwalidzkim, rozbiegane trzepoczące ręce piękne gorejące oczy I t o o n malował t e prace' Poczułem się nieswojo, zdrovyy sprawny Sądzę że t o jest drugi aspekt wystawy, to czym. jest ona dla uczestniczących w niej malarzy T o nie komercja nie nonis czv zabawa ale sprawa no ważna. Sens życia, sposób na samotność, cierpienie, starość Nie n r z v D a d k i e m właśnie wtedy gdy aktvw ność'zyc,owaie kończy odchodzą maiomi L o s t a i e nusrka reskn -a p r a c a krórei hiż sie nie' wykonu e - właśnie wtedy tak wielu ludzi znajduje nowy sens - Prawdziwych „naiwnych" n i e jest wielu, natomiast moda na naiwnych, zwłaszcza na zachodzie Europy i w Stanach Zjednoczonych, spowodowała, że pojawiło się wielu malarzy, nawet profesjonalnych, pracujących „w stylu naiwnym". Komercja dotarła nawet t u , gdzie - zdawałoby się - wszystko jest jej zaprzeczeniem. Na szczęście w Polsce takich pseudonaiwnych mało. A i u profesjonalistów zabawa w naiwność wygląda ża­ łośnie. Chociaż stereotyp „naiwności" może być twór­ czo wykorzystany, co widać było w Bydgoszczy. Widuję wiele wystaw, profesjonalnych artystów, amatorów, ale ta wzrusza mnie szczególnie. Tyle w niej piękna, świetnych obrazów, ale i odwołań do ludzkich losów. Przejmujących, kiedy widzimy malarstwo odda­ jące stan ducha, obsesyjne, ukazujące piękno, ale i brzydotę świata. Piękno, ale i brzydotę ludzi. Ponie­ waż twórczość rodzi się zarówno z zachwytu, jak i z go­ ryczy. Z dobra i cierpienia. 2 w rn co inni m a i iwaniii Zzauważam I Z ' , uf ww s^z yr skt Kr i hc n . c z«^71.^1^' uiosc ś w i a t a , po¬ i rrzeoa mu. WODCC \/ 1 ' H * L- i * t 'L-" .ary. maiują urni. spokojni o u ^ j a * l ę c ^n m ie tmiamy e ł h Toyc f Wt a ^K i m dla cia w id a zaa ' ' K 'M l b maiują any naiwność nie jest częsta, nywa aarem, ta* ja* jest n i m taient. 10 o n pozwaia w poznym w i e K u przeżyć arrystyczną przygodę. Nielicznym. 486 Oświęcim W związku z konkursem na Małe Ojczyzny mieliśmy spotkanie z władzami miasta. Prezydent, wojewoda, marszałek. M y słuchamy, oni mówią, długo, z wyrzu­ tem. Dlaczego wszystkich interesuje tylko obóz? Prze­ cież jest miasto, piękne, zadbane - a „wy" ciągle utoż­ samiacie je z obozem. Rozumiem ich ból, gdyby nie obóz, wszystko byłoby inaczej, goście powiedzieliby, że piękna tu zieleń, bogate sklepy, uprzejmi ludzie, dobra władza. A tak przyjadą ze świata, głównie Żydzi, tylko obóz ich interesuje, dziwią się, że dokoła jest jakieś miasto. Dla nich Oświęcim to obóz. Nawet jedzenie ze sobą przywożą, tak jakby to była pustynia jakaś. Zoba­ czą gdzieś antysemicki napis i już krzyk, jakby tylko na to czekali. Żalą się więc nasi gospodarze i rozumiem ich gorycz, tłumaczymy więc, że w świecie to miejsce ma tylko jedną konotację - obóz śmierci. Dlatego tu piel­ grzymują młodzi ludzie z Izraela, politycy, dostojnicy państwowi. Ich optyka jest inna niż miejscowych, inne obawy, inne skojarzenia. Przypominam sobie epizod z czasu PRL-u. W mieście odbywała się duża, młodzie­ żowa impreza. Przyjechaliśmy całą Centralnego Ośrodka Metodyki Upowszechniania Kultury {skrót brzmiał Comuk) Co widzimy Na placu wielki trans­ parent Dziś Oświęcim jutro Moskwa" Oczywiście chodziło o to że w Moskwie miałv sie wkrótce odbvć jakieś międzynarodowe^ soorkania młodzieży ale mv odczytywaliśmy sens naoisu inaczej niż sosoodarze Im Oświęcim nie kojarzył się z obozem. 7 - Pamiętam, jak po raz pierwszy pojechałem do Oświęcim.a z jakąś delegacją zagraniczną. Słońce, pięknie, masa młodych ludzi na ulicacach. Ja się dzi­ wię, moi goście też, przecież to ma być Auschwitz, a jest normalne, młode miasto. Było to jakieś dwa lata �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC po wojnie, mało kto jeszcze tu przyjeżdżał. Pytam (np. rzeźba naśladująca wagony, którymi zwożono więźniów). o obóz. Obóz? Chyba tam, ktoś wskazuje kierunek. Obóz? Nie wiem... Obóz? Cholera by go wzięła... Dla­ O Auschwitz jeszcze jedno chciałbym powiedzieć, czego? Zagrodzili drogę z jednej części miasta do dru­ giej, szła przez ten obóz. Co to komu szkodziło, że się stał się tematem kompozycji plastycznej. rowerem przejechało? A u t o r zareagował na spowszednienie obozu, na je­ Rozmawiam, rozumiem. T o cmentarz świata, Euro­ go wykorzystywanie w różnych sytuacjach - zapropo­ nował klocki lego, z których każde dziecko mogłoby py, Holocaustu. A l e na tym cmentarzu nie ma ani jed­ nego grobu mieszkańca Oświęcimia. Obcy cmentarz, sobie zbudować własny obóz. Mówi się, że współcześni artyści oderwani są od życia. Niesłusznie. Trzeba tylko gdzie nikt nikomu świeczki nie zapali. Wkrótce wcią­ dostrzec, jak na to życie reagują. Negacja też jest po­ gnąłem się w dyskusję dotyczącą oświęcimskiego po­ mnika. Ogłoszono na niego konkurs. Patronowały mu stawą. A lego Zbigniewa Libery podobnie jak dzieło Magdaleny Abakanowicz mówią o dramacie naszych najsłynniejsze nazwiska architektów, rzeźbiarzy. Nie było po wojnie konkursu z równie wybitnymi jurorami, czasów więcej niż rozsiane po Polsce martyrologiczne rzeźby z powykręcanymi na wszystkie strony członka­ z taką ilością nadesłanych projektów. Wybrano polski: mi. Zwróćmy uwagę na to, jak ważny jest w dziele ar­ tysty takt. Dystans. Krzyk brzydzi, patos zamienia się Jerzego Jarnuszkiewicza, Oskara Hansena, Juliana Pał­ w kicz. nieczęsto spotyka się dzieło, które k i . Był to nieprawdopodobny wręcz sukces, t y m b a r Naprawdę ­ wytrzymuje miarę patosu, w którym on nie razi i nie dziej że mowy nie było o kurtuazji, a koncepcja projek­ odrzuca. T a k i m jest Osipa Zadkina pomnik spalonego tu zachwyciła jurorów. Ale nie polskie władze, nie Cy­ rankiewicza, nie działaczy i artystów, którzy byli więzie­ miasta stojący w Amstetdamie. Ogromna postać czło­ ni w obozie. Zarysowały się dwie koncepcje: jedna „obozowiczów" - odtworzyć w pełni kształt baraków, zasieków, dróżek, placów. Skansen. Tak jak było. D r u ­ ga: skierowana w przyszłość, mająca przyszłym pokole­ niom przekazać dramat tego miejsca, jego ekspresję. Pierwsza dawała satysfakcję byłym więźniom. Tak to było! Mogli powiedzieć bliskim. Druga tworzyła wizję wieka, w bezsile wznosząca ręce ku górze, wypalona w środku. Wielkie dzieło. Patetyczne, tak jak są nimi symfonie Beethovena, Walhalla Wagnera czy śmierć Izoldy. Pomyśleć, mogliśmy mieć tę rzeźbę w Warsza­ wie. Przecież powstałą z myślą o niej, o tragedii palo­ nego miasta Zadkin proponował ją naszym władcom ale zbyt daleko odbiegała wówczas od t e o co się mie­ obozowego koszmaru. Polegała na reżyserii nastroju, w czym swoją rolę odgrywały autentyczne elementy. Obóz bowiem w tamtym czasie b y ł na poły zniszczony domy snalone baraków "ostały tr~onv nieców i korni ny. Wywoływało to bardzo silne wrażenie. Otóż auto­ ściło w ramach socrealizmu Ciągle wówczas myślano o tym co sobie pomyślą radzieccy towarzysze Ale po wstało i u nas dzieło wielkie, może jedno z największycK na świecie Na miejscu kaźni setek tysięcy ludzi. W Treblince 7 rzy D o l s k i e e o oroiektu zakładali że wszystko to D O Z O stanie nietknięte, dokument martyrologii. Teren obo­ Treblinka zu m i a ł a urzec.nać czarna droga ukośnie przechodząc nr-ez zniszczone baraki ścieżki'i clące o b o z o w Zawsze e Tak ją komuś pokazuję, tym razem moim dzieciom. akbv to b v ł o -awies-ona w oowietrzu ŁJil^ria z którei Woziłem do Treblinki Wiktora Szkłowskiego, radziec­ w i W l a l ł z" bliska haraki nie r w u L i a r Świerośr kich rzeźbiarzy i historyków sztuki, francuskich przyja­ rem mieisra Ti . . nieoęaą nie łlina pono ciół. Jadąc z Mazur, miałem w pamięci złą drogę, ale te­ cegc-miejsca, jeau K a n a p e K z ęauną raz była już straszna. O d pół wieku nikt jej nie popra­ wieaziai mi j a r n u s . K i c w i c . . n co s i ę stanie po latacn, wiał, to już kraniec Europy, dzikie ziemie. W centrum gfjy te trzony pieców uiegną znaczeniu pytaiem. Polski! Most, którym strach było jechać, kręte, nie ^ a s z r o m swoje oapowicuzm.. woraz się trocnę zmie¬ oznaczone odnogi, brak tablic informacyjnych, które ni, ale zostanie sita ekspresji tego miejsca. jeszcze kilka lat temu były. Ktoś, kto ma wolę i zna ję­ „Obozowicze" nie chcieli tego uznać. Dla nich upa­ zyk polski, trafi, ale cudzoziemiec? Tabliczkę informu­ miętnienie oznaczało odbudowę spalonych baraków, jącą „Muzeum martyrologii w Treblince" spostrzegłem, z narami, słomą, no i solidny pomnik figuratywny, p o d ale... już daleko za wsią Treblinka. Zawsze, kiedy którym delegacje mogły składać wieńce. Pytałem Ewę wchodzę na teren byłego obozu (tego, do którego kie­ Szelburg-Zarembinę z Komitetu Więźniów, a co, g d y rowano transporty Żydów z getta warszawskiego), deski zmurszeją, dach się zapadnie... Zrobi się nowe, na ogarnia mnie wzruszenie. Patos i nastrój tego miejsca, wzór dawnych - odpowiedziała. w którym kamienie, niebo, jałowce i sosny tworzą prze­ Skończyło się to kompromisem. Szkoda. W sztuce strzeń zupełnie wyjątkową. Porażającą. Nie śmiem po­ kompromisy nie popłacają. Połączono, wbrew pierwot­ wiedzieć pięknem, ponieważ to pojęcie rodem nej decyzji j u r y , kilka projektów w jedno, nasz „czysty" 7 tstety*" w linii myślenia z paroma włoskimi, werystycznymi ki zupełnie tu nie pasuje. Cmentarz. Jeden z najwięk- 487 �Aleksander Jackwski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC szych w Europie. Niezwykły. Bez grobów. Wszędzie, gdzie stawiam stopę, mogą być ludzkie ptochy, są, prze­ mieszane, wtopione w ziemię. Cmentarz zabijanych w tym samym czasie, bezimiennych. Kamienie-ostro­ słupy, duże i małe, o różnym kształcie i zabarwieniu, symbolizują miejsca, z których przywożono transporty, imiona mordowanych. Jest ich wiele, tysiące - martwe kamienie, sztorcem ustawione, na podobieństwo ma­ cew, ale bez żadnych dekoracji, słów, gestów. N i k t ich swoim zmarłym nie stawiał, bo i ci, co powinni, sami tu leżą. Jest w tej przeraźliwej scenerii pustka, wielkie nie­ bo rozpięte nad cmentarzyskiem, przyroda, aż krzyczą­ ca swoją bezwzględnością. Czas upływa, jałowce rosną, jak siostry tych kamieni, zielone, żywe, obojętne. T o one są jak głaz nieczułe, kiedy kamienie płaczą. Każdy z nich jest inny, jak ludzie, którzy tu leżą. Treblinka jest dziełem dwóch architektów z W y ­ brzeża: Zygmunta Haupta i Franciszka Duszenki. Jest pomnikiem o wielkiej sile wyrazu. Takim, który uru­ chamia wyobraźnię, zmusza do refleksji, uświadomie­ nia sobie tego, co wydaje się niemożliwe. Przyzwyczaili­ śmy się mówić - Holocaust. Naturalnie, jak wiosna, burza, śmierć. A w scenerii Treblinki to słowo nabiera mocy. Poraża. Zawsze, gdy jestem w Treblince, czuję się tak, jakbym odbył ważną pielgrzymkę. Nie mówię i zauważyłem, że nikt z ludzi, których tam przywiozłem, nie miał ani chę­ ci, ani odwagi mówić póki nie odeszliśmy daleko. Jordanów-Wysolca Dwór na Wysokiej. Masywny, renesansowy, obronny, z kamienia, dwupiętrowy. Niegdyś pewnie górujący nad pobliskimi domami, teraz po części wtopiony w otoczenie, w zieleń. Kilkadziesiąt metrów w dół, k u szosie - brzydki, za to duży budynek straży pożarnej, w bok - szkoła. Przed wejściem trawnik i luka w koro­ nie drzew, przez którą widać rozległy, przepiękny kraj­ obraz. W dali, już niewidoczna, Chabówka, Rabka. Dwór odbudowali Pilchowic Ania, pełna gracji, poetessa, z wielką prostotą i kunsztem śpiewająca stare kancjonały, pieśni renesansu i średniowiecza, i jej mąż A n t o n i , z gorejącymi oczami, ruchliwy, niewielki, mo­ że dlatego tak przywiązany do lutni. Muzyk. Lutnista, wykształcony w Anglii, istota niespokojna, ciągle w r u ­ chu. Koncertuje (ok. 200 występów rocznie), prowadzi Akademię Chorału Gregoriańskiego, szefuje Bractwu Lutniowemu. Twórca i gospodarz tego domu - Dworu Wysokiej. Przyjeżdżam t u , kiedy tylko mogę. T o jedno z moich ulubionych miejsc w Polsce. Pilchów poznałem w związku z konkutsem na Małe Ojczyzny. Ich siedzi­ ba jest dobrym przykładem dzisiejszego rozumienia po­ jęcia małej ojczyzny. Wywodzi się z ojcowizny, tak jak niemieckie Heimat. A l e po wojnie, gdy pół Polski zo­ stało pozbawione rodzinnych domów, migrowało, wę­ drowało, zaludniało ziemie zwane odzyskanymi - ojco­ wizna straciła sens. Spotykamy jej ślady w telewizyj­ nych serialach, ram gdzie domy służyły kilku pokole­ niom, gdzie stanęły rodzinne grobowce, ale współcze­ śnie mała ojczyzna to miejsce ptzeze mnie oswojone, w którym czuję się u siebie, działam, zmieniam mój świat, tak jak chcę i mogę. Mała ojczyzna to także świadomość miejsca, jego historii, losu. T o coś, co chcę po sobie pozostawić przyszłym pokoleniom. Dwór na Wysokiej to pamięć Żeleńskich, teraz zde­ rzona z rodzinną (Ani) tradycją sienkiewiczowską, to miejsce najbardziej rozśpiewane w Polsce, do którego przyjeżdżają setki i tysiące ludzi z całego świata, muzy­ cy, zespoły, specjaliści muzyki renesansu, młodzi i doj­ rzali. T u odbywają się międzynarodowe spotkania, kur­ sy mistrzowskie, tu spotkałem zespół śpiewaczy z Biało­ rusi, stare i młode kobiety, wzruszone serdeczną gości­ ną, Szkolę Kultury i Uśmiechu z Petersburga, grupę kilkudziesięcioosobową, która uprawiała tańce i muzy­ kę renesansu maski i kukiełki. Wspaniałych ludzi. Oczywiście dwór kosztuje, wymaga nieustannych starań, zabiegów o sponsorów. Ciągle się jest na grani­ cy bankructwa, ale kiedy się wydaje, że to koniec znajduje się instytucja, fundacja, oferujące swą pomoc. My, jurorzy Fundacji Kultury, też się do tego przyczy­ niliśmy, przyznając Pilchom I nagrodę w drugiej edycji konkursu. Dwór się rozwija, obrasta w nowe pomiesz­ czenia, przybyła zabytkowa chałupa, ocalona przed zniszczeniem (obecnie noclegownia młodzieży), kuź­ nia, zmieniona na warsztat, podziemia dworu, teraz wy­ łożone zabytkowymi płytami, które niecnota ksiądz wyrzucił z kościoła, zastępując nowymi. W podzie­ miach tych będą wystawy malarstwa, fotografii. I t u dochodzimy do istotnego dylematu - dla kogo to wszystko? Dla gospodatzy (sposób na życie), dla go­ ści, jak juz powiedziałem - licznych, trochę dla dzieci i młodzieży ze wsi. Trochę, ponieważ wieś i dwór to dwie różne rzeczywistości. Wieś ma dom kultury, pop­ kulturę, muzykę głośną i nieskomplikowaną - dwór aż dyszy kulturą elitarną, wzniosłą i piękną. A l e porozu­ mienia nie ma, to znaczy jest, ale tylko przez Kościół, w którym Pilchowie śpiewają (zresztą nie to, co lubią patafianie), i szkołę, gdzie Pilch uczy muzyki. Tylko te punkty są styczne, wyczuwalny jest antagonizm dworu i wsi, nie taki co prawda jak niegdyś, gdy w czasie raba­ cji Szeli chłopi rżnęli panów ze dworu, ale związany z różnicą modeli kultury, zachowań. Dwór jest na ze­ wnątrz wsi. Pewnie drażniący tą muzyką, której wsi trudno słuchać, drażniący swoją obcością. Nagroda dla Pilchów to była nagroda dla nich za ich pracę we dwo­ rze, za popularyzację kultury mieszczańskiej, dworskiej, za ro co dają młodym ludziom zainteresowanym daw- 488 �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC ną sztuką. Tak jest w większości przypadków, z który­ mi się zetknąłem. Po jednej stronie państwo, po drugiej wieś. T o prawda, panowie kokietują wieś, ale są w swym modelu życia, kultury dla tej wsi obcy. Jest jednak wśród laureatów konkursu na Małe O j ­ czyzny przykład współdziałania jednej i drugiej społecz­ ności. Byłem tam ostatnio późną jesienią i odwiedzam to miejsce, kiedy rylko mogę. Jest to: Nadrzecze Fundacja Kresy 2000. Wymyślił j ą i stworzył aktor war­ szawski Stefan Schmidt. Osiadł w wiosce pod Biłgora­ jem, niedaleko od miejsca, w którym mieszkali jego ro­ dzice. Ojca pamiętano, był doktorem, człowiekiem l u ­ bianym i poważanym. Schmidt od początku myślał o miejscu, w którym mógłby działać na rzecz wsi. Dać ludziom, jeszcze zakorzenionym w kulturze chłopskiej, to, co cenił w teatrze, muzyce, plastyce. Miał wielu przyjaciół w Warszawie. Wraz z żoną, Alicją Jachiewicz, krakowską aktorką o zniewalającym wdzięku, po­ stanowili stworzyć dom, w którym miejscowi ludzie bę­ d ą się czuli u siebie i który się stanie atrakcją dla gości z Warszawy, Lublina, Krakowa, wybitnych artystów, intelektualistów, ludzi ze świata kultury, polityki. Za­ czął najlepiej, jak było można. O d razu od wspólnej pracy Na początku wsi stał mocno już zniszczony krzyż, Schmidt przekonał wieś, by zbudować w rym miejscu dużą, drewnianą kaplicę. Zaprojektował, vvyry * sował, zdobył budulec. Nazwisko aktora, przede wszystkim z seriali i filmów działało zarówno na dyrektorów przedsiębiorstw iak i na mieszkańców Nadrzecza. Pracowali razem, on i miejscowi Już był ich już mówiono o nim z sympatią. A l e dom nie wszystko. Postanowił zbudować duży pawilon z ostra \\ mit?isccm na w\'ster^v koncerty wystawy. Zanro iektowałeo nanrawde cieknie I funkcjonalnie Rozsa' d-a B O temperament różnorodne talenty Proiektuie mała architekturę maluie miał nawet wystawę w la b u k o w s k i e j Korderardze Ale norrzebne hyły nieniaWiesław \ o wielu c z l o w i e k talentach Śniewił i d c n . Urzekła u r z e K i d on go atmosfera dimosrera Nadrzecza aurzecza. op e , ' cperc ą, Y T ą p.csenKą ¿TV neapo itansKą. ' - • i n om .aspie aii jemu. u r u p a starycn KODiet w swycn wiasnycn stro- jacn, cudownycn, sziacnetnycn, zaprzeczającycn są­ dom o norrorvacui. strojom, które s ą w nasze, kulturze najstarsze, niezmienne od średniowiecza. 10 nie byt tolklor wyreżyserowany popis w kostiumach. U c h m a n byt zachwycony. Zadziałał, poprosił zaprzyjaźnionych malarzy, by ofiarowali na rzecz powstałej w Madrzeczu fundacji po jednym obrazie. L U tez m e odmówił, przewiózł je za darmo do Nowego orku. Konsulat po¬ larów zasiliło program fundacji. Powstał budynek nie tylko ładny, ale i użyteczny. Kiedy w związku z konkursem na Małe Ojczyzny przy­ jechałem przed trzema laty do Nadrzecza, mogłem zapo­ znać się z tym, co było, zobaczyć filmy Janusza Kędziora, naprawdę dobre, profesjonalne - dokumentujące z wdziękiem imprezy: teatralne - Zemstę Fredry w wyko­ naniu warszawskich aktorów (Cześnika grał Stefan Schmidt); koncerty Janusza Olejniczaka i innych utytu­ łowanych muzyków; recitale poezji Teresy Budzisz-Krzyżanowskiej (Norwid!), Wojciecha Siemiona; wystawy obrazów Antoniego Fałata, Maśluszczaka, Dudy Gracza. Pierwsza liga, nie żadne namiastki. Frekwencja zawsze ogromna, raz, kiedy byłem, cały dzień padało, ale na sa­ li nie widziałem wolnego miejsca. Przywlókł się w tym deszczu kulawy człowiek z Biłgoraja (8 km). Chciał zo­ baczyć występ, tyle słyszał o tym miejscu. Ugoszczono mi zaimponowało - rolę gospodarzy przejęli lu­ dzie ze wsi. Organizowali przyjęcie, wcale nie skromny poczęstunek, zachęcali, opiekowali się przyjezdnymi go­ śćmi, jako że każda impreza ściąga znajomych i niezna­ jomych Schmidta z Lublina, Warszawy. Program nigdy nie jest sztywny, kiedy byłem ostat­ nio, po koncercie wszedł na estradę wójt, w kapeluszu, wygłosił zgrabną orację, a po kilkunastu minutach wiersze swoje czytała dziewczyna z sąsiedniej wsi. Śpie­ wały staruchy, ale jak! Oczywiście na początek Pieją kury, pieją... spopularyzowane przez Grzegorza Cie­ chowskiego (to teraz ich hymn). Panu Schmidtowi Fundacja Kultury (inicjator i or­ ganizator konkursu na Małe Ojczyzny) przyznała I na­ grodę. Okazuje się, że można dać ludziom sztukę wyso­ kiego lotu, trzeba to tylko umieć i chcieć. Rzepczyno Wieś liczy 200 mieszkańców, z których pracę ma 7. Gmina maleńka, biedna, wśród ludzi nastrój bezna­ dziei. Inercja. Oczywiście alkoholizm. Po likwidacji pegeeru zostały zniszczone zabudowa­ nia, duży dwór, a właściwie pałac, wypalony w czasie wojny, zdewastowany. Z n i m właśnie związany jest pro­ jekt, zgłoszony na konkurs „Małe ojczyzny - tradycja dla przyszłości". Wytypowaliśmy go, jurorzy w Fundacji Kultury, do puli finałowej, dlatego też trzeba było do tego Rzepczyna pojechać, zobaczyć, co tam się dzieje, co zrobiono. Już przyzwyczailiśmy się do tego, że każdy wyróżniony przez nas projekt jest inny od pozostałych, niepowtarzalny, związany ściśle z osobą lidera. Oczywi­ ście w naszej rzeczywistości musi mieć instytucjonalne zaplecze, fundację, stowarzyszenie. Także t u mamy sto­ warzyszenie Towarzystwo Pracy Twórczej, ale w istocie wszystko opiera się na jednej osobie. Niesamowitej. N a pani Zofii Langowskiej. mógł w zorganizowaniu aukcji. Kilkanaście tysięcy do­ 489 �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC Niewielka, korpulentna, wygląda na pracownika frontu kultury, bibliotekarkę. I taką była do czasu, gdy uznała, że może zrobić dla świata i ludzi nieporównanie więcej. Sympatyczna, niepozorna. Dłonie najchętniej trzyma na biuście. Uśmiecha się takim trochę zawsty­ dzonym uśmiechem petenta. A l e w oczach, w sposobie rozmowy ma coś, co nie pozwala zbyć jej drobiazgiem absolutne przekonanie o słuszności swoich racji. Prze­ cież nigdy nie prosi dla siebie. Tego się nie widzi, ale ona nigdy nie prosi sama, stoi za nią wiara, przekonanie, ze Matka Boska, do której modli się co rano, na pewno jej pomoże. I pomaga. Kiedyś, gdy już wydała młodzieży w internacie ostatni kawałek chleba, zaprzyjaźniony proboszcz skarcił ją, tłumacząc, że trzeba było wcześniej oszczędzać, nie dopuszczać do takiej sytuacji. Wzruszy­ ła ramionami, pomodliła się żarliwie, ufna, że jej Matka Boska nie zawiedzie. N o i o świcie przyjechała ciężarów­ ka z jedzeniem, zapasem mąki, kaszy - przysłała ją daw­ na koleżanka, która miała gospodarstwo i dowiedziała się, że pani Zofia prowadzi internat. Poszła więc do księ­ dza, widzisz - powiedziała - jaki z ciebie niedowiarek. W istocie cały projekt, sprowadza się do jej osoby, nieprawdopodobnej mocy działania. N i m jeszcze za­ kończy jedno zadanie, już planuje następne. Zawsze przekraczające siły człowieka. Niewykonalne. A l e ona tego nie widzi. Matka Boska pomoże, twierdzi i dosta­ je od ludzi wszystko, czego potrzebuje. Już raz w ten sposób dostała materiały budowlane, ludzi do pracy, odbudowała pałac, teraz w Rzepczynie zabrała się do odbudowy następnego. Nie dwotku, ale dworu, pałacu. Wypalony wymagał prac budowlanych, dachu, a więc dachówek, okien, stolarki - wszystko dostała od do­ brych ludzi, firm, przedsiębiorstw. Teraz, kiedy oglą­ dam odbudowany budynek, mądrze, pięknie wyposażo­ ny, z gazowym ogrzewaniem, nie mogę pojąć, jak do te­ go doprowadziła. Jak ze swoją niezachwianą wiarą i z promiennym uśmiechem przedziera się przez jaszcz finansowych paragrafów, przepisów? Wolę o tym nie myśleć. A dodać muszę, że w pałacu zorganizowała Po­ licealne Studium Rzemiosł Artystycznych, z pracow­ niami witraży konserwacji stolarki artystycznej ma­ larstwa ściennego i instrumentów muzycznych. Uczy się w nim trzydziestu trzech młodych ludzi z najbied­ niejszych rodzin i domów dziecka. T u mają internat, pełne utrzymanie. Początkowo nauczyciele dojeżdżali i uczyli bez pensji zarażeni pasją pani Zofii Teraz stu­ dium działa już oficjalnie, w systemie ministerialnym a nóziom prac które widziałem, jest naotawde wysoki Młodzież zainteresowana" 'folklorem stworzyła zespół Rzecezvn Folk Band którv koncertuje i "dobvwa na grody na konkursach. Rzeźbi, maluje ' Pani Zofii udało się pozyskać doskonałą dyrektorkę Studium, historyka sztuki. Namówiła ją do zamieszka­ nia w Rzepczynie. Teraz myśli o tym, jak pomóc l u ­ dziom, jak zintegrować środowisko lokalne z działal­ nością Domu Pracy Twórczej. Jej najbliższe plany to gazyfikacja wsi, sieć wodociągów, małe zakłady prze­ twórstwa spożywczego; dalsze - kąpielisko, basen 25-metrowy dla wsi i turystów - ekologiczna szkoła „zielona", ogród botaniczny, lecznica dla zwierząt le­ śnych okaleczonych przez kłusowników, skansen, stadnina z końmi dla gości, domki dla wczasowiczów, a obok nich ogródki z ginącą wiejską roślinnością. A więc agroturystyka jako szansa rozwoju wsi. Szanse są, teren jest piękny, czysty. A „najważniejszym pro­ blemem - jak pisze pani Zofia w aplikacji do Fundacji Kultury - jest ukazanie ludziom, że są potrzebni, przy­ wrócenie i m wiary w swoje możliwości, odbudowanie dobrosąsiedzkich stosunków i solidarność, stworzenie więzi międzyludzkiej dla wspólnego budowania przy¬ szłości, odkrywania swych korzeni i szukanie dawno zapomnianych tradycji". Nie wiem, na ile te pomysły znajdują akceptację. Być może zaskakują, a nawet niepokoją. Czy uda się zaktywizować środowisko tak już porażone bezczynno­ ścią, inercją? Znam przykłady (także z Małych O j ­ czyzn), kiedy rozmach działania jednostki kończył się porażką, a przecież zamierzenia pani Zofii przekraczają wyobraźnię mieszkańców wsi. Jedyne, co uspokaja, to wiara w moc jej wiary. Niezależnie jednak od tego, jak potoczą się losy pani Zofii, jej przykład pokazuje, ile może zdziałać jednostka, zwłaszcza niepowtarzalna i niezastąpiona. P.S. Pani Langowska została oczywiście laureatką piątej edycji konkursu Małych Ojczyzn. Sztokholm Przyjaciele zaprosili mnie do Szwecji i ażebym się nie nudził, kupili mi bilet na koncert zespołów cygańskich i węgierskich. Właśnie wtedy, na tym widowisku, H o n wedzi z Węgierskiego Zespołu Tańca sprawili, że pomy­ ślałem o Tadeuszu Sygietyńskim i początkach „Mazow­ sza". Zespół węgierski tańczył w strojach stylizowanych na codzienne, mężczyźni klepali się bez przerwy, głośno i szybko, w sztylpy, uda, ręce - gdzie się dało. Trzepot tego klepania znudził mnie juz po kilku minutach, coś, co ma sens na weselu czy zabawie, zamienia się na es­ tradzie w greps choreograficzny. Szwedji patrzyli jednak w zachwycie - porywał ich temperament tancerzy, wygibasy nóg, wykręcanych jak tylko się dało, a nawet i bardziej. Chłopcy klepali się w zapamiętaniu, raz wy¬ żej, raz niżej. Ale pojawiły się dziewczyny, wiotkie, smu¬ kłe, wdzięczne w ruchach. Teraz chłopcy obskakiwali je, zapamiętali w tym tupaniu i trzepocie dłoni uderza­ jących w cholewki. Zatracali się w rym wirze, w podnie­ cających rytmach ^ one spokojne, opanowane Wład- 490 �Aleksander Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJU I OKOLIC cze. Już po chwili wiedziało się, że to one tu panują. Fi­ gurynki z Tanagry, tancerki z waz greckich. Połączenie niewinności z rozwagą. Kuszące tą demonstracyjną nie­ winnością. Więc chłopcy prześcigają sami siebie, ska­ czą, zwijają się, demonstrują swoją jumośc. A one spo­ kojne, ruchy pełne wdzięku, kuszące błyskiem oka i de­ likatnym trzepotem rączek. K t o je tego nauczył? Kuszą, a zarazem patrzą trzeźwo. Wybierają. Czują, że jeśli się chce zachować urok dziewiczości, trzeba być piekielnie rozważnym. Prowokować, ale nie dać siebie sprowoko­ wać. Trzymać zmysły na postronku. T o pewnie dlatego tak często czytamy o dziewczy­ nach, które podporządkowywały sobie chłopców, zachę­ cając ich do czynów okrutnych. Byli w ich rękach niemal bezwolni. A one rządziły. Zimne, piękne, pociągające. Taniec porywał. Widz wciśnięty w fotel czul przeni­ kający go rytm, a oni tam - na scenie - dyszeli ciężko, zapamiętani w ruchu, podczas gdy one - wiejskie bo­ ginki - kokietowały, prowokowały - i z niewypowie­ dzianą gracją powstrzymywały zalotników. Patrzyłem na scenę, juz wciągnięty w tę grę, poddany rytmowi muzyki. O d dawna nie widziałem tak wyraziście zaryso­ wanej granicy żywiołów: kobiecego i męskiego. Podda­ łem się urokowi dziewczęcości, której nikt nie uczy, która płynie z doświadczeń pokoleń. Pomyślałem o symbolice wianka, welonu. Pomyślałem o tym, jak chciał widzieć „Mazowsze" Tadeusz Sygietyński, co go szczególnie wzruszało w naszym folklorze. Często ostatnio myślę o Tadeuszu, był w pewnym okresie życia ważny dla mnie. O wiele bardziej niż ja dla niego, przede mną otwierały się różne drogi, on koncentrował się już tylko na „Mazowszu". Byłem mu potrzebny nawet nie do załatwiania spraw w Minister­ stwie Kultury, bo tu więcej mógł zdziałać Kazimierz Korcelli (dramaturg), ale do sprawdzania swoich kon­ cepcji, do tego, by przy nim być, dodawać mu energii. Pozornie byliśmy na antypodach, ja, jeszcze nie cał­ kiem opierzony, tracący naiwne złudzenia, on - do­ świadczony, syty życia, już u jego schyłku. Ale ani alko­ hol, ani lata estrady, kabaretów, nocy spędzonych w „Adrii" i podrzędnych knajpach nie zabiły w nim wrażliwości. Wewnętrznej czystości. Zjednywała mnie jego żarliwość, pasja w tworzeniu zespołu. T o był cel, do którego dążył. Mira Zimińska mówiła m i , że już na wiele lat przed wojną chciał pokazać na scenie folklor, który znał z Kolberga i własnych zapisów we wsiach kurpiowskich. Znałem partytury jego trzech szkiców symfonicznych, na moją prośbę wykonał dwa z nich (oberka i mazura) W i t o l d Rowicki z warszawską Fil­ harmonią. Ale na próbie. Po niej uznaliśmy, że to jed­ nak nie jest odpowiednie miejsce dla tej muzyki. Sygie­ tyński miał ogromny talent, komponował piękne me­ lodyjne piosenki ale w większych formach nie czuł się dobrze miał kłopoty z instrumentacją (mimo dawnych 491 studiów u Weberna). Nie pociągały go eksperymenty, w folklorze cenił przede wszystkim dwa żywioły: melodyczność i rytm. Nie szukał, jak np. Karol Szymanow­ ski czy Andrzej Panufnik, inspiracji do poszukiwań to­ nalnych, nie fascynowała go specyfika muzyki góral­ skiej, pentatonika. Najważniejsza była dla niego śliczność, wdzięk pieśni i zadzierżystość rytmów tanecz­ nych. Jeździłem z n i m sporo po wsiach kurpiowskich i opoczyńskich, widziałem, co go fascynuje. Liryka. Ten wymiar szlachetności, który przenika kolędy, któ­ ry tak przenikliwie prosto wyraził Chopin w środkowej części Nokturnu h-moll (Lulajże Jezuniu). W tym miejscu muszę wspomnieć o tym, co przed wojną i tuż po niej można było usłyszeć w radiu. Była to rżnięta kapela Dzierżanowskiego, wszelakie Gęsi za wodą, kaczki za wodą, nic wspólnego z góralszczyzną nie mające W murowanej piwnicy... albo Góralu, czy ci nie żal. Chłopskość pojmowano rubasznie, nie chcę powie­ dzieć chamsko, ciężkie rytmy podpitego pospólstwa. Tego Tadeusz nienawidził. Piosenki, które pisał, były absolutnie pozbawione wulgatności. Czarowały subtel­ nością, pięknem, które było i jest w folklorze, które znajduję też w wielu pieśniach „Mazowsza" - Hej, prze­ leciał ptaszek. Kukułeczka, Zachodźże słoneczko... A tak­ że w tańcach, zwłaszcza kurpiowskich, które znam z pierwszego programu. Właśnie w nich, w tańcach, które układał Eugeniusz Papliński (jeszcze pod okiem Tadeusza). Była to wieś urzekająca, kolorowa, w kar­ bach ceremonialności. Wieś odświętna, idealizowana. Jeden aspekt folkloru. Powiedziałbym - dziewczęcy. Uosabiała go prześliczna, młodziutka Zdzisia Kachny (później - Grąbkowska), ulubienica Tadeusza. Kiedy tańczyła a miało się wrażenie że jest ona do tańca stworzona, emanowała z niej dziewczęcość, niewin­ ność piękno - które tera po 50 latach, odnajduję w panienkach z honwedzkiego zespołu. 7 Tadeusz opowiadał m i wiele razy, jak po wojnie kształtował się w nim zamysł stworzenia zespołu inspi­ rującego się folklorem. Do Warszawy przyjechał w po­ łowie lat czterdziestych bułgarski „Rosną Kit­ ka". Same dziewczęta. Osiem, może dwanaście. T o by­ ło to, o czym myślał. Postanowił więc, że stworzy polski odpowiednik tego zespołu. Dostrzegało się to w pierw­ szej fazie tworzenia „Mazowsza". Przeważały pieśni, niektóre śpiewała grupa dziewczęca, lekko poruszając się w rytm melodii, tak jak to widziałem na wsi ukraiń­ skiej, kiedy kilka dziewczyn obejmowało się i przymy­ kając oczy, kołysało, śpiewając tęskne dumki. Najpięk­ niejsza, najbardziej autentyczna, surowa w swej urodzie była Zachodźże słoneczko... Wtedy pieśni dominowały, tańce były mniej eksponowane. M a m wciąż w oczach te pierwsze występy, poruszające, łzy mi ciekły, gdy przygasły reflektory i usłyszałem pierwsze dźwięki tej pańszczyźnianej Zachodźże... Uważaj, pouczał mnie Ta- zespół �AUćsmfer Jackowski* MOJA MAPA KRAJI I I OKOLIC deusz, później już tego nie będzie... Czego? Piękna? Aury? Cud pierwszego razu powszednieje, napięcie opada. Urok świeżości mija, uśmiech dziewczęcy ga­ śnie, pojawia się profesjonalizm. Ale okazało się, że nie tylko scena ma swoje wymogi. „Mazowsze" stało się najlepszym towarem propagandowym. Tadeusza już wtedy nie było, do Karolina przyjechał ze Stanów wiel­ k i , słynny imptesario Sol Hurok. Słyszałem jego ko­ mentarze, uwagi, polecenia kierowane do pani Miry. Za duzo piosenek, jeśli juz koniecznie chcecie, to niech się to rusza, korowody i t d . Więcej tańca. Cyrku. Tego nie powiedział wprost, ale ciągłe porównywanie z rosyjską Bieriozką, a zwłaszcza Mojsiejewem, wyraźnie określało, czego oczekuje. Trzeba było podjąć konku­ rencję na tym cyrkowo-estradowym poziomie Mojsiejewa, z nim wygrać na amerykańskich estradach. N o , i trzeba było tak kształtować profil zespołu, by chwytał od razu za serca. Po popisach w podnoszeniu chłopców przez dziewczęta zrywała się burza oklasków. Tańce, sceny finałowe, uroda kostiumów to wszystko wiodło do obecnego kształtu zespołu. Wielkiej rewii ludowej. Re­ wii, w której najprawdziwszy jest strój, kostium. Choć i on uległ wzmocnieniu, trzeba byto „podbić" kolory, podobnie jak dziewczyny przemienić w uśmiechnięte girlsy. Wiejskie dzieci, autentyczne panienki wymienio¬ no z czasem na pochodzące z miast absolwentki szkół muzycznych i baletowych. Kicz, którego nie było w po¬ czątkowej fazie „Mazowsza", wkradł się i zadomowił w zespole. Przez łata program koncertów zawierał mój wstęp. Był chyba szczery (nie mam odwagi zajrzeć do niego), ale przyszły lata, gdy to, co pisałem, co ceniłem, zaczęło mieć mało wspólnego z tym, co się działo na scenie. Mira prosiła, napisz nowy. Nie mogłem, nie chciałem. T o już nie było moje „Mazowsze". A to daw­ ne, ze Zdzisią, Krysią Jusińską, Irką Wiśniewską (obec­ ną Ireną Santor), przywołał mi w pamięci sztokholmski występ węgierskiego zespołu. • • • W Kulturhuset dwie wystawy, szeroko reklamowa­ ne. Obrazy norweskiego malarza O d d Nerdruma. Ma­ luje realistycznie i to z wielką sprawnością. Jego płótna, dużego formatu, mają nastrój. A przy tym są patetycz­ ne, i to zarówno autoportrety (w różnych pozach i ko­ stiumach), jak i pejzaże - patetyczne typowym smęt­ kiem północnego nieba. Na tym można by poprzestać, gdyby nie pewien szczegół. W co trzeciej pracy Nerdrum świntuszy. Bez wdzięku, raczej z niemiecko-koszarowym poczuciem humoru. A oto portret od góry jak z pałacowych płócien, dostojny, w złocistym kafta­ nie. O d dołu zadziera go do góry, eksponuje tłusty, babski brzuch i penis, jak palec wskazujący, zadarty do 492 góry. Na innym obrazie goła baba sika, na jeszcze i n ­ nym załatwia również inną pottzebę. Autor nazywa swą sztukę kitschmalaren, czyli malar­ stwo kiczowate. 1 znów dla popisu, dla chleba panie... Żaden to kicz, nie każda obrzydliwość jest kiczem, ale hasło jest nośne, ludzie przychodzą. U nas też wystar­ czy, by na wystawę nazwaną kiczem waliły tłumy, z dziećmi i tobołami. Signum temporis. Nazwij serial te­ lewizyjny ambitnym, na wysokim poziomie - widownia zmaleje, a przeciwnie - powiedz, że drobnomieszczański, kiczowaty - i już sukces ffekwencyjny pełny. Nie­ stety... Piszę o tej wystawie, ponieważ jej ważny aspekt związany jest z prymitywizacją i degradacją gustów za sprawą telewizji, siteomów, seriali, zwłaszcza południo­ woamerykańskich. Wielu dziś artystów umie dobrze malować, także w kategoriach realistycznych, akademickich. Precyzyjny rysunek, świadomość koloru, formy. Ale coś ich musi przecież odróżniać od dawnych mistrzów. Surrealistycz­ ny pejzaż, udziwnienie, wprowadzenie abstrakcyjnej konstrukcji w obraz realistycznie malowany (jak choćby u Henryka Wańka). Mistyka, symbolizm, a także - jak widać na norweskim przykładzie - prowokowanie złym smakiem. Już nawet nie brzydotą, ale obrzydliwością. A dwa piętra wyżej doskonała wystawa, ponad setka fotografii Mary Ellen Mark: Amerykańska Odyseja. Ameryka, jakiej nie znamy, i nie wiem, czy chcemy znać. Brudne, zaśmiecone, smutne ulice. Kosze od śmieci, budki telefoniczne w stanie nie lepszym niż war­ szawskie, ludzie. Właśnie ludzie. Oderwać się nie mo­ głem od tych zdjęć, migawkowych, bezbłędnie prezen­ tujących istotę smutku, beznadziei, zagubienia. A n i jed­ no zdjęcie nie jest upozowane, a przecież widziane w masie mają w sobie wyraźne cechy wspólne. Są do­ skonale skomponowane, zobaczone, ale na innej zasa­ dzie, niż to się zazwyczaj robi. Każde ma psychologiczny i społeczny podtekst. Dzieci przedwcześnie dojrzałe, Murzynki o smutnych oczach, mężczyźni, którzy już na nic nie liczą. Maleńkie dziecko tresowane do konkursu piękności, aktorzy, których znamy z przedwojennych filmów, zniszczeni życiem. Ludzkie wraki. Ale nie tylko treść działa na widza, lecz w równej mierze sposób w i ­ dzenia (i fotografowania) pani Mark. Jedno zdjęcie nieupozowane, trzaśnięte w chwili nieuwagi modela, nie robiłoby tego wrażenia ale już setka zwraca uwagę na świadomość fotografa, na antypozy konsekwentne i po­ dobne do siebie Ciekawa wystawa Już nie po raz pierw­ szy właśnie fotografie zapadają mi w pamięć na równi z ważnymi dziełami sztuki. Wielkie moje przeżycia ostatnich miesięcy: Vermeer w Wiedniu, Velasquez i Goya w Prado oraz Salagado w Warszawie. Niesamo­ wite zdjęcie z kopalni złota, koszmar ludzkiego trudu, upodlenia. Nasuwa się na myśl Piekło Dantego. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/ff8b8a68fed868c04009bfeb5faf0e4b.pdf 26a48f3d69989dcb7000ceec9280d079 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:4804 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1965 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:4459 Title A name given to the resource Spis treści/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1965 t.19 z.2 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1965 t.19 z.2; pierwsze strony Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text i polska sztuka ludowa У I N S T Y T U T S Z T U K I P O L S K I E J A K A D E M I I N A U K ROK XIX 1965 NR 2 �TREŚĆ Anna Kutrzeba-Pojnarowa J a n Stanisław Bystroń j a k o h i s t o r y k i t e o ­ retyk kultury ludowej Anna Kunczyriska-Iracka Malarze l u d o w i z Gide) M a r i a Przeździecka P i s a n k i białostockie J a d w i g a i A n a t o l i u s z Czerepińscy Zespół Z ARCHIWUM Franciszek chałup w 71 79 101 Kalwarii Paclawskiej . 113 Opis zabudowań d w o r u i w s i Nieznanice, p o w . W i e l u ń z 1819 r o k u ( M a t e r i a ł y do dziejów b u d o w n i c t w a wiejskiego) . . . 123 HISTORYCZNEGO Sobalski WSPOMNIENIA POŚMIERTNE J a n i n a Orynżyna Wanda Janusz J a k u b C z e c z e l e w s k i 1907-1963 . Optołowicz Szrajberówna 1886-1963 . . . . . . KRONIKA 12S 127 128 SUMMARY O F A S T I C L E S 129 РЕЗЮМЕ 131 Na okładce: Na stronie, Rycin. Bibl. Głowa, tytułowej: UJ. Fot. drewno Matka Jan surowe. Wyk. B o s k a Gidelska, Henryk Zegadlo. drzeworyt, Swiderski. Л Krzyżka, 8 X 5,9 cm. pow. Kielce. Wl. Gabinet ��KOMITET REDAKCYJNY M g r Aleksander Jackowski, dr Kazimierz Pietkiewicz, prof, d r Ksawery P i w o c k i , prof, dr Roman Reinfuss, prof, d r Tadeusz S e w e r y n ! ZESPÓŁ REDAKCYJNY Redaktor naczelny: mgr A l e k s a n d e r J a c k o w s k i , za­ stępca r e d a k t o r a n a c z e l n e ­ go: prof, d r R o m a n R e i n ­ fuss, sekretarz redakcji i redaktor działu: mgr Jadwiga Jarnuszkiewiczo­ wi wTpóInraTownicy mgr daktor techni^ny Maria K l u k o w s k a układ g r a f i c z n y Jadwiga Jarnuszkiewiczowi T ł u m . : D . R o n o w i c z (ang.ł, Natalia Stasińska (ros.K RED • Instvtut Sztuki P A N Warszawa ul Długa 26 t e l . 31-32-71/4," w . 28 i 2o! W YD. i ADMINISTR.: P.P Wydawnictwa Artystyczne i Filmowe, Warszawa, u l . K r a k . P r z e d m i e ś c i e 21/23. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/3f642fd1f32edbf05b11b6b293d2229e.pdf d76ffc0773d122e1fe910d358d279330 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:4802 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1965 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:4458 Title A name given to the resource Summary of articles/ Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1965 t.19 z.1 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 1965 t.19 z.1; s.65-67 Language A language of the resource ang. ros. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text p O L I S H F O L K A R T Q U A R T E R L Y P U B L I S H E D B Y T H E A R T I N S T I T U T E OF T H E P O L I S H A C A D E M Y OF SCIENCES Mo. 1 Y E A R BOOK X I X Vera Hasalowa — T H E Ż Y W I E C GROUP A N D PICTURES P A I N T E D O N G L A S S F R O M T H E M O ­ R A V I A N - C Z E C H BORDER C O U N T R Y The article discusses pictures painted o n glass about which Jozef G r a b o w s k i w r o t e i n the periodical " A r k a ­ dy" i n 1939, decribing them as t h e Ż y w i e c group. A f t e r examining a v e r y large number o f pictures of this type (blue) i n the museums of Czech Silesia (Opava, Ostrava, F r y d e k - M i s t e k , Frenstat and others) the authoress of the present article came to the conclu­ sion that they were connected w i t h two other groups, very similar i n character (pastel and coloured, m u l t i ­ coloured), and points to the p r o b a b i l i t y o f most of the pictures i n question coming f r o m one and the same workshop, w h i c h she assumes was i n a w e l l - k n o w n centre of pilgrimages, that is, a place i n w h i c h there was trade i n devotional objects and pictures, namely the t o w n of Frydek (on the border M o r a v i a and the Cieszyn region). This is testified by the v e r y large number o f pictures that are k n o w n to have come f r o m Frydek and v i c i n i t y and the fact that people remember the workshop there and i t is referred to i n literature on the subject (Cernohorsky, V y d r a , Boucek). The authoress goes on to show that the workshop, which i n all p r o b a b i l i t y existed t i l l the end of the 19th century, perhaps even longer, was founded at the meeting point o f three regions where painting on glass was practiced: the Silesian, M o r a v i a n and Slovak regions. The authoress makes a v e r y detailed study of the M o ­ r a v i a n region, of w h i c h l i t t l e is k n o w n so far, p o i n t ­ ing to the numerous connections between the products of the workshop i n F r y d e k and the paintings on glass done i n the M o r a v i a n region i n the middle of the 19th century, p a r t i c u l a r l y some of the paintings done by artists of the M o r a v i a n region. The Ż y w i e c group is a collection of typical Frydek paintings of the blue group, b r o u g h t to the villages i n the v i c i n i t y of Ż y w i e c by pilgrims from F r y d e k by wandering pedlars who took their wares f r o m house to house. So it is pretty certain that the paintings on glass f o u n d i n the villages near Ż y w i e c came from t w o sources — from Frydek and f r o m an u n k n o w n workshop that was somewhere on the t e r r i t o r i t y of today's Poland and w h i c h was o n l y local is scope and was m a r k e d for its folk character. Aleksander Jackowski - CONTEMPORARY F O L K A R T REMARKS FOLLOWING THE LÓDŻ E X H I B I T I O N I n the contemporary village there are various kinds of creative art existing side by side. 1. art based on the t r a d i t i o n a l patterns of folk culture, destined f o r the artist's o w n use i n his own m i l i e u , t h a t is, art f u l l y corresponding t o the' usual definition of folk a r t ; 2. art based on the t r a d i t i o n a l patterns of folk culture, destined f o r customers outside the village m i l i e u ( „ e x p o r t " to the towns), that is w o r k having ever weaker links w i t h the village milieu and sometimes contrary to its likings. 3. art corresponding to the present taste i n r u r a l and suburban milieus and destined for those milieus, that is, art of the k i n d mentioned i n point 1. created i n conditions where folk culture is losing its specific character, i n a situation where the artistic tastes of the m i l i e u are s t i l l the same, but are being influenced by the i n f i l t r a t i o n of patterns from other milieus, from the suburban areas of towns (so-called ,,feast-day ort"). A p a r t from these kinds of art, there are also others i n the r u r a l areas that cannot be placed i n the categories of folk art, for instance, the w o r k of the „ p r i m i t i v e s " , that of children and of amateur artists, that is, a l l the kinds of art that represent either extremely i n d i v i d u a l artistic work, or w o r k where the artists copy accepted patterns, keeping to the 1965 various artistic conventions prevailing i n the various milieus. Out of a l l these different kinds of art to be .t'ound in the countryside today, the art based on the t r a d i ­ tional patterns (point 1) is becoming ever less popular i n the r u r a l milieu, w h i c h fact is causing its gradual disappearance, p a r t i c u l a r l y i n fields where i t cannot compete w i t h industrial goods, for instance — smithery, furniture making, clothing, etc. Weaving still remains a v e r y levely field o f folk art. The village people s t i l l make various kinds of decorations and flowers from coloured tissue paper for their own use and also „ p i s a n k i " (painted eggs for Easter) and, to some extend, pottery too. A l l the other folk art products are today destined for the urban customer The existing forms of care over folk art are, i t is true, checking the process of its disappearance, but a definite artistic regression is evident i n a l l fields of folk art, which cannot be attributed t o the fact t h a t the best folk artists are ageing and dying and not to the lack of new young artists w h o are just as talented, but to the fact that the folk artist of today does not produce his w o r k for his own milieu. The mentality, consciousness and artistic vision of the contemporary man is different. Tradition, w h i c h formerly provided permanent foundations for folk art, has not such a strong influence toaay, even on the artists who consciously base their w o r k on i t . This is conducive to the development of individual searchings and calls for more personal inventiveness on the part of the artist. B u t the development of i n d i v i d u a l i t y is not always accompanied by artistic value. The self-taught artist, w h o does not usually have much idea of art, becomes rather helpless i f he tries to depart from tradition and depend on his own ideas. The situation is a specific one as regards carving, w h i c h has always been less dependent on the artistic traditions of the milieu. I n this field of art, the factor of i n d i v i d u a l inventiveness has always played the biggest role and today too, i t is decisive i n producing the best folk carvings. The number of carvers is growing and the artistic level of their w o r k has improved d u r i n g the last dozen or so years, w h i c h is, to some extent, due to the mass purchases of these works by C P L i A (Folk A r t Industry Cooperative) and the competitions and e x h i b i ­ tions organized by this folk art cooperative. I n the present situation, w i t h t r a d i t i o n a l folk art getting less popular in the r u r a l communities and the cosequent reduced demand for it, the problem of caring for this art is extremely important as an essential condition making the production of folk products possible. The institutions taking care of folk art (CPLiA. the Ministry of Culture and A r t , the museums) are taking the place of w h a t formerly shaped this art, namely, the traditions o f a given m i l i e u , and are thus guaranteeing the maintenance of a high artistic level and also a market for folk art products. This assistance has, i t is true, maintained and even re-activated some t r a d i t i o n a l techniques, but i t is not able to check the regressive process taking place i n folk art. But the decline of this traditional folk art is not synonymous w i t h the liquidation o i the specific art of the villages and suburbs (see point 3). This art is aestheti­ cally separate from contemporary professional art. but it does show some links w i t h the former ..feast-day art". Although i t cannot compate w i t h the former f o l k a r t from the artistic point of view, i t is not altogether deprived of aesthetic values. Maria Przeździccka CRACOW — EXHIBITION OF ICONS I N Discussing the e x h i b i t i o n of 15th—19th century icons from the M a ł o p o l s k a region, the authoress of the pre­ sent article draws attention to the great variety and specific i n d i v i d u a l i t y o f these paintings due both to the fact that they were produced i n an area constituting 65 �the m e e t i n g place o f East and West, and to the process of the L a t i n i s a t i o n o f rites and the influence o f the ioons p r o d u c e d b y t h e n e i g h b o u r i n g S ą c z g r o u p . T h e v a r i e t y o f tendencies and trends depended o n the education and talents o f the painter, the patterns he f o l l o w e d , t h e i n s t r u c t i o n s o f t h e c l e r g y a n d t h e t r a d i t i o n a l l y a c c e p t e d f o r m s . I t also d e p e n d e d o n t h e d e s t i n a t i o n o f t h e i c o n p a i n t i n g . T h e e x h i b i t i o n also shows v a r i o u s k i n d s o f f o l k icons, even pictures o n b a n n e r s a n d crosses c a r r i e d i n p r o c e s s i o n s . Speaking about the instructions o f the clergy and the t r a d i t i o ­ n a l l y accepted f o r m s , the authoress d r a w s attention to t h e f a c t t h a t i t w a s n o t u s u a l l y a l l o w e d t o i n t r o ­ duce Gothic o r n a m e n t a t i o n i n t o t h e O r t h o d o x churches, the accepted f o r m s being Renaissance and baroque. I n 1970, i t w a s o f f i c i a l l y s t a t e d t h a t t h e i c o n o s t a s i s was not e s s e n t i a l i n t h e O r t h o d o x C h u r c h . I f i t w a s p l a c e d t h e r e , i t h a d to c o n f o r m t o t h e t r a d i t i o n a l p a t t e r n , i n w h i c h t h e t r a d i t i o n a l i c o n o g r a p h i e a r t f o l l o w e d a set, formal schema. T h i s makes i t rather difficult to establish the dates o f some icons. The destination o f the icons i n f l u e n c e d t h e i r cha­ r a c t e r and a r t i s t i c range. T h e iconostasis, being the most p r o m i n e n t l y displayed, had to meet the highest r e q u i r e m e n t s . A n d i t is h e r e t h a t w e see t h e s t r o n g e s t and longest maintenance of the iconographie and f o r ­ mal r i g o u r s e s t a b l i s h e d at o n e t i m e f o r t h e E a s t g r n C h u r c h . I n scenes f r o m t h e l i v e s o f s a i n t s , t h e a r t i s t s had more freedom i n i n t r o d u c i n g new elements. The icon painters of the M a ł o p o l s k a r e g i o n i n the 16th—18th centuries were m o s t l y t o w n s f o l k o f P o l i s h or Russian origin, more rarely they were monks o f Basilian friars. T h e m a i n centres o f icon p a i n t i n g w e r e : Rybotycze, Przemyśl, Jaworów, Żółkiew and the monastery at Poczajów. The painters w h o w o r k e d f o r the church either collaborated w i t h guilds or got their orders f r o m monasteries o r l a y clergy o n the p r i n c i p l e o f family ties. T h e r e is a l a c k o f d e t a i l e d i n f o r m a t i o n a b o u t t h e S ą c z icon painters, b u t there are m a n y arguments, and examples of t h e i r a c t i v i t y , t e s t i f y i n g to the fact that this g r o u p d i d exist. I n t h e i r paintings the h a b i t of following a great variety of patterns makes it d i f f i c u l t to establish the date w h e n t h e y w e r e p r o ­ duced. I n considering the S ą c z group, the authoress o f t h e a r t i c l e says t h a t t h i s g r o u p w a s f o r m e d b y l a y artists w h o were not o r g a n i z a t i o n a l l y l i n k e d w i t h m o ­ nasteries o f the clergy of the O r t h o d o x C h u r c h , and t h a t these painters started to take patterns f r o m the art o f the O r t h o d o x and L a t i n churches o f various periods earlier than the painters working for the O r t h o d o x c h u r c h , a n d used t h e s e p a t t e r n s m o r e e x ­ tensively. A n a l y s i n g t h e f o r m a l s o l u t i o n s a p p l i e d , she p o i n t s t o the great v a r i e t y o f influences o n f o l k icon p a i n t i n g , Latin a m o n g others, the i n f l u e n c e of c o n t e m p o r a r y devotional pictures and Russian metal ornaments. To s u m up, the authoress states once again t h a t i t is d i f f i c u l t to e s t a b l i s h t h e c h r o n o l o g y a n d w o r k m a n ­ ship o f the icon paintings, f o r the same painters p r o ­ duced pictures destined for various purposes and therefore had a d i f f e r e n t approach i n d i f f e r e n t icons towards the t r a d i t i o n a l elements b o r o w e d f r o m Russo- B y z a n t i n e a r t , L a t i n a r t a n d P o l i s h f o l k a r t . (12—16). Anna Dobrzańska-Pawlicka — PAINTING ON COTTAGE WALLS I N THE VILLAGE OF SAMOKLĘSKI, JASŁO DISTRICT T h e authoress begins w i t h some general remarks on the custom of p a i n t i n g the w a l l s o f cottages w i t h c a l c i m i n e o r l i m e , a n d t h e n deals i n d e t a i l w i t h the p a i n t e d o r n a m e n t a t i o n to be f o u n d o n t h e w a l l s o f the cottages i n the v i l l a g e o f S a m o k l ę s k a . T h e o r n a ­ m e n t a t i o n is u s u a l l y o f a m i x e d k i n d ; t h e f r a m e w o r k o f t h e c o t t a g e is g e n e r a l l y p a i n t e d w i t h w h i t e l i m e , sometimes w i t h the a d d i t i o n o f a b l u e tint, and some­ t i m e s i t is w h i t e w a s h e d i n stripes. S o m e of the cottages have t h e i r f r o n t w a l l s p a i n t e d w h i t e a l l o v e r and the gable p a r t i n stripes o r perhaps i n a d o t t e d p a t t e r n . The doors are decorated w i t h patterns p a i n t e d i n l i m e . M o s t o f these p a t t e r n s are s t y l i z e d p l a n t f o r m s . Geo­ m e t r i c a l patterns are m o r e r a r e l y m e t w i t h , f o r i n ­ stance, patterns o f d o t s , l i n e s , etc. T h e composition of the o r n a m e n t a t i o n depends on t h e s h a p e a n d size o f t h e d o o r w h i c h is t o be p a i n t e d . As r e g a r d s the l o n g - s h a p e d f a r m b u i l d i n g s i n the village o f S a m o k l ę s k a , t h e d o m i n a n t n o t e is large vertical patterns on the doors f o r m i n g a compact compositional w h o l e w i t h the w h i t e w a s h e d f r a m e w o r k . T h e p a i n t i n g t o be f o u n d o n t h e c o t t a g e s i n S a m o ­ k l ę s k a has n o t a n y l o n g t r a d i t i o n s . T h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h i s c u s t o m can b e t r a c e d b a c k t o t h e y e a r 1910. T h e p a i n t i n g is done e x c l u s i v e l y b y w o m e n , u s u a l l y before E a s t e r . T h e r e a r c s i m i l a r w a l l p a i n t i n g s also i n s e v e r a l villages i n the neighbourhood of S a m o k l ę s k a . T h e p a i n t i n g is p u r e l y o r n a m e n t a l a n d has n o o t h e r f u n c t i o n , w i t h t h e e x c e p t i o n o f t h e s i g n o f t h e cross. Maria Gutkowska-Rychlewska — PATTERNED S A S H E S O F T H E 1 7 t h A N D 18th C E N T U R Y NET Net sashes w e r e c o m m o n l y w o r n b y t h e P o l i s h b u r g h e r s a n d n o b i l i t y i n the 17th a n d the f i r s t half o f t h e 18th c e n t u r y . T h e t e c h n i q u e o f net lace w h i c h was used i n t h e i r m a k i n g l a s t e d t i l l t h e b e g i n n i n g o f t h e 20th century i n f o l k art. S i l k p a t t e r n e d sashes, a b o u t t h r e e m e t r e s l o n g a n d a b o u t 50 c m w i d e , m o s t l y r e d a n d c r i m s o n , s o m e t i m e s adorned w i t h gold o r silver, w e r e tied o n over zupan a n d kontusz (over -coat w o r n b y P o l i s h nobles). Cheaper woolen or s e m i - s i l k sashes w e r e w o r n already in t h e 1 7 t h c e n t u r y , a n d i n t h e second h a l f o f t h e 1 8 t h c e n t u r y c h e a p e r sashes o f t h i s k i n d w e r e also w o r n by the peasants l i v i n g near C r a c o w . Barbara Kołodziejska — E X H I B I T I O N OF PAPER-CUTS IN THE REGIONAL MUSEUM LONA GÓRA ŁOWICZ AT ZIE­ This e x h i b i t i o n was a display of the w o r k o f Zofia F o k s , b o r n i n 1902 n e a r Ł o w i c z , w h e r e she l i v e d u n t i l 1945. S h e has n o w b e e n l i v i n g i n t h e v i l l a g e o f C h w a l i n , S u l e c h ó w d i s t r i c t , n e a r Z i e l o n a G ó r a , f o r 19 y e a r s . Z o f i a Foks l e a r n t to m a k e paper-cuts f r o m her m o t h e r a n d u p t i l l a b o u t 1930 m a d e a l o t o f t h e m f o r h e r s e l f a n d h e r n e i g h b o u r s . B u t a f t e r t h a t she s t o p p e d m a k i n g t h e m . T h e 107 p a p e r - c u t s o n v i e w a t t h e p r e s e n t e x ­ h i b i t i o n a r e t h e f i r s t she has d o n e since she g a v e i t u p t h i r t y y e a r s ago. S h e uses t h e t r a d i t i o n a l Ł o w i c z p a t t e r n s : p a p e r - c u t s d e p i c t i n g v a r i o u s subjects, and i n stars. the f o r m of bands and A n a l y s i n g the v a r i o u s f o r m s o f the paper-cuts, the a u t h o r e s s p o i n t s to t h e i r d i f f e r e n t n e s s f r o m t h e t r a ­ d i t i o n a l Ł o w i c z p a p e r - c u t s , d u e to h e r h a v i n g l e f t h e r the n a t i v e m i l i e u , f o r o n e t h i n g , a n d also because m a d e t h e p a p e r - c u t s n o t as a d e c o r a t i o n f o r h e r h o m e , but as m u s e u m exhibits. Ewa F r y ś - P i e t r a s z k o w a — T H E 21st A N D 22nd VITY CRIB COMPETITIONS I N CRACOW NATI­ D i s c u s s i n g t h e l a s t t w o C r i b C o m p e t i t i o n s i n 1963 a n d 1964, t h e a u t h o r e s s f i n d s t h a t t h e p o p u l a r i t y o f t h e e v e n t has g r o w n t r e m e n d o u s l y o f l a t e . T h e m a x i ­ mum n u m b e r o f c r i b - m a k e r s entering for the first 15 c o m p e t i t i o n s w a s 40, w h i l e i n t h e l a s t o n e , 100 c r i b - m a k e r s s e n t i n 113 N a t i v i t y C r i b s . A s regards the e v o l u t i o n o f the f o r m o f the cribs, t h e t r e n d is t o w a r d s m i n i a t u r i z a t i o n , i n v i e w o f t h e f a c t t h a t t h e y a r e u s e d as s o u v e n i r s a n d g i f t s . F o r t h e same reasons, the p u p p e t theatre f o r m is b e c o m i n g o b s o l e t e . O n t h e o t h e r h a n d , t h e r e is a g r o w i n g t e n ­ dency towards jeweller's precision and a w e a l t h of o r n a m e n t a t i o n . The c r i b - m a k e r s , i n seeking new f o r m s , are i n f l u e n c e d b y c u r r e n t events and celebrations. T h e i n f l u e n c e o f t h e 600th a n n i v e r s a r y o f t h e J a g i e l l o n i a n U n i v e r s i t y c o u l d b e seen i n t h e i n t r o d u c t i o n o f a r c h i ­ tectural elements f r o m the historical U n i v e r s i t y b u i l d ­ ings a n d the i n c l u s i o n of h i s t o r i c a l personalities i n the cribs. . �n O / l b C KBAPTAJIbHblH K O E HCyPHAJI H A M3flABAEMbIÎÎ JA 1 • P O f l H O E MHCTMTyTOM HCKyCCTBA TOA M3ÄAHMH X I X Bepa XacajioBa — JKMBEU.KAH I W ü n A M KAPTMHbl HA CTEKJIE HA TPAHMHE MOPABHM M HEXMM TeneHHo M C K Y C C T B O nOJIbCKOH AKAflEMMM HAYK 1965 r j i o x H y T T e o T p a c j i M M C K y c c T B a , K O T o p w e He Bbi- Aep>KMBaK)T KOHKypeHMMM C npOMblLUJieHHblMM TOBapaMM, HanpMMep, Ky3HeHHoe peMecjio, BbinojiHeHMe x y f l o j K e c T - CTaTfaH nocBHmeHa K a p T M H a M Ha C T e K J i e , o Koxopbix B e H H o í i MeSejiM, o ^ e j K A b i M T.n. B 1939 r . nucaji Ha CTpaHHU.ax HcypHajia „ApKa^w" K)3ecp n o n p e x c H e M y SÍMBOÜ O T p a c j i b i o T B o p M H e c T B a a B J i n e T C H TpaöoBCKM Ha3biBaH MX 2fCnBeijKOM r p y n n o f ó . no wccjieTKanecTBO. B flepeBHe B b i n o j i H a i O T c a TaKJKe p a 3 J i M 4 H o r o flOBaHMH 3Ha'IMTe^bHOrO KOJIHHeCTBa KapTMH 3T010 THna pofla yKpameHMH M3 nannpocHOM ö y M a r w , i<BeTbi, flejiaiOT(rojiyöoro), xpaHanjnxca B My3eax HeuicKoił Cnjie3nn CH riMcaHKM, MHorfla ropuiKM. Bce ^ p y r n e BM^bi Hapo^Horo (OpaBa, OcTpaBa, <I>pHfleK-MMCTeK, O p e m i r r a T u flp.), TBopnecTBa BbinojiHaioTca ceünae MCKJiioHMTejibHo fljin aBTOp npMUiejI K BbIBOfly, HTO OHM CBa3aHbI C flByMH ropowa. flpyrMMM, oneHb cxoJKMMM r p y n n a M M ( n a c T e J i b H O ü M n,BeTHecMOTpa Ha pa3JWHHbie cpopMbí 3a6oTbi, OKpy>KaK)l u e M HapoflHoe MCKyccTBo c i ; e j i b K ) 3a«epHcaTb n p o i ; e c c H o ü ) , (necTpoH). 3TO Bbi3WBaeT npeflnojiojKeHwe. 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J te ao SH 2 X y S 3 . a te œ te S eu a s s r ft £- S K eu a > X ^ H a ft o et > _ eu _ o . eu cu 2 c eua eu ce co CO CQet u a co ce a « ? S n C0 CO ÛJ S o te H aiD ^ co eu eu Moa» S 3 co g 'S s s eg u co sta g J a a a a o 3 S s e H ft a co vo ft « X. es Jft e u S OU « el ft . O eu S M :S « Z. „ co « S 5»co¡jio o s • ä 5 es a CO ID •o S-M " o ft§ X co co s 2= co S X o co es a », S S e u a aa s eu C0 i-f etM ^^ ft eu j5 a te co es c o g o cu M n eu co a S O S E s* s -9" co eo a co œ a �< cu S D N W a, o < N U I—I w. I H « r-í •S Ö CP s§ 5 u eö Ul o G >> •a au co 6 .* 3 .2 o n3 fcfl o c ¿a O U Q "S P => I . '-fi < ra <s > r A wS ^ 0 o i tn OJ si P s ° va Q 3 •-) i-i la ? a, o i -n Ä U •i-i-*--- i: a c- S O < N * 4*^ÍM> .4iis44ígg$ � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/12da870f6c562703ad39fe87ea4ff3d5.pdf 7c5282bbb06da68457ef91961a6d109f Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3079 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2001 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2883 Title A name given to the resource Wino z potłuczonej wazy / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4, s.450-451 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Matusiak, Błażej Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Błażej Matusiak OP • WINO Z POTŁUCZONEJ WAZY BŁAŻEJ MATUSIAK Jeden z aktorów, Tomasz Rodowicz, przypomina, ze z teattu antycznego ocalały jedynie słowa, btak nato­ miast muzyki i ruchu. Pracę nad odkrywaniem czy twotzeniem na nowo starożytnego tańca i śpiewu Rodo­ wicz porównuje do przywracania antycznym posągom j ich dawno startych jaskrawych barw. OP Wino z potłuczonej wazy* Zobaczmy, jakich to farb używają „Gardzienice". Jaskrawych, to już zostało powiedziane. Żywioł, dzi-1 kość, wyrazisty rytm - to właśnie jaskrawe barwy. Tak pisze Rychły: „Antyk skandował, bębnił, dzwonił ryt¬ micznie. Prowadzący chóry mieli specjalnie skonstruowane trzaskające sandały. Tak zachowywali się muzy­ cy. Nie siedzieli zgarbieni nad nutami. Widzimy ich w tanecznych gestach. Ich ciało żyje." 1 M etamorfozy to płyta ze wszech miar niezwykła. Wspólne dzieło Teatru „Gardzienice" i Ma­ cieja Rychłego, lidera „Kwartetu Jorgi", ze­ społu inspirowanego muzyką ludową i wirtuoza rozma­ itych ludowych instrumentów dętych. Płyta jest owo­ cem pracy nad spektaklem pod tym samym tytułem, jest jednak czymś innym niż zapis składających się na teatralne Metamorfozy antycznych pieśni. Utwory wy­ jęte ze spektaklu, ograniczone do samej warstwy dźwię­ kowej, musiały zostać ułożone w nową całość i ulec drobnym zmianom. Muzyki starożytnej Grecji - głosi podtytuł tej nieco­ dziennej płyty. Podtytuł zwiódł niektórych recenzen­ tów. Wysłuchali płyty i zawód ich nie miał granic - ja­ każ to muzyka starożytnej Grecji, skoro w instrumen­ tarium pojawia się wiolonczela i cymbały huculskie? Sami twórcy płyty po części są sobie winni. Nie trzeba było w jednym miejscu dzielić utwory na rekonstrukcje i kompozycje, a w innym pisać, że rekonstrukcja muzy­ k i starożytnej jest niemożliwa. Jednak zamiast stawiać zarzuty, lepiej postawić pytania, a przynajmniej wsłu­ chać się uważnie w to, co twótcy mają do powiedzenia. Wtedy okaże się, że nieporozumienie wokół słowa „re­ konstrukcja" jest pozorne a wynika z podwójnego zna~ czenia, jakie się temu słowu nadaje. Wspomniany po­ dział utworów na rekonstrukcje i kompozycje służy wskazaniu które z nich oparto na zachowanym mate­ riale muzycznym któte zaś napisano od nowa Kiedy zaś Rychły mówi że tekonsttukcja jest niemożliwa Drzvnomina że ze szczunłvch źródeł i nielicznych nrzesłanek nie da się w sposób pewny odtworzyć muzyki starożytnej (3recji A jednak nawet po tych wyjaśnieniach problem po­ zostaje. Dlaczego Rychły i aktorzy Teatru „Gardzieni­ ce" włożyli tak wiele wysiłku w naukową stronę przed­ sięwzięcia? T o proste: bo spektakl wymagał dotarcia do muzyki starogreckiej, bo właśnie ona miała być tym, co porusza aktorów, co wyznacza rytm akcji scenicznej. * Metamorfozy. Musie of Ancient Greece, Ośrodek Praktyk T e ­ atralnych Gardzienice, Altmaster i Przyjaciele 2 0 0 0 . Tekst ukaże się w piśmie „Canor". Śpiew gardzienickich artystów zachwyca, to znów i budzi trwogę, przywodząc na myśl określenie tragedii | pióra Edwarda Zwolskiego: „zabawa w lęk i mękę". Magdalena Łoś, która płytę prezentowała w tadiowej Dwójce, zwróciła uwagę na element, którego nie zauważyłem: podobieństwo zachodzące między niektóry- j m i pieśniami w opracowaniu „Gardzienic" a zabawami! dziecięcymi. Tak jak w wyliczankach uporczywie po­ wtarza się wciąż to samo słowo. Dodajmy, że upiorna to wyliczanka, w której wciąż powtarzają się słowa „krewi; na..." (właśnie tak, bo dopełniające „ziemi" dośpiewuje inny głos). T o nie wszystko: dziecięca jest również swo­ boda, z jaką śpiewacy-aktorzy traktują głos, bawią się n i m , sprawdzają jego możliwości. Śpiew - liryczny i hie­ ratyczny, krzyk i szept, a do tego głośny oddech, który też jest środkiem muzycznym wszystko to zbliża „Gar­ dzienice" do eksperymentów Meredith Monk. 1 T y m , co tchnęło życie w zapis antycznych melodii, jest także inspitacja ludowa. Może najbardziej charak­ terystyczny przykład to fragment peanu (nr 5 na pły-jj cie) przywodzący na myśl polifonię bułgarską. „Z trzech kawałków skorup trzeba było zrobić całą i wazę" - pisze Tomasz Rodowicz. I zrobiono to bardzo ciekawie i przekonująco. Ze słabości uczyniono siłę, z przypadkowego faktu styl. Skoro bowiem zachowało się niewiele słów i muzyki, te, które ocalały, można po­ wtarzać obsesyjnie, jak w wyliczance, jak w transie. Takie powtótzenia sprawiają, że fragment Eurypidesowego Orestesa robi piorunujące wrażenie. Bezpośrednio i przed tym utworem słyszymy najbardziej śmiałą kom- 'i pozycję Rychłego, nawiązującą do Ifigenii Eurypidesa.! Rychły sięgnął t u po technikę hoketu, którą można!: najkrócej określić jako dzielenie melodii pomiędzy po¬ szczególnych śpiewaków, którzy w szybkim tempie bio- [ ! ; od siebie krótkie czasem wręcz jednodźwiękowe, odcinki. A l e największe wrażenie, tak na płycie, jaki i na spektaklu, robi to, co najprostsze: taniec bachantek Euoi Bakchai. Taką nazwę przybrało to coś na co I składa się wirowanie tancerek monotonna melodia i natchniony śpiew Mariany Sadowskiej 450 �Bkiej Matusidk OP • WINO Z POTŁUCZONEJ WAZY Satyr grający na kitharze, krążek gliniany Płytę wydano niezwykle starannie. Książeczka, cie­ kawie pomyślana od strony graficznej, obfitująca w zdjęcia ze spektaklu, zawiera teksty znakomicie wprowadzające w wykonywaną muzykę. Znawca i tłu­ macz starożytnej gteckiej poezji, Jerzy Danielewicz, opracował informacje o utworach i i c h przekład. 0 pracy nad muzyką w sposób zajmujący opowiadają Maciej Rychły i Tomasz Rodowicz. Dopełnieniem książeczki są refleksje reżysera Włodzimierza Staniew­ skiego i prezentacja teatru pióra Dariusza Kosińskiego. Płyta „Gardzienic" ma wartość nieocenioną, jak każda tzecz, która powstaje z pasji. Pasji tworzenia, poznawania siebie i świata. Metamorfozom nie dorów­ nuje żadna znana m i rekonstrukcja muzyki starogreckiej. Pod względem rzetelności naukowej przewyższa je nagranie Carapezzy, ale on stawiał sobie skromniej­ szy cel niż „Gardzienice" i nie podejmował się kompo­ nowania nowej antycznej muzyki. Cóż, „Gardzienic o m " nie wystarczą białe posągi i nieruchome figury tancerzy. „Z trzech kawałków skorup trzeba było zrobić całą wazę i to taką, żeby można było pić z niej wino." Pod­ czas gdy krytycy przypatrują się skorupom, słuchacze i widzowie dają się upoić. 451 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/950a52c39d3e582a2950deca693f2e8a.pdf 3929b341d1b86667a88ddba2c0c6a1e1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3083 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2001 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2887 Title A name given to the resource Etnolog w podróży. Opisywanie Chin / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty, 2001, t.55, z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001, t. 55 z.1-4, s. 472-481 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Wasilewski, Jerzy S. Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text jerzy S. WWemlu • OPISYWANIE CHIN JERZY S. nia to przecież wysłuchiwanie czyichś relacji, czytanie opisów poprzedników, budowanie w oparciu o nie wła­ snych wyobrażeń. Czyż nie jedzie się po to, by sprawdzić wcześniejsze wyobrażenia? Ruszamy w podróż, bo trzeba zareagować na ten osobisty sygnał, odpowiedzieć na indywidualne wezwanie, usłuchać powołania, którego głos może po­ chodzić nawet z podejrzanego źródła. WASILEWSKI Etnolog w podróży Opisywanie Chin ' I T T ~T podróży takiej jak ta najbardziej lubię ostat\ Y / nie dwa, trzy wieczory. Nieuchronność W końca, przymus pożegnania przeplatają się z perspektywą powrotu do domu, a gdzieś w tle są jesz­ cze nadzieje i pomysły na powtórny przyjazd. Żal osło­ dzony ulgą, satysfakcją i oczekiwaniem. Ulice chińskiego miasta, takiego jak Czengdu albo Hsian, nigdy nie wyglądają lepiej. W dzień okropnie ruderowate, z irytująco błotnistą nawierzchnią (może to i historyczna stolica imperium albo prowincji, ale Paryż to na pewno nie jest), przemieniają się na noc w świetliste tunele, z zamykającym perspektywę lukiem bramnym Wieży Bębnów albo Wieży Dzwonów. Szyb­ ko zapadający zmrok usuwa przestrzeń nieboskłonu, dramatycznie obniżając pułap widzialności i dając wespół z koronami ulicznych drzew - kojące przykrycie ciemnością tuż ponad głowami. 2 Do Pekinu (w którym dotąd nie byłem) jechałem w gruncie rzeczy po to, by zweryfikować pewną opo­ wieść. Usłyszałem kiedyś od pracującego w Chinach przed laty znajomego, że jeśli w wypadku ulicznym przejechany został człowiek (samochód pojawiał się tam wtedy pewnie raz na pół godziny, ale może był przez to groźniejszy dla nieobytych pieszych i rowerzy­ stów), to nie zadawano sobie próżnego trudu ustalania personaliów ofiary i szukania jej adresu, tylko chowano ją od razu, na miejscu - kopiąc grób gdzieś z boku, na trawniku. Chodników nie oświetlają latarnie (jeśli już, to n i ­ skie i słabe), a jedynie mocne gołe żarówki, zawieszone niby lampiony przed otwartymi do późna sklepami, lo­ kalikami i przeróżnymi warsztatami. Wabią półmro­ kiem mijane w ostatniej przechadzce zakłady fryzjer­ skie, pól-oświetlone różowymi jarzeniówkami i żaróweczkami wokół luster, a młode fryzjerki machają za­ chęcająco, jakby miały do zaoferowania coś więcej niż tylko standardowe strzyżenie, połączone z masażem głowy i akupunkturą uszu. Przyznam, że sugestywna to była wizja. Dzisiaj wiem, że wystarczy nawet krótki pobyt w Pekinie, by znikła jej hipnotyczna moc. Traktuję ją jako zmyślenie, typowe dla ambasadzkich emisariuszy, dodających w ten spo­ sób egzotyczności miejscom swego wygnania. Historie takie z jednej strony szokują niewiarygodnością, z dru­ giej strony wydają się zgoła wiarygodne, bowiem odwo­ łują się do obiegowych klisz (na temat przeludnienia C h i n , braku szacunku dla jednostki) i wyobrażeń słu­ chacza o kraju nieznanym mu z autopsji, ale wystarcza­ jąco już zmitologizowanym. Trzeba samemu przejść się pekińską ulicą, by prysło zaklęcie tej opowieści - oto przecież obok poruszają się ludzie, a nie termity. Nawet przed ćwierćwieczem nie było inaczej. ' Znów kusi jedzenie - powtarzane do znudzenia w całej podróży słodko-kwaśne smaki, do których nie­ prędko wrócę. Szkoda, ze nie kupię już pachnącego, świeżo upieczonego placka z sezamem - ich sprzedaw­ cy poznikali z ulic, bo wieczór nie jest porą na uliczną przekąskę, ale na prawdziwy obiad. A l e coś z „mitu" zostaje, skierowuje naszą uwagę na pewne sceny, wyostrza wzrok w poszukiwaniu wyda­ rzeń, podsuwa takie a nie inne ich interpretacje. Je­ stem oto na statku, płynącym po Jangcy w jej środko­ wym biegu, na odcinku tzw. Trzech Przełomów. Te sła­ wione w Chinach od wieków za swą urodę miejsca, przedstawiane w dawnej poezji i malarstwie, ze starymi tekstami wykutymi w skalnych ścianach nad wodą, ze świątyniami i miejscowościami, w których mieszka dziś prawie półtora miliona ludzi, zostaną niebawem zalane w efekcie budowy wielkiej zapory w Guizhou. Żal wyjeżdżać, bo przecież zniknie zaraz z oczu cały świat. Pozostanie garść wrażeń, które uzbierały się na sicie pamięci po odsianiu tego co zbyteczne, jałowe, nudne. Już się one układają w relację, już wybieram to, co będę opowiadać po powrocie. Syndrom Dżambla opowiadanie jako ostatnia, najprzyjemniejsza część po­ dróży, na równi z pierwszą - przygotowaniami do wy­ prawy. Zresztą obie one nakładają się. bo przygotowa­ Przepływamy właśnie przez jedną z malowniczych partii - jak wszystkie takie miejsca w Chinach ma ono poetycką nazwę „Wątroba Konia i Płuca Wołu", pew­ nie od kształtów nurtu, układającego się w pełne zawi­ rowań tonie. Stojąc na pokładzie widokowym dostrze­ gam unoszące się na wodzie dwa ludzkie ciała. Półna­ gie, bladosine i miśkowate od opuchnięcia, z wycią­ gniętymi do góry ramionami i rozkraczonymi nogami. 472 �Jerzy S. Wasilewski * OPISYWANIE CHIN �Jerzy S. Wasilewski * OPISYWANIE CHIN �Jerri S. Wasilewski • OPISYWANIE CHIN �krzy S. WasitMski * OPISYWANIE CHIN Banknoty dla zmarłych 476 �Jerry S. Wasdewslu * OPISYWANIE CHIN twarzami do dołu, płyną tak pewnie juz jakiś czas, nie wywołując reakcji żadnego z kursujących tam statecz­ ków i motorowych dżonek. Także i my przepływamy nieopodal, nie robiąc sobie z nimi kłopotu. Nie umiem wyjść poza banał zdawkowej konkluzji, że życie ludzkie nie miało tu nigdy wysokiej ceny, skoro po śmierci los jednostki jest wszystkim zgoła obojętny. ba nie przestaną tracić nadziei na ucieczkę przed losem, który wydaje się przecież nieunikniony" - już przed półto­ ra wiekiem tak patrzyła na Chiny współczująca Euro­ pa, a konkretnie pastor G . N . Wright w pierwszym po­ pularnym przedstawieniu Państwa Środka, The Chine­ se Empire lllustrated (1859). Opisy zilustrował stosow­ nymi rycinami Thomas A l l o m , który nigdy w Chinach nie był i nadał im klimat „Orientu bajecznego". 3 Jaką głębszą prawdę o chińskim społeczeństwie mo­ że sformułować etnolog w podróży? Jakie wartości jest w stanie dostrzec ktoś, kto nie zna chińskiego, nie mo­ że prowadzić intensywnych badań terenowych, jest niewiele więcej niż turystą? Co szokuje mnie jako przy­ bysza z Europy i co z tymi spostrzeżeniami mam uczy­ nić jako nieuleczalny zawodowy interpretator? A przy tym - wracając znów do współczesnych kuli­ nariów - obsesja świeżości, głęboko mądra w gorącym klimacie. Czujne sprawdzanie, czy kłute palcem w brzuch tłuste żaby będą żwawo podskakiwać przed upchaniem ich do plastikowej torby. Przed restauracyj­ kami na wyspie Putuoshan, na której wznosi się kilka­ naście świątyń buddyjskich i ogromny posąg Buddy Miłosierdzia (stąd wysepka jest celem tłumnych week­ endowych wycieczek niby-pielgrzymów, czy po prostu turystów z Szanghaju) pływają w miednicach wysta­ wionych na chodnik ryby i morskie stworzenia. Głodni pielgrzymi wyszczególniają je palcem, a kelner chwyta je oburącz, unosi ponad głowę i miłosiernie uśmierca jednym silnym walnięciem o asfalt. Kiedy widzę, jak po dworcowym peronie biegnie do pociągu mężczyzna w średnim wieku, niosąc na ple­ cach starowinkę, najpewniej matkę, to myślę o trwa­ łości konfucjańskich przykazań synowskiej miłości. Chodząc po bazarze, patrząc na rozmaitość fauny, b u ­ dzącej zainteresowanie nabywców, przekonuję się, że Chińczycy naprawdę kochają zwierzęta - pod wszyst­ kimi postaciami i we wszystkich smakach. Ta miłość nie zna ogtaniczeń gatunkowych, jest chyba wręcz ambicją tej kultury zrobienie użytku ze wszystkich istot. Idąc przez bazar w stolicy Syczuanu, Czengdu, mija się dział hobbystyczno-hodowlany z dziesiątkami rodzajów rybek akwaryjnych, krabików pełzających w swych kolorowych muszlach, żółwików i wszelakich reptiliów, który to dział płynnie przechodzi w sektor gastronomiczny. Dobrze utrzymane kotki z błyszczą­ cym futrem będą domowymi pieszczochami, ale w ko­ lejnych klatkach ustępują miejsca mniej zadbanym, prze znaczonym 11 a pewno do garnka. I znów ta chiń­ ska mitologizująca poetyczność' taka zupa nazywa się walka smoka z tygrysem" bo pływają w niej kawałki mięsa kota i węża „Wszędzie w Chinach widzi się ludzką zarhezność. Każde zajęcie i zatrudnień* wydaje się mieć za swój cel za­ spokojenie apetytu. Bogaci i wysoko postawieni są defmityunie uybrednymi smakoszami. Klasy średnie i niższe to zdecydowani sensuaUści. Upodobania tych pierwszych ograniczają jedynie rozmiary ich dochodów, żarłoczność tych drugich jest nkpomiarkowana, a to dzięki niezuryklej ilości gatunków jadalnych. Jest to najbardziej wszystkozerny naród na świecie. Nie ma zwierzęcia ani rośliny, któ­ rych ci gastronomowie nie umieliby, dzięki kunsztowi i przemyślności, podać na stół i zjeść bez groźby dla życia: mięso dzikich koni, larwy ćmy, łapy niedźwiedzia (...) Naj­ bardziej poszukiwanym rodzajem psa jest spaniel: biedne te zwierzęta zdają się szczególnie opuszczone w swym więzie­ niu, nie wyglądając nawet z kosza w nadziei wolności, pod­ czas gdy koty, przeciwnie - drą się bezustannie i nigdy chy­ 477 Każda restauracyjka ma podział na „owoce morza" i „żywe owoce morza", ale w praktyce ta dystynkcja często ulega zatarciu. W syczuańskim Ludingu, w byle jakiej knajpce na ladzie leżą do wyboru talerzyki z su­ rowymi porcjami, przygotowanymi do wrzucenia do go­ tujących się kociołków na stolikach. Właśnie doniesio­ no coś z zaplecza, male rybki (z głowy i wąsów sądząc sumiki) mają wprawdzie rozprute brzuchy, ale żaden weterynarz nie wystawiłby im świadectwa zgonu w i ­ dząc ich żwawe ruchy, nawet jeszcze gdy pływają we wrzątku w moim kociołku, zamaszyście zgarnięte przez restautatora. N a drugim biegunie gastronomii, w szanghajskim Ritzu, podają sławne „pijane krewetki" - przebierając odnóżami pływają jeszcze ochoczo w winie, w którym będą się na naszych oczach gotować. Nieostatnią rzeczą, która mnie w tym porusza, są re­ akcje przybyszy ze światów o odmiennych systemach przekonań konsumpcyjnych. W hotelowym korytarzu wpadam na ttzech przykucniętych młodzianów, gotu­ jących coś na turystycznym palniku. Zaskoczony py­ tam, dlaczego w kraju taniej gastronomii muszą sami gotować. Nie dokończywszy pytania dostrzegam smagłość ich twarzy i sam odpowiadam, że musi to się wią­ zać z regułami Kaszrutu. Potwierdzają domysł i żalą się, że nigdzie nie mogą być pewni koszerności jedzenia. C i gorliwi (bo, jak się dowiaduję, świeżo sprowadzeni do Izraela) Żydzi marokańscy skarżą się, że jako jedzenie wegetariańskie podawano im kurczaka albo w a rzywa smażone na wieprzowym smalcu, a sposoby traktowa­ nia i uśmiercania zwierząt są dla nich budzącym grozę przejawem braku szacunku do życia. �h-rry S. Wasilewski •OPISYWANIE CHIN Żydzi (których, jak wszędzie w świecie, często spo­ tyka się wśród turystów) mają szczególne kłopoty z ży­ wieniem, nawet jeśli są to liberałowie z Nowego Jorku. Muszą zweryfikować albo przenegocjować ze swymi współmałżonkami wcześniejsze indywidualne warian­ towe wybory w kwestii wierności przepisom („wieprzo­ wina - nigdy, owoce morza - tylko w testauracjach, żeby nie robić problemu, ale nie w domu, lody - za­ wsze tak, i t d . " ) . N a prośbę prowadzącego restaurację Tybetańczyka (który jest zresztą rzutkim człowiekiem rozlicznych i n ­ teresów i rozumie potrzebę wyjścia do takich klien­ tów) piszę zachęcający tekst po angielsku dla tury­ stów, obiecujący im jedzenie zgodne z ich standarda­ m i . M a m satysfakcję pomagając człowiekowi, który wspiera tybetańską społeczność w chińskim otoczeniu, ale jednocześnie jako etnolog jestem świadom, że ptzyczyniam się do zacierania różnic w zglobalizowanym świecie, gdzie nawet w Tybecie będą podawać koszerne jedzenie. 4 Miasto chińskie potrafi być odrażająco brzydkie. Jeden buduje przez drugiego, przed drugim, na dru¬ gim. Widać to szczególnie w zachodnich, górzystych rejonach kraju, gdzie terenów zdatnych pod budowę jest niewiele, a jeszcze trzeba o nie walczyć z rolnic­ twem, które potrafi wykorzystywać parometrowe spłachetki między skałami, szosą a rzeką. Położone nad Jangcy-kiangiem na obszarze dokładnie 1 k n r miasto Fengdu liczy n i mniej n i więcej tylko 40 tysię­ cy mieszkańców - niech to czytelnik łaskawie porów­ na ze znanymi mu z Europy wskaźnikami. Porówny­ walne wyniki notują tylko południowoazjatycke mo­ lochy - Bombaj, Kalkuta, Dżakarta; nawet T o k i o ma gęstość zaludnienia trzykrotnie niższą. Takie upako­ wanie ludzi można osiągnąć przez pięttzenie wysokich blokhauzów. Wszędzie goły cement, szarość, brud. Ubłocone ulice, góry śmieci zsuwające się do rzeki m i ­ mo ustawicznej pracy biedaków, którzy odzyskują każdy kawałek papieru, żelastwa, nawet styropianu. Chwila naiwnej futurologu i ciarki przechodzą po ple­ cach na myśl, że to wcale nie jest przejściowy epizod na drodze do porządnej metropolii albo lokalny subkontynentalny wariant, ale nieunikniona przyszłość dla całego globu. wnętrz skarży się, że nawet w tym zamożnym, zeurope­ izowanym mieście ludzie przywykli odbierać mieszka­ nia z wykończeniem betonowym i tak to już zostaje. Prowincjonalna metropolia w miniaturze, taka jak Kanding, nieodparcie przywodzi na myśl koszmarne miasta przyszłości w wersji apokaliptycznej, z takich fil­ mów jak Piąty element albo Łowca androidów. Kinema­ tograficzne skojarzenia narastają, gdy przyjrzeć się wieloetnicznemu tłumkowi na ulicy i na bazatze. Różno­ rodność antropologii, pstrokacizna strojów, niepraw­ dopodobne przybrania głowy, zupełnie jak w Wojnach gwiezdnych - skupiska istot najróżniejszych gatunków, nie tylko sapiens. N o i monstrualne, nieludzkie kalectwo. Idąc w Czengdu wzdłuż Shun chengu, istnej ulicy żebtaków, nie mogę oprzeć się idiotycznej myśli, że starożytne wy­ obrażenia psiogłowców albo ludzi nakrywających się własną stopą tu właśnie miały swoje źródło. Podchodzę do jednego z nieszczęśników (dolna połowa twarzy przerośnięta tak, że sięga do piersi), rzucam parę mo­ net i administruję sobie trening empatii, na wzór zale­ canego przez psychologów okresowego ćwiczenia asertywności: staram się opanować lęk i spojrzeć mu, jak człowiekowi, w oczy. 5 Wieś chińska też potrafi być brzydka. Nawet w za­ chodnich, górzystych Chinach, gdzie urozmaicenie te­ renu maskuje nijakość domostw, poprzysłanianych zie­ lenią, domy są z teguły byle jakie, kryte szarą dachów­ ką, z gołymi cementowymi ścianami. Wewnątrz jest jeszcze gorzej: ani śladu tego obowiązkowego układu ptzestrzennego, jaki pamiętam z chińskich miasteczek w Malezji. Wejściowy hol - wnętrze centralne, pełnią­ ce funkcje salonu ogólnorodzinnego i towarzyskiego był tam uporządkowany p r z e z dominantę domowego ołtarza i symetrię hieratycznych krzeseł. T u jest on równie niechlujnie zagospodarowany jak kolejne po­ mieszczenia (kuchnia, spiżarnia, sypialnia). Wypełnia go zbieranina przypadkowych, rozklekotanych rupieci (szczególnie odstraszają siedzenia autobusowe, z p o r o Z " rapicerką z dermy), porozstawianych byle jak, tak że nawet telewizor nie wpływa na zorganizowanie czy uładzenie całości. Przypadek szczególny: Szanghaj. Kilka lat temu, w szczycie koniunktury, pracowało tu - uwaga, to licz­ ba wręcz nieprawdopodobna - 60 procent wszystkich dźwigów budowlanych na całym świecie! Dziś zostało tylko 20 procent, a i tych nie widać, bo zasłaniają je setki nowych wysokościowców, biurowych i mieszkal­ nych - w większości nijakich, nie składających się na urbanistykę, niezintegrowanych z ulicą. A r c h i t e k t 478 W układzie wsi nie ma mowy o regułach feng shui, które zalecały, by dom „siedział na północy, patrząc na południe". Ludzie śmieją się z dawnej geomancji, a skomplikowane kompasy służące niegdyś do określa­ nia właściwej lokalizacji domostwa względem stron świata, gwiazdozbiorów itp. poniewierają się wśród sta­ roci sprzedawanych na bazarach turystom. Jak to się dzieje, że tylko mniejszości etniczne zacho­ wują przywiązanie do wypracowanej, uporządkowanej formy? W e wsi tybetańskiej zachodniego Syczuanu �I Jerzy S. Wasilewski * OPISYWANIE CHIN Uliczna apteka. Ilustracja Thomasa A l l o m a do albumu The Chinese Empire Ittitstrated, L o n d o n 1859 wszystko budowane jest foremnie. Kamienne domy-twierdze mają nienagannie trapezoidalną sylwetkę wzbogaconą jedynie o talerz satelitarnej telewizji na dachu, gdzie po dawnemu odbywa się młócenie zboża. Strojem codziennym nie jest też wyszmelcowana mary­ narka, ale fantazyjnie przerzucona przez jedno ramię szuba, u kobiet kapelusz, a do tego różaniec albo mły­ nek modlitewny, stale w ruchu, nawet w czasie bazaro­ wych zakupów. Mniejszość etniczna, narodowa - grupa ludzi, którzy c h c ą pozostać w mniejszości, a kulturą materialną bro­ nią się przed znijaczeniem, upodobnieniem do domi­ nującej reszty wytartych marynarek i byle jakich bara­ ków, przed utratą tożsamości. 6 Religijność tybetańska, lamajska, jest poważniejsza niz chińska, taoistyczna. Świątynia Tao, zwłaszcza bar­ dziej rozbudowana, większa, nieodparcie przywodzi na myśl jakieś disneyowskie wesołe miasteczko. Pstrokacizna barw, nachalna polichromia posągów w długiej ga­ lerii, bóstw astralnych, deifikowanych postaci histo­ rycznych, cesarzy, generałów, patronów różnych kunsztów i profesji. Gips, papier, tandeta - nie tylko f i ­ zyczna umowność, ale i myślowa płycizna symboli. 479 W i e r n i składający w ofierze przodkom „banknoty zmarłych", spalane całymi plikami kolorowe pliki pa­ pieru z kiczowatymi emblematami, o nieprawdopodob­ nych, idących w miliardy, nominałach. Ogólna weso­ łość przy wykonywaniu zalecanych praktyk, które zresztą wyglądają jak sztuczki, mające zapewnić zba­ wienie: pokonać długie schody nie oddychając, z za­ mkniętymi oczyma przejść po linii prostej, a przed ołta¬ rzem — licząc do trzech ustać na czubku mosiężnej pół­ kuli na jednej nodze. W lamajskim klasztorze ciemności wnętrza odpo­ wiada chromatyka chóru mnisich głosów. Niskie, baso­ we dźwięki bezustannej, nawiedzonej recytacji tek­ stów. Skupione obchodzenie flgut, mozolne, długo­ trwałe obracanie wielkiego bębna - młynka modlitew¬ nego. Kiedy pochodzę, podbiega lama i pokazuje pra¬ widłowy kierunek obracania. Nie wie najwidoczniej, że ma do czynienia z autorem studium na temat religijnej symboliki ruchu obrotowego. Dzięki C i , Panie Boże, ze stworzyłeś lamaizm. 7 Napisy nad drzwiami antykwariatów, wyliczające co można tu dostać, często wymieniają „cztery przedmio­ ty do uprawiania nauki", bez dalszej ich identyfikacji. �Jerzy S. WasgeuaM • O P I S Y W A N I E C H I N Sprzedawca kotów i herbaty. Ilustracje Thomasa A l l o m a do albumu The Cń.ue.st Empire JHiutrored, L o n d o n 1859 Chińska mnemotechnika - wpajanie cyfrowych go­ towców. Kultura bogata i skomplikowana, a przy tym autorytarna, może być przyswojona najłatwiej pod po­ stacią skrótów, haseł, maksym, odwołujących się do okteślonej, policzalnej ilości elementów. „Jedno państwo, dwa systemy" (po przyłączeniu Hongkongu), „trzy (razy) mieć" (trzy przedmioty chiń­ skiej minimalnej stabilizacji), „trzy naciski i trzy repre­ zentacje" (ostatnie hasła partyjnej propagandy), „ban­ da czworga" itd. - kolejno można tak pewnie dojść aż do „filozofii stu kwiatów". A l e wcześniej jeszcze te „cztery przedmioty do nauki", którymi okazują się: pę­ dzelek, papier, sztabka tuszu i ozdobna płytka do jego rozrabiania. Bie, mo, dzy. je - sylabizuję. - Nie tak; bie, dzy, mo, je - poprawia antykwariusz. Ważna jest też kolejność. Najpiękniejsza płytka jaką widziałem, właściwie pły­ ta, bo to krąg metrowej prawie Średnicy, wykonana z kamienia, pochodzącego ze złóż od wieków słynących z najlepszego surowca, ma kosztować niespełna sto ty­ sięcy dolarów. Szacunek dla odwiecznego wzorca nie wyklucza podróbki. Wręcz przeciwnie, utrudnia zmianę, ale za­ chęca do imitacji, naśladownictwa, produkowania ko­ pii. Chiny są i zawsze były krajem falsyfikatów - prze­ konuje się o tym każdy, kto spróbuje poruszać się po tutejszym rynku antykwarycznym. Terakotowe figury koni i jeźdźców (nie myślę 0 oczywistych imitacjach armii z Hsianu, sprzedawa­ nych turystom) pochodzą z dzikich wykopalisk. O d antykwariuszy słyszy się opowieści, jak chłopi szukają gro­ bów z pomocą metalowych prętów, i „na czucie" od­ najdują je do głębokości 4 metrów. Natychmiast trafia­ ją do sprzedaży, pokryte jeszcze resztkami ziemi. Hieratyczne, nieruchome figury jeźdźców z epoki Han, galopujące rumaki z czasów dynastii T a n g , konie Sung, z dziwną formą siodła - choruję na nie wszystkie, nie wrócę bez choćby jednego, muszę przełamać strach 1 dokonać wyboru. Niech więc będzie to ten koń Sungów - pewnie z dwunastego wieku - brutalnie wytar­ gowany (aż mi żal prowincjonalnego antykwariusza, który teraz zupełnie zamilkł, skonsternowany: nie po­ trafił opierać się dłużej na widok banknotów, ale jesz­ cze nie wierzy, że zgodził się na tak niską cenę, bo spo­ dziewał się kwoty dużo wyższej za taką udaną sztukę, na ogół bowiem dostawcy przynoszą mu proste, nie­ zdarne figurki). Teraz już mój, krępy, szerokopierśny wierzchowiec stoi z dumnie wyciągniętą do ptzodu pra­ wą nogą, z fantazyjnie przewiązaną tkaniną u siodła, istny pomnikowy rumak czekający na bohatera. 480 �)erzy S. Wasilewski * OPISYWANIE CHIN W kilka tygodni później widzę podobny obiekt u nieco już obznajomionego handlarza, który wie, że nie wciśnie m i byle czego i w swych objaśnieniach po­ zwala sobie na szczerość. „A to jest taka dziewiętna­ stowieczna podróbka konia Sungów" - rozwiewa mo­ je iluzje. 8 W dzisiejszej chińskiej produkcji granica między oryginałem a fałszerstwem przestaje istnieć. Nie ma już prostego przeciwstawienia, są gradacje, niuanse i ustawiczna niepewność. Pekiński „Bazar Jedwabny" (gdzie nie sprzedaje się wcale jedwabiu, ale współcze­ sne tekstylia) kaze myśleć o jakiejś nowej, uogólnionej teorii symulakrów. Człowiek Zachodu zjawia się t u w poszukiwaniu dwóch - gdzie indziej niesprowadzalnych do siebie - wartości. Pierwszą z nich jest marka, ten złoty cielec konsumeryzmu, obietnica absolutu i materializacja ideału, której to marki posiadanie wznosi we własnych i cudzych oczach do U ] \ >j | | wybr i- nych. Drugą, przeciwstawną wartością jest przystępność, taniość. Ta druga wartość dyskwalifikuje oczy­ wiście pierwszą. W zamian za satysfakcję finansową przysparza rozterek duchowych. Do jakich uczuć ma prawo ktoś, kto za parę dola­ rów kupi koszulę z magiczną sylwetką gracza w polo? Nie wie, co ma o tym wszystkim myśieć. Nie wie na­ wet, co kupił, bo panuje tu zasada nieoznaczoności nie da się stwierdzić statusu przedmiotu. Może to do­ kładnie taki sam egzemplarz, jak ten do nabycia w ele­ ganckim świecie, ale tani, bo prosto od wytwórcy? Może był on przeznaczony na eksport, ale został wy­ kradziony z fabryki? A l b o to raczej nielegalna konty­ nuacja oficjalnie zakontraktowanej partii? A może ja­ kieś niezauważalnie gorsze odrzuty? A l b o pełnopraw­ na, ale potaniona na użytek biednego kraju mutacja, wykonana przez lokalną firmę-córkę, jakieś Chino-Po­ lo? A może nabywca, spojrzawszy nieuważnie na zna­ czek, nie dostrzegł, że ma on tylko przypominać ten wiadomy, ale jest trochę inny, dzięki czemu ominięto zarzut bezprawnej imitacji? Zgroza, snob pada ofiarą nieuwagi - cóż za bolesna nauczka dla tego, którego istotą jest przecież umiejętność odróżniania, wyszuki­ wania różnicy, wybredne znawstwo. A może produ­ cent poszedł jeszcze dalej, sparodiował znak oryginal­ ny, robiąc świadomie oko do nabywcy? 481 Wątpliwości niweczą poczucie prestiżowego sukce­ su. Absolut zdewaluowany, nie wiadomo nawet o ile. 9 Pewnych rzeczy nie zrozumiem nigdy. Konfrontacja z realiami higienicznymi Chin to intelektualne wyzwa­ nie dla każdego przyzwoitego anty-antyrelatywisty kul­ turowego. Szczególnie trudny jest chyba test plucia. Chińczycy plują wszędzie. Taksówkarz pluje przez swoje okno, pasażer przez swoje. Kelner pluje na pod­ łogę, wychodząc z daniami z kuchni (on przynajmniej ma po temu jakiś zrozumiały powód), piesi i rowerzyści na ziemię, pasażerowie samolotu - do torebek, które na pokładach innych linii używane są tylko w skrajnej potrzebie; na lotniskach, w nowoczesnych, wyłożonych marmurami pawilonach pluje się do koszy na śmieci, ale chyba trochę rzadziej. Najgorzej jest na stacjach autobusowych i w autobu­ sach dalekobieżnych. Ktoś podróżujący po Chinach z zamkniętymi oczami czułby się jak w szpitalu gruźli­ czym - wszędzie słychać odgłosy szczególnie dojmujące, bo poprzedzone długim, głośnym, głębokim odkrztusza­ niem flegmy, czyli po prostu charknięciem. Jeśli to ja siedzę (lub leżę na pryczy autobusu sypialnego) od stro­ ny okna, to mój sąsiad nie będzie na tyle niegrzeczny, by strzykać mi przed nosem i śmiało zacznie pokrywać plwociną podłogę w przejściu. Dobrze jest siedzieć obok kobiety. Kobiety w autobusach prawie nie plują. Pytałem, czy są jakieś tubylcze uzasadnienia tej no­ torycznej praktyki, może odwołujące się do gimnastyki dróg oddechowych, do wymogu czystości organów we­ wnętrznych albo nawet do obrzydzenia brudem doko­ ła. N i k t nie był w stanie podać jakiejkolwiek racji, moi rozmówcy uciekali w formułki potępienia i nadziei, że odpowiednia kampania władz to wypleni. Widocznie nie każde ludzkie działanie, nawet powszechne, jest pochodną jakiejś wiedzy i notm. Rozumiem że „oni" wietzą w co innego niż „my" proszę bardzo, niech sobie wierzą w smoki, prądy ziem­ ne, nieśmiertelną moc nefrytu, niech mają swoje war­ tości - ale dlaczego oprócz tego nie podzielają moich, naszych, zachodnich, przecież najważniejszych, (chcia­ łoby się) uniwersalnych. 10 Za Chinami się tęskni. � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/59707e0f3f87bf708d01eb190cac813c.pdf 853c524d7057c218fedcf3255057e286 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3080 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2001 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2884 Title A name given to the resource Muzyka greckich cieni / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4, s.452-454 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Czaja, Dariusz Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Dariusz Czaja • MUZYKA GRECKICH CIENI DARIUSZ CZAJA Muzyka greckich cieni 1. Wedle starego dobrego banału, starożytni Grecy wiedzieli o sobie bardzo dużo, z jednym wszakże wyjąt­ kiem: że mianowicie są Starożytnymi Grekami. A prze­ cież, zanim zastygli w szacowny monument, zanim za­ mienili się w stateczny rozdział historii powszechnej, byli, choć trudno czasem w to uwierzyć, żywymi ludź­ mi: jedli, popijali, śpiewali, tańczyli, uprawiali miłość, modlili się. Wytrwale zgłębiali sekrety namiętności i tajemnicę pojedynczej egzystencji, starali się opisać sens różnicy między światem śmiertelnych a bogami, którzy byli dmbrotoi, nieśmiertelni. T o więc my, dzisiej­ si, żyjący, rozprawiamy o nich, martwych, o ich staro­ żytnej starożytności. O n i zaś, zostawiwszy nam swoje kamienie, teksty i inskrypcje, taktownie milczą. Stali się, jak to z nie zawsze uświadamianą dwuznacznością powiadamy: p r z e d m i o t e m naszych studiów. Doj­ mujący brak symetrii. Ale chociaż prawdą jest, że to my ich czytamy czy nie jest też tak że w jakiś sposób oni również czytają nas? Czy nie jest trafna teza że co prawda to żywi studiują martwych ale że ci ostatni przynoszą nam lustto w którym możemy się przejrzeć? Bywa że to my jesteśmy materią ich dzieł O dawnych Grekach wiemy coraz więcej, półki zawie­ rające studia i rozprawy o greckim antyku wciąż wydłu­ żają się. Wiele zagadek rozwiązano, teksty uznane nie­ gdyś za nieme, zaczęły mówić. Z poznawczego punktu wi­ dzenia pozostaje wszakże jeden fundamentalny dylemat, którego nie rozwiążą najbardziej wyrafinowane techniki badawcze. Nie wiemy i nie dowiemy się już (przynajmniej w tym życiu), jak mówili starożytni Grecy, jak śpiewali, jak brzmiały ich instrumenty. Zostały nam po nich tylko teksty, tzeźby i architektura. Fonię wyłączono na amen. Tajemnicę żywego głosu i dźwięku zabrali ze sobą do gro­ bu. I żadne narzędzia archeologiczne nie sprawią, że wy­ kopany trup starożytnego Greka przemówi do nas, że „da głos". Kości nie potrafią śpiewać. • - 2. • jeśli uprzytomnić sobie ten oczywisty fakt, można zrozumieć skalę trudności, z jakimi przyszło się zmie­ rzyć Maciejowi Rychłemu, prawdziwemu sprawcy pły­ ty Metamorfozy. Musie of Ancient Greece. Musiał on, 452 mając za współtwórców aktorów „Gardzienic", nie tyl­ ko rekonstruować i uzupełniać okruchy istniejących muzycznych zapisów (a czasem także dopisywać nową „grecką" muzykę), przede wszystkim musiał mieć prze- i konującą w i z j ę całościowego brzmienia, musiał usły­ szeć tę muzykę w sobie tak, by przemienić ją w rilkeański „słyszalny krajobraz". Mówiąc krótko: trzeba było mieć pomysł jak ożywić trupa, jak, najzupełniej do­ słownie, ucieleśnić go, a więc zaopatrzyć go w gardło, język i usta, by mógł śpiewać, dodać sprawne ręce, by mogły zabrzmieć harfy, flety i bębny. Słuchając kilka­ krotnie Metamorfoz nie mam wątpliwości, że wielce ry­ zykowny u swych początków pomysł powiódł się. Zda­ rzył się cud. T r u p ożył. N a płycie śpiewa, krzyczy, szep­ cze, dyszy, potrąca struny harfy, bębni, wydobywa dźwięki z fletu. Ta muzyka oddycha Grecją. Są na tej płycie obecne dwa bieguny starogreckiej muzyki. Jest i apolliński spokój, muzyka przeniknięta miarą, przemieniająca rzeczywistość w kosmiczny ład i dionizyjska furia, wypływająca gdzieś z ciemnych, bez-rozumnych źródeł psyche. Najciekawsze, obdarzone naj­ większą energią wydały m i się te rekonstrukcje i orygi­ nalne kompozycje Rychłego, w których do głosu docho­ dzi żywioł dionizyjski. A więc te miejsca, w których opuszczamy podręcznik z wizją Grecji harmonijnej, ja­ snej i słonecznej, a wstępujemy w świat chaosu, dzikiego szaleństwa i frenetycznego uniesienia. Może w tych utworach najbardziej słychać odległy idiom muzyczny greckiego antyku. T o w sekundowych i trytonowych tarciach, to w obsesyjnej nieparzystej rytmice mieści się niedyskursywna wiedza o tym, czym mogła być grecka mania. T o w tych, obco brzmiących dla dzisiejszego ucha skalach, lepiej zaczynamy rozumieć spazm, szaleństwo gniew śmiech i rozpacz bohaterów tragicznych Złorze­ czenia Medei czy skargę Orestesa Słuchając finałowego Euoi Bakchai łatwiej pojąć co miał na myśli Nietzsche pisząc o żywiole dionizyjskim Śpiewając i tańcząc uka­ zuje się człowiek jako członek wyższej wspólnoty — od­ uczył sie chodzić i mówić i zaraz wzięci tańcząc w nowie trze" (Narodziny tragedii z ducha muzyki) - N o dobrze, ale skąd wiemy, że to, co słychać na pły­ cie jest z ducha greckiego poczęte? Co pozwala twier­ dzić, że oto słychać grecką muzykę w formie, w jakiej mogła ona brzmieć niegdyś? Profesor Jerzy Danielewicz, jeden z konsultantów uczestniczących żywo przy po­ wstawaniu Metamorfoz pisze w książeczce dołączonej do płyty: „Oto spełnia się marzenie miłośników starożytno­ ści: usłyszenia pokaźnej liczby fragmentów muzyki staro­ greckiej w jej autentycznym i pełnym (choć z konieczno­ ści częściowo odtworzonym) brzmieniu (...)". Trudno nie mieć wątpliwości, kiedy czyta się o owym „auten­ tycznym brzmieniu"... K t o i kiedy słyszał autentyczne �Dariusz Czaja • MUZYKA GRECKICH CIENI d- wykonanie antycznej greckiej muzyki i co by to miało znaczyć? Czy zatem mówienie o w r a ż e n i u autentycz­ ności jest pozbawione sensu? Sprawa zdaje się nieco bar­ dziej skomplikowana. Konieczny będzie krótki ekskurs w obszar wykonawstwa muzyki dawnej. w źle zrozumianą wierność wobec dzieła. Także sam Monteverdi tego nie chce, jest przecież muzykiem z k r w i i kości, jest Włochem. Proszę więc wyzbyć się obaw przed vibrato, przed ożywieniem, przed subiek­ tywnością, przed gorącym, śródziemnomorskim powie­ trzem, natomiast l ę k a ć się bardzo chłodu, puryzmu, «historyzmu». Musimy zrozumieć prawdziwe intencje muzyczne Monteverdiego i umieć oddać j e w posta­ c i żywej m u z y k i . Jako muzycy musimy próbować zo­ baczyć na nowo to, co w Monteverdim było i na za­ wsze pozostanie aktualne, ożywić to z powrotem, odtworzyć zgodnie z naszym sposobem odczuwadwudziestowieczną mentalnością (...)" (Dialog podkr. D C ) . Wiedza? Jak najbar­ Mam w swojej płytotece pięć różnych nagrań Vespro delia Beata Vergine Claudio Monteverdiego. Co jakiś czas słucham, porównuję. Z braku miejsca, w ich opi­ sie pozostańmy na poziomie przymiotników. Parrott gtzeczny, nie nachalny, Christie - precyzyjny i eleganc­ ki, Jacobs - muzykalny, finezyjny, Savall - soczysty, wyrównany, znakomicie brzmiący, Harnoncourt - żar­ liwy, liryczny, drapieżny, monumentalny, ekstatyczny. Które z nagrań jest „najlepsze"? W którym Montever­ di brzmi „najprawdziwiej"? W którym muzyka najbar¬ dziej przemawia do serca i wyobraźni? Nigdy nie mia­ łem wątpliwości: nagranie Harnoncourta z Concentus Musicus nie ma sobie równych. Czy inne są złe? Wolne żarty! Każde ze wspomnianych nagrań ma swoje nieza­ przeczalne zalety (są wcale liczni i nieprzejednani entu­ zjaści wykonania Savalla, a istnieją przecież jeszcze na­ grania Junghanela, Berniusa czy Rademanna), ale tyl­ ko słuchając Harnoncourta odnoszę wrażenie że słyszę prawdziwego" Monteverdiego że głębia i geniusz tej muzyki dopiero w nagraniu austriackiego dyrygenta objawiają się w pełni K t o usłyszał raz Gloria Patris z tej płyty ten już zawsze będzie wiedział co znaczy werty kalny wymiar muzyki Rekonstrukcja i wykonanie Har noncourtanie należą (tylko) do faktów z dziedziny m u dziej. A l e bez uwewnętrznienia tej muzyki, bez nasyce­ nia jej własnymi emocjami, do grania zostają tylko nu­ ty. Efektem jest solenna i nudna jak flaki z olejem mu­ zykologiczna poprawność. 4. Powróćmy zatem do nagrania Metamorfoz. Czy mu­ zyka tam pomieszczona, to „prawdziwe" dźwięki staro­ żytnej Grecji? Czy tak właśnie ona brzmiała? Czy tak ją wykonywano? Kwestie nierozstrzygalne z powodów wskazanych wyżej. Skądinąd sam Maciej Rychły nie ma złudzeń: „Nie uważam mojej pracy za rekonstruk­ cję. Rekonstrukcja jest t u po prostu niemożliwa. Nie twierdzę, że tak brzmiała muzyka antyku". Powiedzmy przy tym, że kompozytor-rekonstruktot miał t u o wiele trudniejsze zadanie, niż muzykolog-wykonawca muzyki dawnej dysponujący często pełną, bądź prawie pełną partyturą utworu, nierzadko też mający dostęp do trak­ tatów muzykologicznych z epoki. Tutaj z paru nut, z domysłów i domniemań, została wyczarowana ż y w a muzyczna rzeczywistość. Może więc zamiast zO" bowiązującego pojęcia rekonstrukcji, lepiej byłoby uży­ wać w t y m przypadku pojęcia i n s p i r a c j i , tym bar­ dziej że w jego etymologii pobrzmiewa niejasno tak ważna dla twórców gardzienickiego nagrania idea przywracania życia ożywiania re-animacji (łac inspl rare — dąć w coś nadymać natchnąć) rłr\ nnflimat-nlnoii TY\ J n ym i znac zn i e ' wiecei ę j n iz' nodb p udo wana m uzyk o l ogez racjami „gra na autentycznych instrumentach, w zgo• z praIn/k • kusprawie : d zie ty ą wyk onawczą epo k i" . A le ja Gliwic racjonalnieswoją tezę. Uczywiscie, można by znaleźć naprędce kilka argumentów, ogromna tempe¬ ratura nagrania wynikająca z rejestracji Iwe, wspaniale wygrana przestrzenność chorow, świetnie brzmiąca sekcja dęta, eteryczne głosy i olzer Knabenchor, oszala­ ły Kurt bąuiluz, i t d itd. A l e czy te argumenty mają moc zniewalającą. Uczywiscie, nie. Jak zawsze w tego typu rozważaniach, argumentem ostatecznym i rozsttzygającym pozostaje, bo pozostać musi: podbudowa­ na wiedzą intuicja. Myślę jednak, że tym, co najbardziej zniewalające w rejestracji Vespro przez Harnoncourta jest - trudno tego nie usłyszeć - jego emocjonalny, niezwykle osobi­ sty stosunek do arcydzieła Monteverdiego. Nic z muzy­ kologicznej pedanterii, raczej akcent na walory ekspre­ syjne i żywość przekazu. W uwagach na temat wyko­ nawstwa muzyki Monteverdiego pisał Harnoncourt: „Oczywiście pragniemy posiąść znajomość ówczesnej praktyki wykonawczej, poznać warunki, w jakich wy­ konywane były utwory Monteverdiego, ale nie chcemy popaść w fałszywy puryzm., w fałszywy obiektywizm, Kompozytot nie twierdzi, że zdeszyfrował muzykę greckiej starożytności. Nie udaje Greka. Zaprasza ra­ czej słuchacza do imaginacyjnej podróży w świat grec­ kiej fonosfery przefiltrowanej przez wrażliwość współ­ czesnego muzyka. Słuchając płyty obcujemy tedy z „muzykologią światów możliwych", wobec których najbardziej stosowna wydaje się kategoria prawdopo­ dobieństwa, a nie prawdy czy autentyczności. Ważne jest co innego. Niezależnie od opinii fachow­ ców, którzy - nie da się wykluczyć - zaczną precyzyjnie odmierzać linijką odległość jaka dzieli muzykę Meta­ morfoz od domniemanej Prawdy Historycznej, ten mu­ zyczny projekt jest przekonujący. Ta muzyka pulsuje, 453 �Dariusz Czaja • MUZYKA GRECKICH CIENI Metamorfozy. Fot. Zbigniew Bielawka tętni, ściera się w dysonansowych współbrzmieniach. Naprawdę żyje. Nie dysponujemy, jak dotąd, wehikułem czasu. Nie dowiemy się już jak rzeczywiście btzmiała muzyka Monteverdiego, muzyka średniowieczna, a tym bar­ dziej muzyka starogrecka. W naszym odniesieniu do minionych tradycji duchowych zawsze będziemy skaza­ n i na niebezpieczeństwa dwóch skrajnych postaw, za­ wsze będziemy musieli dryfować między naiwnością kustosza-archiwisty, wierzącego, że możliwe jest niekonfliktowe ustalenie „jak to było naprawdę" a swawo­ lą badacza-prezentysty, który nie licząc się zupełnie z oporem materii, wpisuje w historyczny przekaz głów¬ nie własne projekcje. Co lepsze? Jeszcze raz Harnoncourt: „Z dwojga złego lepsze są już wykonania historycz­ nie całkiem fałszywe, ale żywe muzycznie" (Muzyk mową dźwięków). W miejsce archiwalnej martwoty, w miejsce złudy autentyzmu, hermeneutyczne z ducha, twórcze p t z y s w o j e n i e . D o takiego właśnie mode­ lu czytania znaków przeszłości bez wątpienia należą gardzienickie Metamorfozy. ' „Lękać się chłodu...", przestrzegał Harnoncourt. Co jak co, ale zmora zimnej muzykologicznej poprawności i pedantycznego historyzmu temu nagraniu nie grozi, j � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/17744931e9653b73c9a771fe4ad249c4.pdf 1e25a3c1619f681a268306d01247d118 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:3081 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2001 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2885 Title A name given to the resource Metamorfozy albo Złoty Osioł / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty 2001 t.55 z.1-4, s.455-457 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Staniewski, Włodzimierz Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Instytut Sztuki PAN Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Włodzimierz Staniewski • METAMORFOZY ALBO ZŁOTY OSIOŁ 1. R O D Z I N A P L A T O Ń S K A WŁODZIMIERZ My, członkowie platońskiej rodziny, znamy to t y l ­ ko, co uroczyste, tadosne, święte, wzniosłe, niebiań­ skie. Wznosimy się w rejony wyżej położone od same­ go nieba i zajmujemy miejsce w najwyższym punkcie wierzchołka świata. Przeczytajcie w Fajdrosie nastę­ pujące słowa: „Miejsce ponadniebne; wierzchołek nieba". Metamorfozy albo Złoty Osioł Synopsis Zrozumcie, k i m jest Bazyleus, nazwany tak po raz pierwszy przez Platona: królem większym niż wszystko, który jest wszystkim i wszystko dzięki niemu istnieje. i - D l a tego, k i m rządzi namiętność, jest rzeczą ko­ nieczną czerpać dla siebie z umiłowanego jak najwięcej rozkoszy. Temu, kto jest chory, wszystko jest przyjem­ ne, co nie stawia oporu; to natomiast, co jest silniejsze lub równie silne, jest m u nienawistne. K t o miłuje, nie znosi chętnie umiłowanego ani gdy ten jest silniejszy od niego, ani gdy m u dorównuje, lecz ciągle usiłuje uczynić go lichszym i pośledniejszym. Kim jest ów Bazyleus? Przyczyną, mózgiem i źródłem początku, najwyższym twórcą, najwyższym zbawicielem. Ale twórcą twotzącym bez wysiłku, zbawicielem zba­ wiającym bez trudu. K i m jest ów Bazyleus, którego czczę? Nawet gdyby zapytał sam prokonsul, k i m jest mój Bóg, nie odpowiem. [Fragment Apologii Apulejusza] 2. Pieśń LYTANEO SIGATO - najwcześniej¬ szy hymn chrześcijański, jeszcze w zapisie staro-greckim, wzorce melodyczne orientalne-syryjskie. Papirus z O x y r h y n c h u s , I I w i e k n.e. [...] Ü - T Ä - N E - Ö SlGÄTÖ, MED' ASTRA PHAESPHÓRA LAMPESTHÖN, APOLEIPÓNTON RHIPAI PNOIÖN, PEGAI POTAMÖN RHOTHIÖN PÄSAI. HUMNOÜNTÖN D'HEMÖN PATERÄ K ' H U I O N K'HÄGION PNEÜMA, PÄSAI DYNÄMEIS APIPHÖNOÜNTÖN AMEN, A M E N KRÄTOS, AlNOS AEI K A I DÓKSA THEÖI DÖTERI MONÖI PÄNTÖN AGATHÖN: AMEN, AMEN. [Tłumaczenie (fragment): Niech nastąpi cisza, niech wszystkie gwiazdy Zgasną, niech zamilkną rwące rzeki i wiatry.] Dialog filozofów - fragmenty Fajdrosa Platona (ada­ ptacja) - Czy należy darzyć przyjaźnią tego, kto miłuje, czy tego, kto nie miłuje? Gdy mowa o miłości, to jaka ona mianowicie jest? Jaką ona ma moc? Czy ona niesie po­ żytek, czy szkodę? - Każdemu wiadomo, że miłość jest pewnego rodza­ ju pożądaniem. A l e wiemy również, że ci, którzy nie miłują, pożądają rzeczy pięknych. Co przeto odróżnia miłującego od nie miłującego? - Przekonanie, które wiedzie k u najlepszemu i nazy­ wa się opanowaniem od pożądania, które bezrozumnie wyrywa się k u rozkoszy i zwie się namiętnością. - Namiętność ma wiele imion; wiele odgałęzień i odmian. STANIEWSKI - Knuje, aby umiłowany był m u całkowicie oddany i całkowicie uzależniony od niego; dlatego, że taki był­ by najmilszy dla niego, choć najbardziej zgubny dla sie­ bie samego? Człowiek przeto opętany miłością nie jest w żadnej mietze pożytecznym opiekunem i towarzy­ szem w sprawach umysłu? - T o jest oczywiste i nie ma się co w to zagłębiać, lecz poprzestając na pobieżnej wzmiance przejść do czego innego. - Nieprawdziwe jest twierdzenie, iż należy okazywać przychylność temu raczej, kto nie miłuje dlatego wła­ śnie, że kto miłuje jest niespełna rozumu, a tamten zaś jest ptzy zdrowych zmysłach. Gdyby to bowiem było oczywiste, że odchodzenie od zmysłów jest całkowicie złe - to by to było może i dobrze powiedziane - ale wła­ śnie największe z dóbr dostają się nam dzięki stanom odurzenia, jeżeli są one jednak dane jako dat bogów. - I to dlatego godzi się przypomnieć, że i ci spośród starożytnych, którzy nadawali nazwy, sądzili że szaleń­ stwo nie jest ani czymś wstydliwym ani hańbiącym? - Tak, starożytni za piękniejszy uznawali szał niż stan trzeźwości, jako ten pierwszy pochodzący od bo­ gów, ten drugi od ludzi. Zdarzały się szaleństwa przepo­ wiadające wyzwolenie, o ile uciekną się do modlitw i wtajemniczeń boskich. Stąd to właśnie sięganie do oczyszczeń i wtajemniczeń boskich czyni tego, kto ich dostąpił, ozdrowieńcem teraz i na przyszłość, znajdując dla naprawdę szalonego i nawiedzonego wyzwolenie od obecnych bied. 455 - Jest nawiedzenie przez muzy i szał ogarniający dusze wrażliwe i czyste, porywający w natchnienie, któte wyraża się w pieśniach? - K t o by bez natchnienia dobijał się do btam pieśniarstwa w przekonaniu mianowicie, że do tego, aby �Włodzimierz Staniewski * METAMORFOZY ALBO ZŁOTY OSIOŁ być pieśniarzem, wystarczy rzemiosło, przekona się, że on sam jest pozbawiony iskry bożej i że pieśniarstwo człowieka trzeźwego nie dorównuje pieśniarstwu czło­ wieka natchnionego... Tyle więc, a nawet więcej mam do powiedzenia o pięknych dziełach natchnie­ nia. Bogowie dla dobra zsyłają wielbicielowi i umiło­ wanemu Erosa! - Tobie, przychylny nam Erosie, oddajemy tę oto pieśń przebłagalną i pochwalną. - O ile to było w naszej mocy! -Najpiękniejszą i najlepszą... - Zresztą zmuszeni też byliśmy posługiwać się pew­ nymi zwrotami górnolotnymi! w nastroju łaski dła usłużnych muzyków Bachusa i wzmocnij władzę Rzymian wiecznie trwającą mocą tak, by zwycięsko kwitła.] 5. Pieśń ASKLEPIONz Epidauros. I I I w . n . e. Inskrypcja ASKLEPION AEISOMEN 6. Pieśń O BACCHOUAteneusz, I I w . p.n.e. Inskrypcja na ścianie skarbca w Delfach, frag. menty I i I I H y m n u Delfickiego. - Nie umniejszaj nam w gniewie... - Umiejętności miłowania - I spraw, iżbym się cieszył wśród pięknych ludzi - Jeszcze większym niż dotychczas uznaniem - J e ż e l i coś powiedzieliśmy, coś niemiłego HODE TEKHNlTÓN PRÓPAS HESMÓS ATTHIDA LAKHÓN AGLAIZEI KLUTÓN PAIDA MEGALOU DIÓS: SOI EPOR' AKRONIPHETÓNDE PAGON, AM¬ BROTH* H O U PASI T H N A T O I S PROPHAINE1S LO­ GIA [...] - Spraw, abyśmy zaprzestali tego rodzaju mów I zwrócili się k u umiłowaniu mądrości I w pełni oddali się w życiu miłości Zgodnie z zasadami filozofii - Erosie!!! 7. Pieśń ALU Ó PHOIBE - Limeniusz, I I w. p.n.e. Drugi H y m n D e l f i c k i - fragment. 3. Pieśń HOSONZESPieśń ze steli Seikilosa z A i d i n , I I I w i e k przed naszą erą. 8. Fragment zapisu z papirusu z Oxyrhynchus w tłumaczeniu n a angielski: COME CHILD... WHO ARE YOU SAYING THIS TOl WITH ME; DAETH... HÓSON DZÉS PHAÍNOU, MEDÉN HÓLÓS SÜ LUPOÚ, PROS OLÍGON ESTI TÓ DZÉN, T Ó TÉLOS H O KHRÓNOS APAITEÍ. [Tłumaczenie: Raduj się człowieku, lśnij Ciesz się życiem Życie dane jest nam na krótko Czas zażąda jego zwrotu.] 4. Pieśń ALU Ó PHOIBELimeniusz, I I w i e k p.n.e. Pieśń procesyjna. Pean. Drugi H y m n D e l ­ ficki - fragment. ALL' Ó PHOIBE, SÓIZE THEÓKTISTON PALLA­ DOS ÁSTU K A I L A O N KLEINÓN, SÚN TE T H E A TÓKSON DESPÓTI KRESÍÓN KUNÓN T'ÁRTEMIS EDÉ L A T O KÜDÍSTA; K A I NAÉTÁS DELPHÓN TEMELElTH' HÁMA TÉKNOIS, BÍOISI, DÓMASIN APTAÍSTOUS, BÁKKHOU T H ' HlERONiKAISIN EUMENElS MÓLETE PROPÓLOISI, T A N TE DORÍSTEPTON KÁRTEÍ RHOMAÍÓN A R K H A N AÚKSET' AGERÁT O I THÁLLOUSAN PHERENlKAN. [Tłumaczenie: O Febusie, chroń boskość Pałłas - silnego miasta i sławnych łudzi. I Ciebie również, bogini Artemido, Pani kreteńskich łuczników i łowczych ogarów, i strzeż miesz­ kańców Delf, ich domy, rodziny i dobytek. Przybądź 9. Pieśń MET EMOISI - Modlę się, z Ińgenii wAulidzie Eurypidesa, V w . p.n.e. MET' EMOI MET' EMOlSI TEKNON TEKNOIS ELPIS HADE POT' ELTHOI, H O I A N H A I POLUKHRUSOI [•••] 'TIS A R A M ' EUPLOKAMOU KÓMAS RHUMA DAKRUÓEN TANUSAS GAS PATRIAS OLOMENAS APOLOTIEl? 10. Pieśni AEIDE MOUSA - autor nieznany i KALLIOPEIA - Mesomedes, I I w . p.n.e. Inwo­ kacje do Muz, do Kaliope i do Apollina. AElDE MOUSA M O I PHILE, MÓLPES D'EMES KAT A R K H O U ; AURE DE SÓN AP' ALSEON EMAS PHREAS DONEITO. KALLIOPEIA, SOPHA MOUSÓN PROKATHAGETI TERPNÓN, K A I SOPHE MUSTODÓTA, LATOUS GO­ NE, DELIE PAIAN, EUMENElS PARESTE M O I . 11. Pieśń M E L I P N O O N - Limeniusz, I I w. p.n.e. Drugi H y m n D e l f i c k i - fragment. MELIPNON DE LIBUS A U D A N KHEON LOTOS ANEMELPEN H A D E I A N ÓPA MEIGNUMENOS AIÓ- 456 �I VMotfcmuCTj Sumiewski * METAMORFOZY ALBO ZŁOTY OSIOŁ LOIS KITHARJOS MELESIN, H A M A D' ÍAKHEN PETROKATOÍKETOS ÁKHO PAIAN, HE PAIAN. [Tłumaczenie: Sącząc miodem tchnący głos, fujarka libijska śpiewa słodko, współbrzmiąc z migotliwymi tonami kitary, a Echo, które mieszka pomiędzy skalami, przyłącza się do tej świę­ tej pieśni.] 12. Pieśń A T T H I S M E G A L O P O L I S - pean Ateneusza, I I w. p.n.e. Pierwszy H y m n Delficki fragment EN KŁUTA MEGALOPOLIS ATHTHÍS EUKHAIEÍSI, PHERÓPLOIO NAÍOUSA TRITÓÓNÍDOS DÁPEDON ÁTHRAUSTON! HAGÍOIS DÉ BÓMOIOISIN HÁPHA1STOS A I E Í T H E I NÉON TAÚRON. [Tłumaczenie: O wielka Attyko, święte, niezdobyte ziemie bogini Ate­ ny, u twych świętych ołtarzy Hefajstos pali udźce młodych byków.] 13. Histeria Psyche. 14. Pieśń PARNASIAN Limeniusz, I I w. p.n.e. ALLÁ KHRESMOIDÓN HÓS ÉKHEIS TRÍPODA, BAÍNT EPÍ THEOSTIBÉA T A N DE PARNÁSÍAN DEIRADA PHILÉNTHEON. 15. Pieśń YOU ARE BROKEN - słowa H o ­ ward Brenton, muzyka - Maciej Rychły. Do granicy śmierci doszedłem i progów Prozerpiny dotknąłem. A wróciłem przez bezdnie wszystkich ży­ wiołów. W głębokiej nocy widziałem słońce Ślepiącym blaskiem jaśniejące, patrzyłem w oczy potęgom piekiel­ nym i niebieskim potęgom i do stóp ich czołem uderzy­ łem. Usłyszałeś tedy ale, chocieś usłyszał, trzeba, żebyś nie rozumiał. O Ty, święta i wieczna rodzaju człowieczego opie­ kunko. Ty, co swą szczodrą opieką śmiertelnych za­ wsze otaczasz i słodkie matki współczucie masz dla niedoli nieszczęśliwych! Nie masz dnia ani nocy, ani chwili nawet najdrobniejszej, która by T w y c h dobro­ dziejstw była próżna. Ty ludzi na lądach i morzach osłaniasz, burze ich życia zażegnywasz, dłoń i m zbawczą podajesz, tę dłoń, którą rozplątujesz wątki przez los nierozwikłane - zda­ wałoby się - poplątane, która uciszasz huragany, jakie naszczuwa dola i która unieszkodliwiasz gwiazd zgub­ ne obroty. Za przyziemny jest duch mój, bym Cię wychwalić zdolił - za nędzna ma ojcowizna, bym Cię uczcić mógł ofiarami, jakie C i należne, ani m i starczy słów, bym opowiedział, co przed T w y m majestatem odczuwam, ani by mi nie starczyło na to tysiąc ust i tyleż języków i niekończąca się, niewyczerpana struga wymowy. A przeto m i ino troską będzie to, co jedynie człowie­ kowi pobożnemu, lecz ubogiemu być może; abym wiecznie zachował w serca tajnikach najgłębszych bo­ skie Twe oblicza i majestat największy, i aby wiecznie mi one były przytomne. Powiedziałbym, gdyby powiedzieć się godziło, dowie­ działbyś się, gdyby Tobie było wolno. [Fragmenty Metamorfoz, Księgi X I , Apulejusza] THE LONG LINE OF MY LIFE T H A T WAS TANGLED W I T H I N THE CHROMOSOME CODE OF BEING YOU ARE BROKEN A T LAST BREATH OF MY LIFE FROM THE CHRYSALIS CORPSE SPREAD THE WINGS OF A M O T H DEATH HAS WOKEN 17. Pieśń CHRYSEA Pindara, V w . p.n.e. PHORMINKS, Hymn KHRUSEA PHORMINKS, APÓLLONOS K A I IOPLOKAMON SUNDIKON MOISAN KTEANON TAS AKOUEI MEN BASIS, AGLAIAS A R K H A [...] 16. Inkantacja EU O BAKHA1 k u czci Dioni­ zosa. Notacja ćwiczeń na instrument zachowana w Anonymus Beltermani, I I w . p.n.e. [Tłumaczenie: Złota Formingo Apollona o włosach ciemnych jak fiolek, własność należna muzom. Tobie posłuszne rytm, świętość, początek, piękno.] 457 � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/dfd1d12b0028e70885e64fd227502e8d.pdf 015986fb8ed8373008a717511555f5d1 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2246 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1990 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2083 Title A name given to the resource Spisy treści / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1, s.2 Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Polski Instytut Sztuki Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text POLSKA SZTUKA LUDOWA R O K XLIII — 1989 W roczniku znajduje się podwójny, monograficzny numer ( 1 — 2 ) poświęcony kulturze Ż y d ó w polskich i jej związków z kulturą ludową Bartoszewski Władysław Т., Kontakty chlopsko-żydowskie, s. 93 .nr [Boyd Louise Arner], Dawna wieś polska w fotografii Louise Arner Boyd, s. 220 nr Burszta Wojciech, Od folkloryzmu lokalnego do „postfolkloryzmu" narodowego, s. 158 nr Bydalek Sławomir, Marceli Potas, s. 232 nr Chumiński Jerzy, Uwagi o ornamentacji współczesnych krzyży nagrobnych, s. 216 nr Drozd- Piasecka Mirosława, Sztuka ludowa w ocenie mieszkańców Warszawy, s. 174 nr Dudkiewicz Feliks, Życiorys, s. 183 nr Fatyga Barbara, Jadwiga Siemaszko, Po co jechać na Trobriandy, s. 177 nr Fiderkiewicz Maria, Wyobrażenia o Żydach w folklorze Beskidu Żywieckiego, s. 1 24 nr Fryś-Pietraszkowa Ewa, Udział rzemieślników żydowskich w kulturze wsi. Materiały, s. 113 nr Gajda Tomasz, Żydzi w mojej i sąsiednich wioskach, s. 97 nr Gebert Konstanty, „...by się plug nie zlamal..." Uwagi o demonologii żydowskiej, s. 13 nr Goldberg-Mulkiewicz Olga, Przenikanie elementów twórczości ludowej między społecznością poJską i żydowską, s. 105 nr Hankowska Romualda, Wzory sypane piaskiem na Kujawach, s. 234 nr Heschel Abraham Joshua, Pańska jest ziemia. Świat duchowy Żydów Europy Wschodniej, s. 3 nr Jackowski Aleksander, Od redakcji nr Jackowski Aleksander, Kiedy ludowe przestaje być ludowe. Rozterki jurora, s. 165 nr Jackowski Aleksander, Folkloryzm: inspiracja, manipulacja, s. 211 nr Korulska Ewa, Ludwik Stomma, Początki państwa polskiego — wersja dla dzieci, s. 203 nr Krajewska Monika, Cmentarze żydowskie w Polsce: nagrobki i epitafia, s. 27 nr Krajewska Monika, Symbolika płaskorzeźb na cmentarzach żydowskich w Polsce, s. 45 nr Krajewski Stanisław, Przykłady epitafiów hebrajskich na cmentarzach żydowskich w Polsce, s. 60 nr Kroh Antoni, Paszyn po siedemnastu łatach, s. 171 nr Kroh Antoni, Czy w etnografii występują „białe plamy", s. 205 nr Krupa Maciej, Skrzypek na dachu, czyli Żyd uniwersalny, s. 127 nr Małeta Alicja, Czudeccy Żydzi w pamięci współmieszkańców, s. 100 nr Milewska-Młynik Anna, Feliks Dudkiewicz, s. 187 nr Olędzki Jacek, Kwitlechy z Leżajska. Prośba i dziękczynienie w kultach chasydzkich i katolickich, s. 23 nr Olędzki Jacek, Świadomość mirakularna, s. 1 54 nr Pacewicz Dorota, Krzysztof Sabak, Z Adamem Zegadlo oraz jego żoną o Żydach, s. 103 nr Pawlak Hanna, Wielkopolska Kapela Ludowa (1955—1957), s. 227 . nr Piechotkowie Maria i Kazimierz, Polichromia polskich bóżnic drewnianych, s. 65 nr Piechotkowie Maria i Kazimierz, Modele Bóżnic Mosze Werbina, s. 88 .nr Pilichowska Bogdana, Krakowskie zabawki odpustowe przedstawiające Żydów, s. 129 nr Piwko Mieczysław, Życiorys, s. 229 nr Sabak Krzysztof, Dorota Pacewicz, Z Adamem Zegadlo oraz jego zoną o Żydach, s. 103 nr Siemaszko Jadwiga, Barbara Fatyga, Po co jechać na Trobriandy, s. 177 nr Stoczkowski Wiktor, Prehistoria w szkolnych podręcznikach, czyli współczesny mit początków, s. 195 nr Stomma Ludwik, Obraz Żyda w strukturze mitów chłopskich, s. 91 .nr Stomma Ludwik, Czy w etnografii występują „białe plamy", s. 205 nr Stomma Ludwik, Ewa Korulska, Początki państwa polskiego — wersja dla dzieci, s. 113 nr Taranowicz Bożena, Stereotyp Pana Jezusa w polszczyżnie ludowej, s. 213 nr Targielski Zbigniew, Taniec i muzyka jako wyraz myśli chasydzkiej, s. 19 nr Trzciński Andrzej, „Będziecie mieszkać w szałasach przez siedem dni" (III Mojż 23, 42), s. 89 nr Trzciński Andrzej, Polichromia nagrobków na cmentarzach żydowskich w Polsce południowo-wschodniej, s. 63 nr Wieczorkiewicz Anna, Joanna Zatorska, Mieczysław Piwko o sztuce, s. 230 nr Zatorska Joanna, Anna Wieczorkiewicz, Mieczysław Piwko o sztuce, s. 230 nr 1—2 4 3 4 4 3 3 3 1—2 1—2 1—2 1—2 1—2 4 1—2 1—2 3 4 4 1—2 1—2 1—2 3 4 1—2 1—2 3 1—2 3 1—2 4 1—2 1—2 1—2 4 1—2 3 4 1—2 4 4 4 1—2 1—2 1—2 4 4 �R E C E N Z J E Z KSIĄŻEK Goldberg-Mulkiewicz Olga, GIZA F R A N K E L , Migzerot Nijar, Omanut Jehudit Amamit. Givataiim 1983, s. 136 nr 1 — 2 Krupa Maciej, Czas budowania, TAMAS FENER, SANDOR SCHEIBER. ... and you ...shall tell your son... Jewish Customs and Ceremonies in Hungary, s. 134 nr 1 — 2 WSPOMNIENIA P O Ś M I E R T N E Goldberg-Mulkiewicz Olga, GIZA FRENKEL (FRANKEL) — 16.09.1895 Wieliczka — 17.05.1984 Haifa, s. 139 Г nr 1 — 2 �POLSKA AKADEMIA NAUK • INSTYTUT SZTUKI • ROK XLIV • 1990 • Nr 1 polska sztuka ludowa Tradycja — współczesność. Kultura środowisk nieelitarnych Problemy antropologii kultury ZAKŁAD NARODOWY W R O C Ł A W — WARSZAWA — K R A K Ó W I M I E N I A O S S O L O Ń S K I C H W Y D A W N I C T W O POLSKIEJ A KA D E M I NAUK �CONTENTS Joanna Tokarska-Bakir Andrzej Hemka, Jacek Olędzki Wanda Drabik Aleksander Jackowski Maciej Szczyrbuła Hanna Mortkowicz-Olczakowa Stanisław Cichowicz Stanisław Żywolewski Adam Bartosz Anna Kunczyńska-Iracka [K.K.] Summary of Articles Резюме Interpretation, that Is on the Art of Anthropolo­ gy Miracular Sensibility Four Seasons (On the Correlation between Annual and Family Rites) Intuition Praised Nikifor Once Again. Facts, Suppositions and Legends Nikifor Where Does this Canon Come from? Autobiography Ruda Dzurko, a Gipsy Artist . . . . Signals from Lucim Sculptures of Stanisław Zagajewski at the M u ­ seum of the Dobrzyń and Kujawy Regions in Włocławek 3 8 15 31 37 49 50 51 59 61 62 63 64 REDAKCJA: Zbigniew Benedyktowicz (z-ca red.), Aleksander Jackowski (red.), Ewa Korulska, Anna Kunczyńska-Iracka, Sławomir Sikora (sekretarz redakcji) RADA REDAKCYJNA: Jerzy Bartmiński, Tadeusz Chrzanowski, Marcin Czerwiński, Ewa Fryś-Pietraszkowa, Franciszek Midura, Jacek Olędzki, Mieczysław Porębski, Roman Reinfuss, Czesław Robotycki, Zofia Sokolewicz, Ludwik Stomma, Roch Sulima, W S P Ó Ł P R A C O W N I C Y REDAKCJI: Zofia Bisiak, Jan Świderski REDAKTOR TECHNICZNY: Grażyna Miętus T Ł U M A C Z E : Piotr Paszkiewicz i Magdalena Iwińska (ang.), Lija Skalska-Miecik (ros.) Adres Redakcji: Instytut Sztuki PAN, ul. Długa 28, 00-950 Warszawa, skr. poczt. 994, tel. 31-32-71/4, wewn. 227 I � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/a8239659cd47ef9df90d1b480b731102.pdf cb3201775af11816817a0deccc2f26a5 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2249 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1990 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2086 Title A name given to the resource Cztery pory roku (O współzależności obrzędów dorocznych i rodzinnych) / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1, s.15-30 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Drabik, Wanda Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Polski Instytut Sztuki Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Wanda Drabik CZTERY PORY ŻYCIA (O WSPÓŁZALEŻNOŚCI OBRZĘDÓW DOROCZNYCH I RODZINNYCH) Teoria kwantów jest więc wspaniałym przykładem tego, że można z pełną jasnością zrozumieć jakąś treść i jednocześnie wiedzieć, że potrafi się ją wyrazić tylko za pomocą obrazów t przypowieści. Werner Heisenberg 1 Przekonanie o istnieniu nadrzędnego porządku, któremu podlega świat, a wraz z nim człowiek świadomy swego uzależnie­ nia i zarazem odrębności od pozostałych bytów, szukający w nim godnego siebie miejsca, leży u podstaw kultury. Niezależnie od przyjętych aksjomatów (porządek wszechświata powstał samo­ rzutnie bądź za sprawą sił nadprzyrodzonych albo też nieustannie się wyczerpuje i tworzy na nowo) człowiek czuje się odpowie­ dzialny za dalsze zachowanie równowagi. Odpowiedzialność wynika z wiary, iż człowiek może mieć wpływ na los wszechświa­ ta tak negatywny — niszczący świadomie czy przypadkowo jego harmonię, jak i pozytywny — podtrzymujący, a nawet doskonalą­ cy zastany ład. Ta wiara motywuje intelektualne i praktyczne wysiłki, skłania do ich wartościowania tak pod względem uży­ teczności, jak i moralnej oceny. Założenie, iż dostępny pozna­ niu fragment wszechświata zawiera jego immanentne cechy, prowadzi do rekonstrukcji na różne sposoby modelu całości, by do niego odnosić i zeń wyprowadzać wszelkie cząstkowe zależ­ ności. I wszystko jedno, czy owe modele powstają w oparciu o racje empiryczne, czy też objawione, jeżeli wykraczają poza technolo­ giczną przydatność, jeżeli rozumiejąco wyjaśniają świat i zobo­ wiązują człowieka do zgodnego z normami postępowania, należą — jak dowodzi Leszek Kołakowski — do sfery mitu. Rozważając stale obecny w kulturze konflikt empirycznego i mitycznego podejścia do rzeczywistości, stwierdza on: „Żadna argumentacja racjonalna nie poda zniewalających racji, które każą nam jeden lub drugi z owych porządków jednoznacznie ocenić jako pasmo cienia osłaniające drugą prawdziwą rzeczywistość; żadna nie pozwoli rozstrzygnąć, który z obu porządków — mityczny czy zjawiskowy—tworzy realny świat, który zaś począł się z imaginacji; w którym z nich raczej na jawie żyjemy, a który tworzy część marzenia sennego; który jest twarzą świata, a który jego maską. (...) Beznadziejność tego starcia nie byłaby zresztą tak uciążliwa, gdyby nie to, że oba punkty widzenia, nieprzywiedlne do syntezy i wiecznie skłócone, są przecież obecne w każdym z nas, chociaż z niejednakową żywotnością." O ile dla jednostki świadomej owego konfliktu zgoda nań lub próby przezwyciężenia są sprawą wyboru, o tyle dla społeczności uznanie supremacji porządku mitycznego jest koniecznością ze względu na zawarte w nim zasady komunikacji symbolicznej, waloryzacji działań i życia społecznego. W tym rozumieniu wyobrażenie porządku mitycznego będzie równoznaczne ze światopoglądem. W racjonalnie zorientowanych cywilizacjach nowożytnych funkcje światopoglądu zaczęła pełnić nauka, skutecznie „odbóstwiająca świat", a więc przedstawiająca jego mechanikę obejmu­ jącą i człowieka, bez uzasadniania dlaczego powstał i do czego zmierza. Jednakże po okresie zafascynowania jej osiągnięciami, poszczególne dziedziny nauki wielokrotnie kwestionowane i samokwestionujące się, nie pretendują już do głoszenia prawd ostatecznych, nie roszczą sobie prawa do podtrzymywania hierar­ chii wartości, a ponadto posługują się językiem zrozumiałym dla wąskiego grona specjalistów. Jak ironicznie pisał Ernest Gellner: „Pytania pozostały, odpowiedzi znikły (na brak pseudoodpowiedzi nie możemy się uskarżać)" i dalej „Jeśli idee, którymi posługujemy się instynktownie, pozwalają panować nad otocze­ niem i jeśli są analogicznie pojmowane przez innych, świat jawi się nam jako miejsce swojskie i bezpieczne. Jeśli natomiast musimy postrzegać go poprzez pryzmat pojęć, którymi nie władamy swobodnie, których uczymy się z trudem i do których nie mamy zaufania, i jeśli w dodatku nasze dotychczasowe 2 3 wyobrażenia zostaną uznane za nieadekwatne — czujemy się jak obywatele drugiej kategorii i jesteśmy nimi faktycznie. Utrata wiary w naturalne podejście do rzeczywistości stanowi jeden z kluczowych aspektów zagubienia się." Trudno też nie dostrzec gorzkiej prawdy w słowach Маха Webera, zapisanych na począt­ ku naszego wieku: „Zbawienie, którego szuka intelektualista, jest zawsze zbawieniem od 'nędzy wewnętrznej', mającym wskutek tego z jednej strony charakter bardziej obcy życiu, z drugiej zaś bardziej zasadniczy i systematyczny niż zbawienie od zewnętrznej nędzy, którego poszukują warstwy nieuprzywilejowane. Intelekualista stara się na drodze pełnej nieskończonej kazuistyki nadać przenikający wszystko 'sens' swemu sposobowi życia, a więc uzyskać 'jedność' z samym sobą, z innymi ludźmi, z kosmosem. (...) Konflikty tego postulatu z realiami świata i jego ładem... wywołują swoistą dla intelektualistów ucieczkę w absolutną samotność lub... do nietkniętej ładem ludzkim 'natury' (Rous­ seau), jak też ucieczkę do nietkniętego przez ludzkie konwencje 'ludu'..." Od tego czasu „nietknięta natura" stała się mitem, a mit „nietkniętego ludu" poddaje się demityzacji. 4 5 Odkąd z ludu wyłoniły się inne warstwy, lud był „tknięty" przez samą ich obecność, został określony, przeciwstawiony i odgraniczony. Ówczesny stan jego kultury stał się tyleż dobro­ wolną co wymuszoną normą, znakiem tożsamości i wyróżnikiem, odniesieniem dla równolegle rozwijających się kultur, będących dla niego odniesieniem. Przerwanie ciągłości i jednorodności kultury uczyniło z tradycji wartość świadomie realizowaną, jako gwarantki zgodności porządku ludzkiego z porządkiem boskim. Wprowadzenie chrześcijaństwa spowodowało i usankcjonowało zmiany społeczne i vice versa — każda kolejna zmiana wymagała reinterpretacji kanonów wiary. Warstwa chłopska nastawiona i przeznaczona na trwanie nie dopuszczała takiej możliwości. Religia była pojmowana praktycznie, niejako odrębna doktryna. Bóg w trzech osobach, Matka Boska i święci stali się patronami poszczególnych zjawisk przyrody, dziedzin życia gospodarczego i społecznego, podobnie zresztą jak ich antagoniści: diabły i demony. Podkreślana przez Ludwika Stommę izolacja świadomościo­ wa wsi (nb. charakterystyczna nie tylko dla chłopów, co autor na szczęście przyznaje, oszczędzając mi odwoływania się do innych autorytetów) rzeczywiście wynikała z postawy: „ma być tak, jak jest" oraz „jest tak, jak ma być". Jednakże konstytuowało ją nie „zaniechanie działania i obserwacji", a raczej obserwacja, myśle­ nie i działanie tak było ukierunkowane, by za wszelką cenę „było tak, jak jest", pod groźbą kosmicznej katastrofy, bowiem to, że świat nadal istniał, dowodziło, iż „jest tak, jak ma być". Tę postawę, nie zaś popularne skądinąd zjawisko izolacji świadomościowej, uważam za jedną z cech definiujących kulturę ludową. Tak długo, jak wyznaczała jedyny akceptowany społecz­ nie wzorzec postępowania, możemy mówić o kulturze ludowej, odróżniając ją od kultur posługujących się mnogością paradyg­ matów, w tym również „typu ludowego". I choć oczywiście godzę się z zastrzeżeniem Stommy, że współwystępujące kultury przenikają się nawzajem i są od zawsze w procesie przemian, to jednak wszędzie tam, gdzie n i e z m i e n n o ś ć miała rangę moty­ wacji ostatecznej, blokując możliwość wyboru, będę tradycyjnie posługiwać się terminem kultura ludowa. Ludwik Stomma przed­ stawił wiele d o w o d ó w , iż w XIX w. tak rozumiana kultura ludowa nadal trwała. Mimo gwałtownych przeobrażeń wywołanych wstrząsami politycznymi, ekonomicznymi i społecznymi, na co dzień ciągle „było tak, jak miało być", a kto uważał że nie musi „być tak, jak jest", zostawał wykluczony. Dzięki licznym współ5 7 15 �czesnym poblikacjom mającym w podtytule Przemiany..., można przypuszczać, że ten typ kultury dominował na polskiej wsi jeszcze w połowie naszego stulecia. Niezmienność tradycji, jako obowiązującą wieś zasadę, postulowali także jej badacze (dawni i sporo dzisiejszych), użalając się, że nie jest tak, jak powinno być (tzn. jak było za pamięci najstarszych informatorów) oraz nawo­ łując, by było tak, jak było. Nierzadki to przypadek, gdy myślenie „typu etnograficznego" pokrywa się z myśleniem „typu ludowe­ go". Tymczasem autorytet tradycji obowiązywał wieś tak długo, jak długo utrzymywała się wiara w jedność praw rządzących przyrodą i człowiekiem nie tylko w aspekcie biologicznym, ale także duchowym. Od przestrzegania praw, ustanowionych przez Stwórcę zależała pomyślność doczesna i pozagrobowa człowie­ ka, jak i los całego świata. Traktowanie tradycji nie mogło więc być selektywne, bowiem każda zmiana niosła z sobą nieobliczal­ ne ryzyko. Swoista wizja ożywionego wszechświata, którego wszystkie elementy mają płeć, myślą, kierują się emocjami, współdziałają lub są skłócone, posiadają nadprzyrodzonych opiekunów — w XIX wieku ciągle jeszcze uzasadniała wszelkie działanie chłopa. Wszechświat ukonstytuowany na sposób ludzki, człowiek o d ­ zwierciedlający model wszechświata, były od siebie nawzajem zależne. Praca, życie rodzinne, zabawa... zawierały się w odwie­ cznym porządku, odstępstwa w y w o ł y w a ł y zaburzenia, ściągały karę. Natomiast nieodwracalne skutki, włącznie z końcem świata, przewidywano w zaniechaniu lub zniekształcaniu obrzędów. Te powtarzające się regularnie symboliczne czynności, nie tyle może odtwarzały pierwotny mit stworzenia, co pozwalały zachować ustalone wtedy relacje między antagonistycznymi składnikami kosmosu i władającymi nimi siłami. Przykłady tak pojmowanych obrzędów dorocznych przytaczają m.in. Joanna i Ryszard Tomiccy. Postaram się wykazać, że podobnie trakto­ wane były także obrzędy rodzinne. Dla praktykowania obrzędów znajomość mitologii nie była konieczna, lecz raczej wręcz niebezpieczna, jako że pozostawała w kolizji z religią. Zwalczali ją teolodzy (i bodaj tylko oni), jej pierwsi kronikarze i interpretatorzy, zdawali sobie w pełni sprawę z powiązania współczesnych im obrzędów z dawnymi mitami. Uczestniczący w obrzędzie brali w swoim przekonaniu wzory postępowania właśnie z tradycji chrześcijańskiej. Powtarzali słowa, gesty, przekazywali znaki, których nauczyli się od star­ szych, ci od jeszcze starszych itd., czyli takie, jakie były na początku, gdy Chrystus chodził po świecie, a więc niezbędne i zgodne z bożą wolą. Było to oczywiste, jak oczywistym było istnienie wszystkiego, co widzieli, znali, czuli — nie wymagało uzasadnienia, wystarczyło pokazać, opowiedzieć. I dziś, gdy opisując obrzęd pytam o wygląd postaci, często słyszę: „Adam, jak Adam", „dziad, jak to dziad", „diabeł, jak prawdziwy dia­ beł"..., a jeśli ośmielę się zapytać o znaczenie jakiegoś szczegółu, 0 powody spełniania obrzędu, oczekuję lekceważącego „no, jak juz pani tego nie wi...". Wszelka wiedza, wykraczająca poza doświadczenie przod­ ków, wiązała się z ryzykiem, gdyż naruszała boską tajemnicę. Taką wiedzę przypisywano czarownikom i czarownicom, a także obcym. Człowiekowi żyjącemu na swoim miejscu, szanującemu prawa boże, wystarczyło pamiętać; kiedy, gdzie, co i jak trzeba zrobić, by nawiązać kontakt z Nadprzyrodzonym, dopomóc w przywróceniu nadwerężonego porządku. Dzięki praktycznemu zastosowaniu, obrzędy przetrwały dłużej i podlegały transforma­ cjom wolniej niż mity. Tylko przez wierne odtwarzanie rytuału zyskiwano pewność w p ł y w u na to, co się tworzyło w mitycznej sferze wszechświata, a następnie oddziaływało na bliższą lub dalszą przyszłość wszystkiego co poznawalne. 8 9 Z punktu widzenia nosiciela tej tradycji mitologicznej, zmiana w świecie niewidzialnym jest zawsze uprzednia, dopełnia się natychmiast i już należy do przeszłości, gdy tymczasem na poziomie ziemskim ma się dopiero dopełnić w przyszłości. Następuje więc coś w rodzaju przesunięcia: co jest przeszłością „tam", jest przyszłością „tu", zapoczątkowane w jednym wspólnym "teraz". Okres objęty zmianą wskazuje prognozy, wróżby i życzenia, powtarzane wielokroć w ciągu roku kalendarzowego i w trakcie ludzkiego życia. Nie znam obrzędu spełnianego w innych okoli­ cznościach, jak przejście od starego czasu w nowy, od poprzed­ niego etapu do następnego, od dawnego stanu w inny. W każ­ dym możliwe jest odnalezienie elementów wyłączania, przejścia 1 włączania, choć niekiedy przemieszanych przez typowe dla 16 większości rytuałów powtórzenia. Wszystkie więc są obrzędami przejścia. W odróżnieniu od magii, którą można stosować doraźnie, w tajemnicy samotności i wbrew bliźnim, obrzędy mają ustalony rytm, praktykowane są wspólnie i ostentacyjnie w interesie ogółu i każdego z osobna.Są zatem, tak samo jak opowieści mityczne, socjocentryczne i można do nich odnieść stwierdzenie Eleazara Mieletinskiego; „...charakter odwzorowania rzeczywistych form życia w mitach jest pod wieloma względami zdeterminowany ... projekcją cech ludzkich i stosunków rodowo-plemiennych na świat przyrody oraz, na odwrót, przedstawieniem społeczności i kultury w terminach naturalnych ... wysiłkiem przezwyciężenia, bodaj nawet złudnego, podstawowych antynomii ludzkiej egzys­ tencji, niezbędną harmonizacją stosunków między jednostką, społecznością i naturalnym otoczeniem." Utarło się dzielić obrzędy na rforoczne i rodzinne. Pierwsze — rozmieszczone w ustabilizowanych terminach roku zgodnie z wyobrażeniem o systematycznie odnawiającym się i wyczerpu­ jącym się czasie, a wraz z nim odradzającą się i zamierającą naturą — mają rytm cykliczny. Obejmują przestrzeń całej wsi (wszystkie domy lub miejsca publiczne), angażują zbiorowość i są ukierun­ kowane na pomyślność w gospodarczej i społecznej aktywności. Drugie, spełniane w przełomowych momentach życia jednostki ograniczonej narodzinami i śmiercią, której zmiany rozwojowe są nieodwracalne, mają rytm prostoliniowy. Odbywają się w rodzin­ nych domach i nastawione są na powodzenie w życiu osobistym. Te podstawowe rozróżnienia: czasu, przestrzeni, podmiotu, przedmiotu, celu i zasięgu oddziaływania, narzucają rozpatrywa­ nie obrzędów dorocznych oraz rodzinnych osobno w odrębnych systemach. Przy czym i w ramach jednego systemu podkreślane są raczej rozbieżności niż podobieństwa, co wynika z przyjętego (jawnie czy milcząco) założenia, że cechy pozwalające wiązać obrzędy w większą całość są wyabstrahowane przez badaczy, podczas gdy cechy różnicujące są pierwszorzędne, skoro w opar­ ciu o nie lud zbudował mnogość i rozmaitość form. W moim przekonaniu jest akurat odwrotnie. 10 Jeśli przyjąć za odpowiadające prawdzie, iż w ludowym światopoglądzie wiedza, praktyka, wartości i normy były niepo­ dzielne, a sens istnienia i działania zawierał się w kontynuacji odwiecznego porządku wspólnego dla natury i społeczeństwa, to i obrzędy, które przede wszystkim ten uświęcony porządek pod­ trzymywały, musiały się nawzajem uzupełniać, by razem ogarnąć to co istotne, choć niesprecyzowane. Tym bardziej, że wprowadze­ nie w obrzędy odbywało się poprzez uczestnictwo, bezpośrednie przeżycie, a nie przez opowieść, demonstrację i wyjaśnianie znaczeń. Większość z nich odpowiadała za pomyślność i bezpie­ czeństwo w wielu dziedzinach równocześnie. W rytuałach dorocz­ nych spotykamy zabiegi odnoszące się do życia prywatnego, a w rytuały rodzinne wplecione są działania sprzyjające bądź ochraniające (pogrzeb) plony i inwentarz. Trudno znaleźć rytuały tak wyspecjalizowane, by dotyczyły wyłącznie jednej sfery życia, co najwyżej jedna wysuwa się na pierwszy plan. Gdy potraktujemy wszystkie obrzędy jako części jednego systemu, to znaczenie rytuału będzie wskazywać nie tylko forma, przypisane doń treści i okoliczności w jakich go spełniano, ale i jego pozycja wśród pozostałych. Nawet pobieżne, oparte na niekompletnych danych, porównanie obrzędów z uwzględnie­ niem ich wzajemnych relacji w całości charakterystycznej dla regionu, kraju, wreszcie Europy, pozwala na uchwycenie prawid­ łowości i ostrożne sformułowanie wniosków, które oczywiście będą wymagały starannej weryfikacji. W miarę pełnym materiałem dysponuję dla zróżnicowanego etnicznie, społecznie i wyznaniowo regionu Podlasia, gdzie przez kilka lat prowadziłam badania obrzędów dorocznych i rodzinnych posługując się tym samym kwestionariuszem. Kwestionariusz obejmował pytania dotyczące: kontekstu społecznego, kontekstu przyrody, wartościowania czasu i przestrzeni, budowy obrzędu, jego interpretacji, oceny i konsekwencji. Materiały porównaw­ cze, zbierane i opracowane według innych zasad, częściowo jedynie dają się dopasować. Zdając sobie sprawę z tych niedocią­ gnięć, a także z konieczności operowania dużymi skrótami, starałam się oprzeć rozważania na typowych, szeroko znanych przykładach, wyjątkowo tylko powołując przypadki rzadkie bądź udokumentowane w trudniej dostępnych publikacjach. ' 1 1 Każda wieś miała swoisty zestaw obrzędów. W jego obrębię poszczególne rytuały były zróżnicowane, ale nadzieje z nimi związane w znacznym stopniu zachodziły na siebie; niektóre �wcześniej elementy obrzędu pojawiały się równolegle w nowych układach w nader odległych miejscach, włączone w dawny kontekst obrzędowy. Elementy występujące zamiennie w analogicznej sytuacji u różnych społeczności lub u tej samej społeczności w różnych przedziałach czasu mają przynajmniej jedną cechę wspólną, która przesądza o ich wyjściowej wartości symbolicznej. Ta z kolei decyduje o tym, z jakimi symbolami elementy te będą wchodzić w związki i w której fazie obrzędu znajdą miejsce. Pozwala to na wyciągnięcie wniosku, że tradycja stała na straży nie tyle przeka­ zywanych z pokolenia na pokolenie zastygłych w swej pierwotnej postaci rytuałów, co schematów ich tworzenia. Zestawienie ekwiwalentnie stosowanych elementów wska­ zuje na kierunek kojarzenia i sposoby obrzędowego nań reago­ wania. Jeśli więc uda się chociaż dla części z nich ustalić symboliczne znaczenie (przez bezpośrednią informację, towarzy­ szący tekst, spodziewane rezultaty, sytuację wykluczającą ich użycie itp.), można się spodziewać, że podobne znaczenie przysługuje pozostałym, oraz odgadnąć, z której cechy je wypro­ wadzono. Nie daje to pewności, ani nie wyczerpuje możliwości, a jedynie mieści się w granicach prawdopodobieństwa. Używane wymiennie rośliny można zgrupować w następują­ ce ciągi: I. Symbolizujące witalność i czystość, a w rozwinięciu siłę, wytrwałość, zdrowie, męstwo, wierność, niewinność... prefero­ wane są w obrzędach zimowych i wczesnowiosennych, a także na weselu; (a) świerk, jodła, barwinek, ruta, bluszcz, jemioła, oliwka, mirt, rozmaryn... — zachowują zieleń zimą i nie gniją, (b) kalina — zachowuje czerwone jagody, (c) dąb — zachowuje liście. II. Symbolizujące regenerację, a dalej pomyślną odmianę, wzrastanie, zdrowie, długowieczność... występują przeważnie w obrzędach wiosennych, niekiedy przełomu jesieni i zimy lub w dniu Nowego Roku; (a) wierzba, leszczyna, dereń, wiśnia, cytryna... — najwcześniej kwitną, 12 II. 1 . „ D z i c y ludzie", karnawał w Gersau, Szwajcaria środkowa elementy, a także ich układy, użyte zostały wielokrotnie, wiążąc się z innymi zgodnie z powtarzającymi się regułami. We wsiach sąsiednich analogiczne formy obrzędowe już mogą wystąpić w zmienionym kontekście (np. obchodzenie domów z życzenia­ mi osobno lub łącznie ze scenami odgrywanymi przez przebierań­ ców; przy różnych świętach dorocznych, lecz także na weselu), pewne elementy będą pominięte, na ich miejsce wejdą nowe, tworząc kolejne, jedyne w swoim rodzaju kompozycje. Niemniej w skali regionu całe to bogactwo sprowadza się do kilkunastu zaledwie wariantów, które zazwyczaj mają odpowiedniki w blis­ kich lub dalszych regionach. W Polsce można znaleźć warianty obrzędów, do których analogie istnieją dopiero poza jej granica­ mi. W sumie, ilość wariantów występujących w Europie, niezna­ cznie przekracza ilość wariantów ustalonych dla jednego kraju. Pula elementów jest ograniczona, a możliwości kombinacji zawężone. Tak wyznaczone granice są na tyle pojemne i elastyczne, by dopuścić swobodę doboru elementów i rozmieszczenia ich w rozmaitym kontekście obrzędowym, a także wprowadzenie innowacji, oraz na tyle stabilne, by wykluczyć dowolność. Zważywszy, że elementem obrzędowym mogłoby być wszystko czym człowiek dysponuje, cokolwiek da się wszak skojarzyć z czymkolwiek i dalej wchodzić w niezliczone związki, zwłaszcza że względy praktyczne (materiał, technika itp.) właśnie w tym przypadku nie byłyby w stanie stworzyć naturalnych barier, wypada przyjąć istnienie wspólnego dla Europy systemu odnie­ sienia. Można tu myśleć raczej o kontynuowaniu w czasie i przestrzeni pewnych idei przewodnich, niż przetrwałych przez tysiąclecia kanonach archaicznych wierzeń i kultów. Stąd chyba wynika labilność obrzędów, ich zdolność przystosowania się do wyżej zorganizowanych systemów religijnych, podatność na modyfikacje formy i interpretacji. Tendencja do podporządkowa­ nia się normie idzie w parze z tendencją do wyróżnienia. Dzięki temu nie tylko dana społeczność, ale i pokolenie może uznać taką a nie inną formą obrzędów za „swoją", równocześnie ktoś mający większy dystans rozpozna je jako pochodzące z jakiegoś regionu, państwa, a na pewno europejskie. II. 2. Postać z grupy „ T u r k ó w " noworocznych, Urzejowice k/Przeworska, 1959 r. Obrzęd, by spełniał swoje funkcje musiał być wiernie odtwo­ rzony, a przecież nawet w najbliższym sąsiedztwie, nawet w tej samej wsi, elementy składające się nań były zastępowane i uzu­ pełniane innymi. To, co przez jednych odrzucone, gdzie indziej znajdowało zastosowanie. Bez pomocy kartografii trudno ocenić na ile ta powtarzalność jest regularna. Można jednak przypusz­ czać, że zasięgi będą daleko wykraczać poza etniczne podziały i że z reguły będą rozproszone. Co więcej, te same nieznane 17 �(b) brzoza — wcześnie wypuszcza liście, daje sok. III. Symbolizujące płodność i pochodne: mnożenie się, obfi­ tość, bogactwo... stosowane w większości obrzędów dorocz­ nych i rodzinnych; (a) wszystkie zboża, groch, mak, chmiel... — z jednego, wiele nasion, (b) drzewa rodzące smaczne owoce, a zwłaszcza jabłoń, orzech, migdał, figa... IV. Symbolizujące odporność, siłę odpędzania zła... wykorzy­ stywane w wielu rytuałach do odganiania złych mocy, szkodni­ ków, czarów itp. (a) czosnek, cebula, tatarak... — mocna w o ń , (b) głóg, tarnina... — kolce, (c) zioła lecznicze, zioła poświęcona — mają wewnętrzną moc. Na pograniczu tego i następnego ciągu umieściłabym zioła noszące nazwy związane z burzą w rodzaju „rozchodnik", „grzmotnik", „błyskawica", którym przypisuje się zdolność o d ­ pędzania burzy (ale stosowane są one również przeciw szkodni­ kom przy pierwszej zwózce zboża i wkładane do trumny) oraz inne, których symbolika związana jest z nazwą, np. „sporysz" (rdest), który „sporzy", bylica — „boże drzewko", rozliczne „łzy, serduszka... Matki Boskiej". V. Symbolizujące moc, władzę, sławę, niezwykłe właściwoś­ ci... używane bądź przywoływane w tekstach obrzędów rodzin­ nych oraz dorocznych i są to: dąb, buk, jawor, sosna, lipa... — wysokie i okazałe, rosnące samotnie lub w dużych odstępach, a których mityczne odniesienia są nadal żywe, co się przejawia np. w określaniu ich jako „drzewo, w które biją pioruny", „drzewo Matki Boskiej". Wewnątrz poszczególnych ciągów istnieją moż­ liwości dalszych podziałów, zwłaszcza na rośliny „męskie" i „żeńskie", co ma znaczenie np. przy dekoracji pieczywa wesel­ nego, w tekstach zmienianych zależnie od płci, wówczas ekwi­ walentność ustali się w ich obrębie. Jako element obrzędowy zwykle służy jakaś część rośliny — gałązka, pień, kwiat, ziarno... zachowując na zasadzie pars pro toto cechy całości — choć nie jest to reguła bez wyjątku. Tak np. grochowiny i słoma zazwyczaj kojarzone są z płodnością; robi się z nich kukły i kostiumy obrzędowe, z których wyciąga się źdźbła. by je podłożyć kurom dla lepszej nośności lub dla dobrego lęgu piskląt, rozrzuca się je na polach, dla zwiększenia urodzaju, wyplatane ze słomy przedmioty zawiesza się w domu, by się darzyło itp. Jednocześnie jednak wieniec ze słomy lub grochowin przy swatach jest znakiem odmowy, wyciągnięcie przy wigilii pustego kłosa wróży śmierć bądź niepłodność. Zmiana sytuacji pociąga więc za sobą zmianę znaczenia. Słoma może znaczyć to samo co zboże, ałe w innych okolicznościach będzie akcentowa­ na właściwa jej „pustka* i znajdzie się ona w jednym szeregu z pustą makówką, pustym orzechem, pustym koszem, odprawie­ niem kogoś z pustymi rękami itp. Podstawienie pod powtarzające się przedmioty raz ustalonych znaczeń, bez uwzględnienia pełne­ go kontekstu, wydaje się wielce ryzykowne, podobnie jak ignoro­ wanie znaczeń pochodnych, niekiedy daleko odbiegających od wyjściowego. Większości roślin — a nie tylko tym szczególnie predystynowanym — jako symbolom życiodajnej lub chroniącej życie mocy, mogą być przypisane zdolności apotropeiczne. Analogicznie, występujące w obrzędach zwierzęta, a także ich części (rogi, skóry, pióra, jaja itp.) oraz naśladowanie ich głosów, ruchu itd. traktowane są ekwiwalentnie i tworzą ciągi: VI. Symbolizujące regenerację i jej rozwinięcia, pojawiają się nieomal powszechnie w obrzędach zimowych i wiosennych, lokalnie (w krajach germańskich i słowiańskich) przy dożynkach, sporadycznie w rodzinnych; (a) bocian, żuraw, skowronek, jaskółka... — przylatują z wiosną, (b) niedźwiedź — budzi się ze snu zimowego, (c) jeleń, wąż, wilk... — zmieniają wiosną postać (rogi, skórę, sierść), (d) kogut — „budzi słońce". VII. Symbolizujące płodność itp. występują przy różnych okazjach dorocznych, na weselu, przy narodzinach (położenie dziecka na koniu, futrze...); (a) byk i krowa, kozioł i koza, baran, jeleń... — mają rogi (od prehistorii kojarzone z płodnością), (b) niedźwiedź, baran... — obfite futro (j.w. kojarzone z płodnoś­ cią), (c) koń, kogut, bocian, kot... — wyraźnie manifestująca się seksualność. II. 3. Noworoczne przedstawienie miesięcy, Gallucio, Włochy, 1979 r. 18 i �(d) świnia, przepiórka, kura... — liczne potomstwo. VIII. Symbolizujące sitę, wytrwałość, odwagę, władzę... — w tym charakterze spotykane w obrzędach przełomu zimy i wios­ ny oraz przy okazjach obrzędowego wykazania się sprawnością, przepędzania złych mocy itp.; wilk, niedźwiedź, jeleń, dzik, baran, kogut... — walczą. IX. Symbolizujące medialność, łączność z „tamtym świa­ tem"... — bywa to podkreślane w niektórych obrzędach dorocz­ nych i rodzinnych; koń, ptaki... — szybko przenoszą się z miejsca na miejsce. X. Symbolizujące czujność, jasnowidzenie... — służą do wróżb obrzędowych; pies, koń, świnia, kogut, gęś, kukułka, przepiórka, bocian... — głos. Także i tutaj możliwe są dalsze podziały na zwierząta „męskie" oraz „żeńskie" (co wyznacza przynależność gatunkowa, a nie płeć), odpowiadające żywiołom, ciałom niebieskim itp. Wykorzy­ stanie w obrzędzie zwierząt lub ich wyobrażeń jest więc jeszcze bardziej wieloznaczne niż roślin, chociaż ich symbolika również zawiera się w tym samym kręgu regeneracji—płodności—ochro­ ny. XI. Jako elementy obrzędowe występują równoważne i do­ pełniające się żywioły, które jednak w pewnych sytuacjach stosowane są zamiennie; (a) ogień i jego pochodne — świeca, ogarki, dym, popiół, sadze... (b) woda — woda święcona, źródlana, bieżąca, rosa... Symbolika ognia i wody jest wprawdzie przeciwstawna, przybiera jednak takie odcienie znaczeniowe, wynikające z mocy tworzenia, przekształcania, oczyszczania i niszczenia, które się w znacznym stopniu pokrywają. Tak więc paleniu ogni gdzie indziej może odpowiadać kąpiel w wodzie lub tym podobne, okadzaniu — kropienie, obsypywaniu popiołem — oblewanie wodą; mogą one występować równocześnie lub kolejno po sobie. XII. Jako ekwiwalentne lub komplementarne bywają też stosowane: (a) wyobrażenia bądź przedmioty nawiązujące kształtem do ciał niebieskich — krążek, koło, koło podzielone na 8 albo 4 części, pół koła, gwiazda... (b) przedmioty kultu religijnego — krzyże, różańce, św. obrazki... — symbolicznie przywołujące boską opiekę. XIII. Wyobrażenia lub przedmioty falliczne mogą być użyte zamiennie z wszelkiego rodzaju bronią, gdy w obrzędzie akcentoa jest męskość, wigor, siła, panowanie. W analogicznym znaczeniu występują narzędzia pracy na roli lub ich modele — pług, brona... oraz atrybuty władzy. XIV. Natomiast żeńskość, rodzenie, pomnażanie... symboli­ zują i bywają traktowane wymiennie: (a) przetak, płachta siewna, dzieża... — mające kontakt ze zbożem; (b) kosze, naczynia, torby... — służą do napełniania (niekiedy wprost przedstawiają łono, gdy wyciąga się z nich w scenach* rodzenia lalkę, kota, kurę... kiedy indziej wyjmowane spod spódnicy). XV. Medialność, współdziałanie, poddanie się prowadzeniu, uległość... symbolizują przedmioty służące do transportu — sa­ nie, wóz, jarzmo... XVI. Ekwiwalentnymi symbolami wiedzy będą: książka, litery, figury geometryczne... można tu wliczyć także okulary, które jednak w innym kontekście oznaczają ślepotę. XVII. Pobudzenie, ożywienie, czujność, odpór... symbolizują dźwięki; urywane, ostre i przenikliwe, gwizdy, dzwonienie, hałas, dudnienie... niekiedy także instrumenty, które je wydają. XVIII. Ich przeciwieństwem i dopełnieniem są dźwięki zorga­ nizowane wg rytmu, symbolizujące równowagę, porządek, po­ wagę, smutek lub wesołość. XIX. Kolory raz uważane za przeciwstawne, innym razem za zamienne to: (a) biel i jakby jej stopień wyższy i najwyższy — srebro i złoto; (b) czerń. Używane alternatywnie w strojach weselnych i pogrzebo­ wych, gdy mają wspólne odcienie znaczeniowe: dostojeństwo, szlachetność, powaga... Inne znaczenia tych kolorów wykluczają się, tak np. z bielą kojarzy się dobro i czystość (w tym sensie używano też zieleni i błękitu), zaś z czernią nieczystość i zło, które może oddawać (por. kostium diabła) również czerwień, skądinąd II. 4 „Młoda para" w grupie zapustnych „niedźwiedzi" ze wsi Raszawy k/Opola, 1974 r. 19 �II. 5. Noworoczni „Skeklers", Shetland, północne wybrzeże Szkocji symbolizująca energię, wigor, władzę (podobnie i żółć). W niektórych obrzędach także smaki znajdują zastosowanie: XX. Słodki, łagodny — wiązane z powodzeniem, przyciąga­ niem, a więc zachodzące na symbolikę płodności (por. smarowa­ nie miodem panny młodej), XXI. Gorzki, kwaśny, ostry, słony — wywołujące podniecenie, ożywienie, wstręt, przystawalne więc do symboliki regeneracji, czystości, obrony (por. zastosowanie przypraw do rytualnego oczyszczania studni, przeciw złu). Także ruchy, gesty, mimika tworzą równoważne i komple­ mentarne szeregi, w których poszczególne elementy są traktowae zamiennie. XXII. Symbolizujący nastawienie ku przyszłości, ku życiu ruch w górę, w prawo, do przodu, z prądem, za słońcem... odpowiada mimice i gestom wyrażającym: radość, żywiołowość, ozdrowieie, przebudzenie... XXIII. Z kolei zwrot ku przeszłości, ku śmierci, wskazują ruchy itp. w dół, w lewo, do tyłu, pod prąd, przeciw słońcu... zaś mimika i gesty odpowiadają: strachowi, chorobie, snu, bezwła­ dowi... Niekiedy jednak, gdy w grę wchodzi kontakt z ziemią i właścią jej symboliką płodności, padanie, kucanie itp. nabierają zupełnie innego znaczenia. Często spotykanymi elementami obrzędowymi są pojęcia abstrakcyjne, jak cyfry (odliczanie, d w u - lub trzykrotne powtazania), miara i wagi. XXIV. Cyfry parzyste, wymierzenie, zważenie, symetria... — zwykle określają to, co zamknięte, skończone, stabilne, czasem również żeńskie) por. rozwidlona gałązka na korowaju dla panny). XXV. Cyfry nieparzyste, niepoliczalność, niewymierność, asyria... — wskazują na to, co otwarte, aktywne, zmienne, niekiedy także męskie (por. trójdzielna gałęzka na korowaju dla kawalera). XXVI. Nazwy elementów użytych lub wspominanych w obzędzie, których symbolikę wyznacza nie tylko semantyka, ale i fonetyka (np. w jednej ze wsi podlaskich, panna młoda nie zabierała przy przenosinach św. obrazu, gdyż kojarzono tam „obraz" z „obrazą") oraz imiona, nazwy geograficzne itp. Wreszcie ludzie, których wyróżnione cechy stają się elemental obrzędu. Od przydanych im znaczeń, zależy rola jaką może pełnić dana osoba. XXVII. Płeć symbolizuje warunkujące wszelkie życie pierwiasi — „żeński" i „męski". Przy czym u zamężnych, żonatych będą one już dopełnione, stabilne. W równolegle spełnianych, wyłączę przez mężatki lub wyłącznie przez żonatych, rytuałach (np. zapustnych, niektórych fragmentach wesela) ich już sprawdzona płodność może być przekazana osobom tej samej płci, hodowa- 20 I nym przez nie roślinom i zwierzętom. Obecność płci przeciwnej nie jest więc konieczna, lecz wręcz niepożądana. Żony i mężowie, którzy nie dowiedli jeszcze swojej płodności, poddawani są specjalnym zabiegom, zanim zostaną dopuszczeni do tego grona. Scenariusze rytuałów różnią się zasadniczo. Natomiast, gdy chodzi o odnowienie życia, zdrowia itd., dominującą rolę odgryają dziewczęta i chłopcy, a rytuały z reguły przewidują ich wzajemne kontakty. „Żeńskość" i „męskość" młodych rozwija się, zmierza do dopełnienia, jest więc bliższa symbolice regenerai. Zdarza się, że identyczne obrzędy (np. kolędowanie, śmigus) są zamiennie wykonywane przez dziewczęta lub przez chłopców z taką samą przewidywaną skutecznością. Skoro płeć wykonawów nie pociąga za sobą różnicowania dalszych elementów obrzędu i nie wpływa na oczekiwane rezultaty, można przyjąć, że analogi­ czne znaczenie może być przypisane obu płciom i będą one wtedy traktowane jako ekwiwalentne. Podobnie i inne podkreślane w obrzędach cechy, jak młostarość, siła—słabość, bogactwo—ubóstwo itd., przybierają za­ zwyczaj wykluczające się lub/i dopełniające się odcienie znacze­ niowe, różnicując funkcje poszczególnych osób. Jeśli jednak któreś z akcentowanych znaczeń da się wyprowadzić z różnych, nawet przeciwstawnych cech, to posiadający je ludzie mogą spełniać analogiczne funkcje. Z wieloma cechami łączy się np. XXVIII. Medialność, zdolność nawiązania kontaktu z Nadrzyrodzonym, dana jest zwłaszcza: (a) dzieciom — bliskim „tamtego świata", (b) starcom — „jedną nogą na tamtym świecie", (c) państwu młodym, brzemiennej (matka—niematka) — w s t a e przejścia, (d) obcym (etnicznie, wyznaniowe zawodowo) — żyjącym w i poza swoją grupą, (e) kalekom, sierotom, ubogim — napiętnowanym przez los, (f) najbogatszym, najsilniejszym, najładniejszym — wyróżnioym przez los. Wszystkim im przysługuje dar jasnowidzenia, niezwykłe możiwości, które są niebezpieczne, ale właściwie wykorzystane przy­ noszą szczęście. Symbol w obrzędzie znaczy mniej więcej to samo dla całej społeczności i jest traktowany jako rzeczywisty przekaźnik wynicych zań wartości, gdyż skupia bądź reprezentuje siły działające w kosmosie. Kontakt z nim nie tylko — jak zauważa Paul Ricoeur „daje do myślenia"" — lecz czyni realnym to co pomyślane. Znaczenia łączonych z sobą elementów wzmacniają się i uzupeł­ niają zależnie od tego, na jaką sferę natury i życia ludzkiego są skierowane. Wieloznaczne symbolicznie elementy wchodzące w skład- potraw, rekwizytów, strojów, postaci, tekstów, muzyki, tańca, wreszcie wiążących je w rytuał działań. �dopiero w kontekście czasu, przestrzeni, relacji międzyludzkich zyskują ostateczny wyraz, przynosząc każdemu to, co dla niego najbardziej pożądane. Jadłospis obrzędowy obejmuje potrawy roślinne i zwierzęce. Wyłącznie roślinny zestaw w jednej fazfe święta, będzie dopeł­ niony w fazie następnej produktami zwierzęcymi (por. potrawy wigilijne i w Boże Narodzenie). Zakaz spożywania mięsa i tłusz­ czu i nakaz spożywania ich w kolejnych obrzędach, jakby po raz pierwszy, ma odpowiednik w rytualnym jedzeniu pierwszych potraw z roślin dojrzewających w ciągu roku. Po okresie wstrze­ mięźliwości, przychodzi okres obżarstwa. Niekiedy bierze się pod uwagę liczbę potraw, jak i to, by wszystkie jadalne rośliny i zwierzęta były w nich reprezentowane i by były uwzględnione wszystkie smaki. Istotna jest też kolejność i forma podania. Osoba przyrządzająca potrawy musi spełniać pewne warunki (np. być mężatką, nie mieć miesiączki) i przestrzegać ustalonych zasad. Przede wszystkim powinna ona wcześniej (także inni uczestni­ czący w uczcie) oczyścić tak ciało, jak i duszę. Miejsce uczty powinno być specjalnie przygotowane (np. przy nieużywanym zwykle stole, na obrusie, na ziemi, na cmentarzu), biesiadnicy rozmieszczeni według funkcji nie wstają aż do końca (albo do przerwy), obsługiwani przez wyznaczone osoby. Potrawami należało się dzielić (niektóre były wyłącznie do tego przeznaczo­ ne) poza własnym gronem, niekiedy też ze zwierzętami oraz duszami zmarłych, co niekoniecznie musiało być podkreślone, jako że jedzenie ofiarowane obcemu, ubogiemu, dziecku czy starcowi było tym samym przekazane na „tamten świat". Ofiarą dla „tamtego świata" było również pozostawienie, rozrzucenie, zniszczenie... części potraw. Każda obrzędowa uczta miała przy­ najmniej jedno danie lub/i napój (zwykle wzmagający medial­ ność alkohol), którego spożycie wiązało się z realizacją intencji uczty. Inne potrawy stale się powtarzały. Wyróżnionej potrawie mógł być nadany specjalny kształt, kolor, ornament (pieczywo figuralne, pisanki...), jeśli przy tym wykraczała poza kontekst jedzenia, a służyła do wróżb, składania życzeń, do tańca itp., pełniła równocześnie funkcje rekwizytu obrzędowego. Za rekwizyt uważam element lub zespół elementów, który przez dostosowanie formy (podkreślenie istotnych cech, sporządzenie modelu itp.) nadaje się do obrzędowej manipulacji, by uczestnicy i ich dobytek znaleźli się w zasięgu jego oddziaływania. Jest więc obnoszony, dotykany, zawieszany... aż do rytualnego zniszczenia (schowania, włączenia w dawny kontekst). Dopiero w trakcie obrzędu rekwizyt nabiera sensu i mocy, a składają się nań nie tylko symbole, z których jest zbudowany, ale i symbolika czynności, wykonujących je osób, jak i to na kogo lub na co jest skierowany. Za jego sprawą nawiązuje się kontakt z Nadprzyrodzonym, ustalają się relacje ludzi z ludźmi i z naturą. Biorąc pod uwagę towarzyszące rekwizytowi okoliczności, możemy objąć jednym znaczeniem tak odmienne zewnętrznie przedmioty, jak wyobrażenie kozła i męż­ czyzny w obrzędzie Podkoziolek albo koguta, tracza i Zmartwych­ wstałego Jezusa obwożonego podczas Wielkanocy bądź różni­ cować znaczenie np. drzewka (gałęzi) obwieszonego owocami, wydmuszkami, ciastkami... używanego w całej Europie przy roz­ maitych dorocznych i rodzinnych okazjach. niewidoczny dla otoczenia. Zakrywa więc swoją tożsamość i stara się, by nie zostać rozpoznanym. Z kolei ambicją pozosta­ łych uczestników jest jego identyfikacja. Przebierańcy mogą się pojawić w Europie przy dowolnej okazji obrzędowej , chociaż w danej miejscowości tylko w nie­ których obrzędach albo wcale. Mimo iż zestaw i wygląd postaci występujących w poszczególnych obrzędach jest zróżnicowany regionalnie, to przecież charakteryzujące je cechy są zachowane i powtarzają się niezależnie od miejsca i obrzędu. Pośród postaci antropomorficznych najbardziej rozpow­ szechniona w Europie jest para: starzec i starucha. Ich starość jest jednak zaprzeczona eksponowaniem seksu, frywolnością, chwa­ leniem się potomstwem (niekiedy uobecnionym w postaci kukły niemowlęcia). Ubrani są w łachmany, z poczernionymi lub zakrytymi szpetną maską twarzami, a zachowują się jak osoby pełne siły, urody i władzy. W innych wariantach występują jako para nowożeńców: królewska, cygańska, żydowska... wyglądają odmiennie, ale są traktowani tak samo. Odgrywają sceny wesel­ ne, rodzenia, płodzenia, choroby, a nawet śmierci, po której wracają do życia. Jeśli występują w pojedynkę, szukają partnera wśród uczestników obrzędu. Przebierają się zazwyczaj kawalero­ wie, rzadziej panny i chodzą w odrębnych grupach, więc zwykle przynajmniej jedna osoba jest ubrana przeciwnie do płci. Zdarzają się postacie ubrane „po męsku", ale zachowujące się jak kobiety, np. austriacki Roller czy fiński Nuutti , albo postacie łączące męskie i żeńskie części stroju lub postacie podwójne (człowiek z przyczepioną kukłą) w Polsce znane jako „chłop na babie" . U tego typu postaci uderza związanie w jedno cech występują­ cych w naturze oddzielnie, zwłaszcza „męskości" z „żeńskością", a dalej starości z młodzieńczym wigorem, z płodnością; urody z brzydotą; siły ze słabością itp. Dążność do osiągnięcia pełni znajdzie uzasadnienie w wielu mitach, np. w rekonstruowanym przez Iwanowa i Toporowa micie Jaryły — personifikacji wiosny, odtwarzanego w obrzędzie przez dziewczynę w stroju męskim. " 15 16 17 18 1 Pozostałe postacie: obcych, dzikich, upośledzonych, również przedstawiają młodzi mężczyźni lub kobiety (zapusty, wesele). II. 6. Wielkanocni „Smigurtnicy", Nieznanowice k/Gdowa (pod­ czas przeglądu w Krakowie, 1988 r.) 14 Strój obrzędowy nie jest tożsamy ani z ludowym, odświętnym ubiorem, ani z kostiumem postaci obrzędowych. Każdy uczestnik nosi strój obrzędowy, gdy spełnia określone wymogi, np. by ubranie lub jego część była nowa albo przynajmniej świeżo wyprana, by były w nim znaczące ozdoby, kolory. Obrzędowa jest nagość lub jej namiastki (bielizna, podkasanie), a także nakaz wykonywania pewnych czynności boso, z odkrytą głową, co może znaczyć powrót do natury, do stanu pierwotnej niewinnoś­ ci... natomiast gdy akcentowane jest zdejmowanie stroju bądź jego fragmentów, znamionuje uległość, poddanie się, niekiedy jednak stan przejścia, oddzielenie, podobnie jak zakrywanie tego, co zwykle odkryte (twarzy, rąk). Przydanie dodatkowych ele­ mentów lub inne niż zwykle potraktowanie ubioru, wyznacza aktywną, określoną konwencją, rolę w obrzędzie. Przez przypię­ cie wianka, bukiecika (z zieleni, piórek, wstążeczki...) przy głowie lub piersi, z prawej czy z lewej strony, założenie kożucha (marynarki, koszuli...) spodnią stroną na wierzch, przepasanie się słomą (sznurem, rzemieniem...), wzięcie laski (bata, kija...) itp. człowiek staje się postacią obrzędową, chociaż jego własna tożsamość zostaje zachowana. Postać obrzędowa sensu stricto reprezentuje jednak coś lub kogoś innego niż człowiek, który się w nią wciela. Występuje w przebraniu z zamaskowaną twarzą, bądź działa z ukrycia 21 �odgrywają sceny walki, targu, kradzieży... leczenia, prorokowa­ nia, czarowania... Tym razem „swojskość" łączy się z „obcością", „zdrowie", z „kalectwem", „mądrość" z „głupotą". Ambiwalent­ ne postacie, np. znane na całej Słowiańszczyźnie jako dziadibaba (już nazwy są wieloznaczne i obejmują przodków, starców, żebraków, znachorów), podkreślają raz witalność i seksualność, innym razem wiedzę i spryt. Toteż ich role mogą być dublowane przez kilka różnych postaci, wtedy obok lub zamiast „dziada" i „ b a b y " pojawi się para nowożeńców, para Cyganów itp. Postacie zoomorficzne: człowiek w zwierzęcej masce lub* kompletnie przebrany za zwierzę, a więc człowiek-zwierzę, a za­ razem człowiek-nieczłowiek, zwierzę-niezwierzę. Postać jedno­ czy naturalne przeciwieństwa, nie jest zatem symbolicznie tożsa­ ma ze znaczeniem zwierzęcia użytego jako rekwizyt. Hipotezy upatrujące w oprowadzaniu po domach zwierząt lub ich modeli pierwowzoru postaci zwierzęcych wydają się chybione. Tym bardziej, że przebieranie się na zwierzęta jest poświadczone jeszcze w paleolicie , a w czasach nowożytnych stwierdzone zostało bodaj wszędzie. Postacie wyobrażają konkretne zwierzęta, bądź potwory nie mające w przyrodzie odpowiednika, np. bułgarska brezaja — czworonóg z rogami i długim, kłapiącym dziobem, czy fińska kóyrifar—dwunożna, okryta kożuchem, mająca też dziób i uszy. Na płeć zwierzęcia wskazuje nazwa. Identyczna postać może być w jednym regionie samcem w innym samicą (koń lub kobyła, kozioł lub koza...). Nader często przy tym występują aluzje do obojnactwa np. przy oprowadzaniu turonia jest.scenka dojenia, zaś przy próbie dojenia kozy, może się okazać, że jest ona samcem. Tendencja do łączenia „męskości" z „żeńskością", seksualne zaczepki, symulowanie aktu, choroby, śmierci i oży­ wania, są dla postaci zoomorf icznych nie mniej charakterystyczne niż dla antropomorficznych. Podobieństwa bywają tak uderzają­ ce, że w pewnych przypadkach wypada uznać tożsamość postaci zwierzęcej i ludzkiej; dotyczy to zwłaszcza niedźwiedzia i wystę­ pującej pod różnymi nazwami postaci okręconej słomą, wspicza20 21 II. 7. Karnawałowy „Ciggaroń" z Verin (Orense), Hiszpania stej czapie albo w kożuchu i masce z kawałka skóry z wyciętymi otworami. Jan Komorovsky , wspierając tezę Jerśbka o ekwiwa­ lentności tych postaci, podaje liczne przykłady za słowiańszczyz­ ny, Kaukazu i Syberii. Analogiczne przykłady można znaleźć i na zachodzie Europy — w jednym z wariantów zanotowanych w Pirenejach, mężczyzna w kostiumie ze strzępków różnobarw­ nego materiału (do złudzenia przypominający żywieckie maciduie) zwany jest „dzikim człowiekiem-niedźwiedziem" (1'homme-sauvage-ours). Niemniej przypuszczenie, że pierwotnie zwierzęca postać uległa z czasem antropomorfizacji, nie wydaje się przekonywające. Obie mogły istnieć równolegle, a ponieważ pełniły w obrzędzie analogiczne funkcje, ich symbolika zawierała się w kręgu regeneracji i płodności, dały się nawzajem zastępo­ wać. Tym bardziej, że ekwiwalentność postaci zoo- i antropo­ morficznych ma znacznie szerszy zakres. Jest to uderzające w występującej powszechnie, zwłaszcza w zapusty i na weselu, rytualnej kaźni, kiedy to osądza się i ścina raz postać ludzką, innymi razem zwierzęcą. W jednym z wariantów zapustów na Mazowszu, postać spowita słomą występuje jako misio-toruń, a mężczyzna trzymający na kiju drewnianą głowę z kłapiącą szczęką, zwany jest kuciapa. Kuciapa w staropolszczyźnie zna­ czyła organ żeński i tak też rozumieją ją zapustnicy śpiewając: „Toruniu, baba zgorzała tylko kuciapa została..." Ponadto szeroko znane są w Europie postacie, w których maski lub elementy zwierzęce są połączone z ludzkim ubiorem. 22 23 24 Postacie fitomorficzne — człowiek częściowo lub całkowicie spowity w zielone gałęzie, występują lokalnie, pod różnymi nazwami, jednak we wszystkich częściach Europy. Spotyka się je zazwyczaj w obrzędach przełomu wiosny i lata oraz przy rytualnym prowokowaniu deszczu. Gdzie indziej w analogicznych sytuacjach obrzędowych występują inne postacie lub rekwizyty. 25 Dla wszystkich typów postaci obrzędowych ewidentna jest tendencja wiązania przeciwieństw: „męskości" z „żeńskością", „oswojonego" z „dzikim", tego co „ludzkie" z tym co „zwierzę­ ce" i „roślinne". Teksty wygłaszane lub śpiewane w trakcie spełniania obrzędu mogą komentować akcję, służyć jako formuły magiczne, uzupeł­ niać bądź zastępować inne elementy symboliczne. Są obrzędy, w których nie pada ani jedno słowo, a nawet obowiązuje milczenie i takie, w których rytuał sprowadza się do wypowiedze­ nia tekstu. W jednych wariantach danego obrzędu właśnie tekst przywołuje niezbędne symbole, gdy w innych wyraża je dziaianie lub rekwizyt, np. oczepiny śpiewane bądź tańczone, budowanie bramy albo pieśni bramne. Bywa, że tekst jest użyty w miejsce złożonego rytuału, jakim jest noworoczna czy zapustna orka (symboliczne wzięcie ziemi w posiadanie) u Greków, większości narodów germańskich, romańskich i słowiańskich ; w Polsce śpiewa się w tym kontekście o Bogu orzącym złotym płużkiem pole gospodarza. Motyw orki pojawia się także w działaniach i tekstach obrzędowych przy żniwach, zakładaniu wsi i na weselu. Jest to jeden z nielicznych przypadków, gdy obrzęd jest dosłownie mitem w akcji. Odtworzony lub przywołany w obrzę­ dzie mit działa aktywnie na rzeczywistość, kształtując ją zgodnie z oczekiwaniami uczestników. Toteż teksty obrzędowe wygłasza­ ne są reguły w czasie teraźniejszym. Na dworze śnieg i mróz, a w pieśni już „...święty Jerzy ziemię mierzy, święty Jakub zażynaje, święta Anna kopy stawia..." Czas przeszły występuje w inwokacjach wspominających mityczny pierwowzór, by po­ wiązać z nim aktualną sytuację, lub w tekstach o przebyciu dalekiej, niebezpiecznej drogi, o pobycie w odległej krainie, gdzie woda parzy, ogień chłodzi, psy ogonami szczekają itp., by wreszcie odnaleźć właściwy dom. Jest regułą, że mityczne wątki w tekstach obrzędowych są sprowadzane do konkretnych rea­ liów. U wszystkich gospodarzy po kolei Bóg orze pole, sieje zboże, mnoży bydło; każdej gospodyni wypełnia komorę; wymie­ nione panny znajdują wyprawę na złotej sośnie, kawalerowie wracają z ł o w ó w z bogatym łupem i narzeczoną, dusze trafiają do raju i są goszczone przez anioły. Nie chodzi tu więc o przytoczenie mitu, a o jego korektę, tak by były nim objęte osoby spełniające obrzęd. By dzięki zmianie jaka się przez obrzęd dokonała w sferze mitycznej, umożliwić odnowienie natury i społeczności. W in­ nych tekstach znajdujemy typowe dla magii przenoszenie cech z jednego przedmiotu na drugi w sposób metaforyczny: 25 27 28 — przez podobieństwo; tak... jak (pszeniczka jak groch), tyle... ile (tyle wołków, ile w płocie kołków), jako tam... i tu (byście byli weseli, jako w niebie anieli), — przez kontakt; „Gdzie koza chodzi, tam się żytko rodzi...". 22 �„Szczęście do was przyjdzie, gdy Cyganka wejdzie, krówka się ocieli, dziewka za mąż wyjdzie", „Nie ja biję, palma bije, młode pączki, stare kije...", — przez imitację; dialogi z przedmiotem, w imieniu którego ktoś odpowiada (przy obwiązaniu drzew, wiciu weselnego wianka, pieczeniu korowaja...), także teksty wypowiadane w imieniu noworodka, zmarłego lub jego duszy. Do technik magicznych należy zniekształcanie tekstu, by spowodować odkształcenie sytuacji w pożądanym kierunku. Wygłaszają je postacie „ o b c y c h " często posługując się bełkotem, przejęzyczając się, wypowiadając tekst do tyłu... Podkreśla to ich przynależność do „innego świata", ale przede wszystkim symbo­ licznie burzy zastany ład, wprowadzając chaos, by następnie wraz z przywróconym porządkiem mowy i porządek świata był odtwo­ rzony. Parodia, ośmieszenie, wyklinanie symbolicznie niszczy to, na co jest skierowane. Podobnie bywają użyte słowa nieprzyzwo­ ite, ale też przywołując symbolikę seksualną, mogą sprzyjać płodności, zaś przekleństwa, tak jak błogosławieństwa, przyzy­ wają moce nadprzyrodzone. Ponadto teksty wprowadzają uczestników obrzędu w odpo­ wiedni nastrój: nie tylko treścią, ale i sposobem ich podawania. Intonacja zdań, skandowanie, podkreślane niekiedy gestem, tupaniem, wybijaniem rytmu, wprawiają w ó w niezwykły stan, warunkujący przeżycie obrzędu. Rytm jest w obrzędzie wszechobecny; równomierny i pulsują­ cy, przyspieszony i spowolniony, towarzyszący wszelkim działa­ niom obrzędowym. Zanik rytmu, to bezwład, śmierć. Zaburzenie rytmu, to zniszczenie, chaos. Zmiana rytmu, to zmiana sytuacji. Uwaga zaprzątnięta śledzeniem tego co się dzieje, nie rejestruje rytmu. Dopiero w muzyce i tańcu, rytm, jako reguła porządkująca dźwięki i ruchy, nabiera wyrazistości. Bez muzyki i tańca rytuał może się obejść, kiedy jednak są one weń włączone, tak jak i inne elementy przekazują symboliczne treści. Formy muzyczne i taneczne są zróżnicowane terytorialnie i zmieniają się w czasie, współwystępują i zastępują się nawza- jem, są też zastępowane drugimi formami obrzędowymi. Ich znaczenie jest zdeterminowane kulturowo i zależne od kontekstu obrzędu. Rozpatrywanie muzyki i tańca obrzędowego poza kontekstem, musi prowadzić do nieporuzumień. Chocież nie jestem specjalistą, obserwację Jana Stęszewskiego odbieram jako trafną: „Wiązanie skal wielkotercjowych z wesołością i małotercjowych ze smutkiem jest nałożeniem na folklor własnej, nieadekwatnej perspektywy, zaczerpniętej z norm muzyki profes­ jonalnej tego okresu." Podobne obserwacje, tym razem doty­ czące opisów i interpretacji tańców, poczyniła Jolanta Kowalska: „Są one wyrazem reakcji na odmienność... i próbą racjonalizacji bądź dystansowania się wobec zachowań obcych własnej kon­ wencji kulturowej piszącego." Obrzędowa rola muzyki, to poddanie i utrzymanie rytmu, pobudzenie korespondujących z sytuacją emocji, powiązanie tekstu i ruchu z melodią. Muzyka jest dopasowana do obrzędu i jako taka na danym obszarze utrwalona. Zestaw i rozkład melodii nie tylko różni jeden rytuał od drugiego, ale pozwala określić jego fazę, np. bodaj w całej Polsce zagranie Chmielą zapowiada oczepiny. Czy melodia jest tu li tylko akompaniamentem, sygna­ łem do podjęcia stosownych działań, czy też przywołuje te same symboliczne skojarzenia, co słowny obraz wijącej się „ T o na dół, to ku górze" rośliny? Niewinne skądinąd słowa dopiero w połą­ czeniu z rytmem i w kontekście obrzędu mogły być odebrane jako nieprzyzwoite, toteż już w XIX w. zastępowano je przez „Niech ci Pan Bóg dopomoże", melodia jednak pozostała. Czy ma coś wspólnego z muzyką używaną gdzie indziej w analogicznych sytuacjach? Np. do tańca drużbów opoczyńskich, którzy — jak pisze Jan Piotr Dekowski — tańczyli na pożytek młodych w rytmie polki, naśladując otłukiwanie kaszy w dębowej stępie" , stąd nazwa „drobna kąska", albo z przytoczoną przez Christo Wakarelskiego pieśnią pokładzinową i towarzyszącym jej tań­ cem „ćukane na piper" (tłuczenie pieprzu), kiedy to mężczyźni przy słowach mówiących o kopaniu ziemi i sadzeniu tej rośliny, padali na podłogę imitując ruchy kopulacyjne. Możemy się II. 8. Przebieraniec, podczas VIII Festiwalu Kukierów i Surwakarów, w Perniku, Bułgaria 1985 r. II. 9. Wigilijna postać — „Gwiazdka", Cieszenie k/Kartuz, ok. 1950 r. 28 30 31 32 23 �— zabijanie, wyganianie, pozbawienie przytomności... żywego zwierzęcia, oskarżanego o liczne winy, a „wyrok" często wyko­ nywany był z zawiązanymi oczami, — niszczenie kukieł oraz innych rekwizytów (np. rózgi weselnej, choinki) lub powierzenie ich boskiej opiece (np. zawieszenie wianka, welonu na krzyżu), rozbijanie naczyń, łamanie sprzętów, wyrzucenie poza granice..., — zabijanie, wypędzanie, obrzucanie nieczystościami, wyzwis­ kami... postaci obrzędowej (np. niedźwiedzia, swata. Starego Roku ) , odgrywanie scen sądu, kaźni, parodiowanie pogrzebu (np. zapusta, żuru, basa)..., — pozbywanie się śmieci, resztek jedzenia (wyparzanie garn­ k ó w ) , staroci... Sens tych czynności uwidacznia się zwłaszcza przy, rzadko notowanych, przypadkach złośliwego ich zastosowania, np. na Węgrzech, podrzucenie garnka ze śmieciami nielubianej pannie, w Hiszpanii podłożenie garnka z resztkami karnawałowego jedze­ nia, koszyka z kotem lub pajaca Pelele (znaku karnawału), c o — j a k twierdzi A. Liano Rosa de Ampudia — znaczy zostać z biedami zeszłego roku, nie narodzić się do nowego życia. I chyba tak trzeba rozumieć nasze „podłożenie świni" (jedzonej w zapust). 35 II. 10. „Niedźwiedź" zapusty ze wsi Sziigy, Węgry domyślać, że i muzyka oddaje ten rytm, ale przecież jego znaczenie nie musi się ograniczać do symboliki seksualnej, a poprzez nią do symboliki płodności. Podobny ciąg skojarzenio­ wy: plenna roślina—kobieta (mężczyzna, postać obrzędowa) — rytmiczny ruch—płodność odnajdujemy w tańcu oczepionej panny młodej „na konopie" i w szeroko znanych, dorocznych tańcach „na urodzaj". Ich wnikliwą interpretację daje Kowalska, podsumowując: „Każda z sygnalizowanych tu zmian w obsadzie wykonawczej tańca czy miejscu jego wykonania, każdy nowy element znaczący decyduje o występowaniu... indywidualnych różnic w szeregu symbolicznych konotacji składających się na jego znaczenie. Pomimo to we wszystkich wersjach niezmienny pozostaje związek semazjologiczny łączący ruch taneczny (lub jego element) z urodzajem." Nie odmówię sobie przyjemności zacytowania Gerardusa van der Leeuwa: „Metafizykę muzyki potrafimy przeżyć, metafizykę tańca — i to też nie bez trudności -— zaledwie zrozumieć, lecz dlaczegóż nie miałaby ludzkość znów zacząć mówić w najstarszym ze swych języków... o wielkiej tajemnicy ruchu i przeciwruchu: ruchu, który wychodzi z ziemi i skierowany jest ku Bogu, i tego, który wychodzi od Boga ku ziemi?" — odnosząc jego słowa do wszystkiego, co składa się na obrzęd. 33 34 Działania obrzędowe wiążą poszczególne składniki w całość, odpowiadają kolejnym etapom obrzędu: wyłączenie ze starego porządku; przejście; ewentualnie wyłączenie ze stanu przejścia; kreowanie nowego porządku; włączenie w nowy porządek. Bywają jednak czasem przemieszane, rozłożone na kilka następu­ jących po sobie rytuałów, mogą też być dopełnione indywidual­ nie przed lub po obrzędzie. A. Działania zamykające mijający okres i przygotowujące wejście w nowy: — zakończenie prac gospodarczych, rozwiązanie umów, odda­ nie długów..., — oczyszczenie obejścia i siebie; sprzątanie, bielenie, pranie, mycie, kadzenie, wypędzanie szkodników... także wewnętrznie przez wyznanie winy wszem i wobec (np. panny młodej, że nie jest dziewicą), spowiedź..., — pogodzenie się z Bogiem, bliźnimi, zmarłymi, niekiedy i ze zwierzętami, przez złożenie ofiary, daru, odpuszczenie krzywd, zaniechanie żalu, wyrzekania na los, pożegnanie (nawet ze sprzętami, progiem), złożenie życzeń..., — publiczne ujawnianie i ośmieszanie wad; skąpstwa, pychy, opieszałości... krytykę adresowaną wprost lub aluzyjnie, przyjmo­ wano wtedy bez obrazy. B. Działania niszczące symbole poprzedniego okresu (lub stanu przejścia), by to co złe, przepadło na zawsze, a dobre mogło się odrodzić: 24 C. Działania wprowadzające chaos, znamienne dla okresu przejścia: — robienie bałaganu, śmiecenie, przewracanie sprzętów, w y ­ grzebanie popiołu, — robienie „psot" tj. zatykanie kominów, mazanie okien, rozbie­ ranie narzędzi i ponowne montowanie ich na dachu, na drodze itp., przestawianie ustępu..., . — zachowania przeciwne do płci, wieku, stanu, pozycji społecz­ nej, — zachowania nieakceptowane: wdzieranie się silą, kradzież, okłamywanie..., — czynności wykonywane inaczej niż zazwyczaj, np. wchodze­ nie i wychodzenie oknem, przeciąganie pod progiem... przeszka­ dzanie w pracy..., — czynności wykonywane potajemnie, znienacka, na oślep... mistyfikacje, ukrywanie się, podstawianie innych osób, zmienia­ nie imion, nazw..., — parodiowanie urzędu, władzy, kościoła, wykpiwanie autory­ tetów..., — zaburzanie równowagi: upijanie się, niepohamowany śmiech, huśtanie... Te i tym podobne zachowania przyjęło się za Bachtinem łączyć z przymiotnikiem „karnawałowe", a użyte poza konteks­ tem karnawału, jako „karnawalizacja", co jest uzasadnione, gdy chodzi o wskazanie pewnej konwencji obyczajowej czy literac­ kiej. Jeśli jednak tym terminem posługuje się etnograf, to niczego w ten sposób nie tłumaczy. Takie działania pojawiają się bowiem w każdym podkreślonym obrzędowo okresie, także w rytuałach rodzinnych, zwłaszcza w weselu. „Nuptializacja" mogłaby być z powodzeniem synonimem „karnawalizacji" *. Szczególnie w y ­ mowne jest okazjonalne ich zastosowanie np. przy pracy (przę­ dących wspólnie dziewcząt, wyzwoliny na kosiarza...) albo podczas suszy. Pośród wielu europejskich wariantów obrzędo­ wego prowokowania deszczu, na Podlasiu (rejon Włodawy) robi się w tym celu owe „psoty", które gdzie indziej w Polsce i poza nią występują w Boże Narodzenie, Nowy Rok, zapusty, półpoście, Wielkanoc, Zielone Świątki, andrzejki i na weselu. Zaburzenie pracy, codzienności sprowadza więc ogólny nieporządek i w spo­ łeczeństwie, i w przyrodzie, przywraca mityczny Chaos, by dało się pokierować tworzeniem nowego ładu, zanim stanie się mityczną przeszłością = przyszłym ziemskim przeznaczeniem. 3 D. Działania wspomagające, by to co pozytywne zwyciężyło negatywne: — bójki między konkurującymi ze sobą grupami, np. kolędników, kawalerów na weselu („wesele bez bitki, to nie wesele"), walka o rekwizyt, szydzenie, — symulowanie walki przez postacie obrzędowe, noszenie bro­ ni, strzelanie, — próby zręcznościowe, losowe, odgadywanie zagadek... pod­ dana im osoba dowodzi swojej dojrzałości, — gry konkurencyjne, wyścigi, zawody... pozwalające wyłonić zwycięzcę, — zdobywanie czegoś przez wykup, kradzież, podstęp, wypra­ szanie..., — inscenizacje wątków biblijnych, historycznych, legendar­ nych, w których zło zostaje ukarane, a dobro zwycięża (o ile �połączone są z innymi działaniami obrzędowymi skierowanymi do wszystkich uczestników). Zestawione tu działania niewątpliwie nawiązują do mitów kosmogonicznych, kalendarzowych (tj. wyjaśniających cykliczność przyrody), bohaterskicb, eschatologicznych nawet. Od­ twarzając mityczne wątki, wykonawcy jakby je uczynniają, przy­ wołując rzeczywistość mityczną, by ogarnęła to, co teraz istnieje i zaistnieje, sterują pomyślnym rozwojem wydarzeń. E. Działania wykonywane „ p o to, żeby..." lub „po to, aby nie...", czyli w oczekiwaniu konkretnego rezultatu w przyszłości, były już tylekroć omawiane, że ich wyliczanie mogę pominąć. Oparte są one na zasadach magii określanej, zależnie od tego co wzięto pod uwagę: przedmiot, na który jest skierowana (agrarna, hodowlana...), funkcje (oczyszczająca, ochronna...), cel (zdro­ wia, płodności...), techniki (dobrego początku, kontaktowa...) — jednak użyte w obrzędzie podlegają jego regułom. Podobnie jak odtworzone słowem bądź inscenizacją mityczne wątki, magia służy do kreowania nowego porządku. Mit jest traktowany magicznie, magia wchodzi w skład mitu — przekształcają się nawzajem. Przykładem takich transformacji są wprowadzone do obrzędowości fragmenty chrześcijańskich misteriów, które wy­ szedłszy z pierwotnego kontekstu uległy rytualizacji, właśnie dzięki magicznemu zastosowaniu biblijnych i apokryficznych tematów. F. Działania porządkujące zaczynają i kończą obrzęd albo jego odrębne znaczeniowo części (każda jest wtedy przejściem od...do), mogą też wystąpić poza rytuałem w miarę powrotu do codzienności: — ustalenie relacji między uczestnikami, potraktowanie każdego zgodnie z jego uaktualnioną przez obrzęd pozycją, a więc kolejność i forma zwracania się doń, wskazanie miejsca, celebroanie powitań i pożegnań..., — nazwanie nowym mianem, np. Nowym Rokiem, panem gospodarzem, kumem, panną młodą (po zaręczynach), panią młodą (po pokładzinach, po ślubie), babą (po oczepinach, po wywodzie, po przyjściu do grona mężatek)..., — wyznaczenie zasięgu (w tym także wydzielenie czegoś z cało­ ści) przez przechodzenie, otaczanie, wymierzanie, ustalenie odle­ głości, granic..., — przywracanie zaburzonego ładu; poustawianie sprzętów, za­ ścielenie łóżek, pozamiatanie... np. po wejściu młodej żony w dom męża, po przebierańcach, — powrót do norm, rozgraniczenie tego co kobiece i męskie, przyzwoite i nieprzyzwoite, czyste i nieczyste... np. po oczepi­ nach, na kończącej obchody przebierańców zabawie albo dopie­ ro po obrzędzie, — ujawnienie tożsamości, np. odnalezienie pośród zakrytych dziewcząt panny młodej, odgadnięcie sprawcy psot, odsłonięcie masek..., — wprowadzenie znaku nowego porządku, np. wiechy na nowozbudowanym domu, zawieszenie nowego, poświęconego obrazu przy weselnych przenosinach, przez chrzestną nad posła­ niem dziecka... symbole te pozostają tak długo aż zniszczeją lub są pieczołowicie przechowywane cały rok, całe życie..., — zastąpienie jednej oznaki inną, zmiana jej pozyeji, zmiana stroju... np. po utopieniu Marzanny — obnoszenie gaika, po zdjęciu wianka — założenie czepca, przepięcie po ślubie bukietu pana młodego z lewej na prawą stronę, po potrawach postnych, potrawy mięsne i tłuste..., — odnawianie wody i ognia (wylanie, wygaszenie i ponowne napełnienie, rozpalenie), np. na Wielkanoc, po przenosinach weselnych, po pogrzebie... przynoszenie poświęconej wody, ogarków, zapalonej gromnicy i naznaczanie nimi zagród, bydła, domowników, przechowywanie przez cały rok i stosowanie dla przywrócenia porządku w czasie burzy, choroby, agonii... — akcentowanie przyjęcia do wspólnoty stanowej, np. do klubu kawalerów... Wybór działań do poszczególnych obrzędów, kolejność, ukie­ runkowanie, sposób wykonania... są dla społeczności równie charakterystyczne, jak rodzaj postaci, rekwizytów itp. Działaniem obrzędowym jest także reakcja na działanie. Podziały: wykonaw­ ca—odbiorca, podmiot—przedmiot nie istnieją w obrzędzie. Oddziaływając czymś na kogoś lub na coś, jest się równocześnie pod wpływem tego, na co się oddziaływuje. W odbiorze uczestni­ ków obrzędu, także nadrzędni adresaci — siły nadprzyrodzone włączają się w jego przebieg, manipulują i są manipulowani. Zróżnicowanie funkcji obrzędowych, to zróżnicowanie symboli­ cznych treści, które dana osoba (roślina, zwierzę, rzecz) może emitować i przyjmować. Ta sama czynność, np. wielkanocne uderzanie gałęzią, przybiera rozmaite odcienie znaczeniowe, gdy dorosły uderza dziecko, „by rosło i było posłuszne", przekazując mu siłę wzrostu rośliny + własną dojrzałość i władzę, gdy dziecko uderza dorosłych „na zdrowie" — zdolność regeneracji rośliny będzie wzmocniona zdolnością rozwoju dziecka i gdy uderzają się nawzajem kawalerowie i panny, wiążąc z witalnością rośliny swoją potencjalną energię dawania życia. W Czechach zwyczaj ten (oraz gałązki i dary wtedy otrzymane) nazywa się pomlazka od omladiti = odmładzać, a gałązki muszą być wciąż w ruchu. Czy sens rytmicznego ruchu (obecnego wszak w każdym obrzę­ dzie, pod różnymi postaciami) sprowadzacie li tylko do uaktyw­ nienia symboli i umożliwienia z nimi kontaktu, skoro w Jugosła­ wii zanotowano takie oto jego uzasadnienie żeby nie ustały 37 obłoki na niebie i życie na ziemi" *. A jednocześnie cały rytuał wprowadza uczestników w miejsce i czas Chrystusowej męki 3 II. 1 1 . Karnawałowi „ludzie-niedźwiedzie", Prats-de-Mollo, Pireneje, Francja 25 �(jeden z polskich wariantów nosi nazwę „Boże rany"), zapew­ niając im udział w jego Zmartwychwstaniu. Przestrzeń obrzędowa, to wszechświat rozwijający się i zwija­ jący, o d - i dośrodkowo, a środek jest T u t a j : w tej wsi, w tym domu, w tej izbie, w tym tragarzu, w rozecie nań umieszczonej, w człowieku, który pod nim stoi, w lasce, którą potrząsa podno­ sząc do góry..., zaś granice niezliczone: kontury laski, ciało, ściany, ogrodzenie, obręb wsi... coraz to wyznaczane, przesuwa­ ne i pokonywane w miarę sprawowania obrzędu. Każda granica zawiera wewnątrz „nasz świat", oddzielając go od „tamtego świata", każde zniesienie jej łączy i tylko w obrzędzie może być bezpieczne. A jak dowodzi Yi- Fu Tuan „'Środek' oznacza również 'początek' i niesie w sobie znaczenie punktu wyjścia. (...) Język ujawnia intymne połączenia pomiędzy ludźmi, przestrzenią i cza­ sem... 'tutaj' to tyle co 'teraz'... 'tam' znaczy 'wtedy', a 'wtedy' odnosi się zarówno do przeszłego, jak i przyszłego." Czyż nie to samo wyrażają czeskie dziewczęta wołając podczas kończących posidelki wróżb: "Z góry, z dołu, ze środka, od A d a m a , o d d z i a d k a , z Moraw i ze wszystkich stron, przyjdźcie chłopcy szybko do nas" . W obrzędzie wszystkie kierunki są znaczące i muszą być uwzględnione. Nie myli się Yi-Fu Tuan, pisząc: „Sposoby dzielenia przestrzeni różnią się wielce... Istnieją jednak pewne zasadnicze podobieństwa, przekraczające granice kultur. Wynikają one z faktu, że człowiek jest miarą wszystkich rzeczy. (...) Przyszłość jest z przodu i 'ku górze'. Przeszłość jest z tyłu i 'poniżej'" i dalej: „ W przestrzeni kosmologicznej 'strona prawa przedstawia to, co jest wysoko, świat wyższy i niebo; strona lewa zaś wiąże się ze światem niższym i ziemią'." Obrzędowe zasady poruszania się: ruch okrężny lub wirowy to w jedną, to w drugą stronę, ruch wahadłowy, skoki i padanie, ruch chaotyczny — niweczą i odtwarzają czas i przestrzeń, umieszczając to co Tu = Teraz we wszechczasie i wszechświecie. W tę czasoprzestrzen­ ną strukturę wpisuje się także tempo ruchu (bieg przybliża, powolność oddala), ubieranie stroju na opak (na „lewą stronę"), wygłaszanie tekstu „do tyłu", zamiana płci, odwrócenie norm... 39 10 41 Wydaje się, że ta sama fabuła została rozpisana na wiele scenariuszy, z udziałem różnych aktorów, w rozmaitych dekorac­ jach, w coraz to innej oprawie muzycznej i choreograficznej. Określenie obrzędów jako ludowego teatru jest trafne jeśli potraktować je metaforycznie, a z gruntu błędne, gdy dosłownie. W tym „teatrze" rozgrywała się walka o istnienie, o dobre życie i cokolwiek się wtedy tam zdarzyło, miało trwałe konsekwencje. Po Nowym Roku, nie powróci stary rok, kobieta po weselu już nigdy nie będzie panną, po zasiedleniu nowego domu, ten tylko jest „naszym domem", poprzedni otrzymał przydomek „stary" itp. Obrzędowa zmiana, wszystko jedno czego bezpośrednio dotyczy i w jaki sposób została sprowokowana, zawsze jest zmianą t o t a l n ą . Obejmuje cały mityczny porządek, a w przy­ szłości porządek rzeczywistości. Jakże więc dopuścić, żeby byle kto, zmieniał cokolwiek byle gdzie, byle kiedy, byle jak, narażając całą społeczność, świat cały na niebezpieczeństwo. Toteż wszys­ tkich, nawet jeśli sprawowali obrzęd indywidualnie, we własnych domach, obowiązywał jeden czas, taki sam podział przestrzeni i schemat rytuału, dopuszczający wprawdzie modyfikacje, zosta­ wiający margines na improwizacje, jednak na ściśle określonych warunkach, przy czym intencje zbiorowości i prywatne intencje jej członków nie mogły być sprzeczne. Okazji do zmiany porządku jest tyle, ile dana społeczność wyróżnia okresów obrzędowych w ciągu roku i w przeciągu ludzkiego życia. Terminy obrzędów nie pokrywają się w pełni nawet w regionie; co więcej, pod tą samą datą mogą wystąpić różne typologicznie obrzędy, zaś analogiczne formy obrzędowe pojawiają się w nader rozbieżnych terminach. Niewiele jest dat w kalendarzu, których jakaś europejska społeczność nie związałaby z obrzędem. Te charakterystyczne przesunięcia sprawiają wrażenie ogromnej róż­ norodności rytuałów. W opracowaniach regionalnych i ponadre­ gionalnych, obrzędy zestawione według kalendarza, zgrupowane w cyklu zawarte pomiędzy głównymi świętami kościelnymi, pozwa­ lają jedynie stwierdzić, że istnieje wiele sposobów obchodzenia jakiegoś święta. Z kolei prace syntetyczne, które za podstawowe kryterium przyjmują czas występowania obrzędów, poddają złudny obraz, jakoby okresy obrzędowe rozciągały się niemal na cały rok, pozostawiając nieco miejsca na pracę. Wystarczy przejrzeć kilka książek o obrzędach, żeby dojść do wniosku, że ów „czas nie­ zwykły", który wkracza w Boże Narodzenie, dopiero w żniwa ustępuje „czasowi codzienności", też zresztą przerywanemu świę­ towaniem. 26 II. 12. Czapka noworocznego „Draba" Sędziszowa k/Grybowa, 1956 r. Poszczególne społeczności wyznaczyły nie mniej niż cztery, a nie więcej niż osiem okresów obrzędowych w ciągu roku i nie są one traktowane równorzędnie. Jedne trwają niespeła dobę, inne tygodniami, przy czym na jeden obrzęd może się składać kilka samoistnych rytuałów. Okresy obrzędowe odpowiadają wpraw­ dzie porom roku, ale u różnych społeczności wypadają w dość odległych miejscach kalendarza. Cykl zimowy np. może się zaczynać już 1 listopada, a kończyć w Boże Narodzenie, podczas gdy gdzie indziej rozpoczyna go Wigilia, a zamykają zapusty, będące u innych społeczności początkiem cyklu wiosennego. Pomiędzy tymi granicznymi punktami zdarzają się dwie-trzy obrzędowo wyróżnione daty. Wtedy i tylko wtedy konkretna społeczność wyrywa się na krótko z codzienności i wkracza w „czas niezwykły", który nie trwa od...do, a s t a j e s i e w trak­ cie zmiany. Zgadzam się z Zadrożyńską ,jak też innymi autora­ mi , że czas ten jest powtórzeniem czasu początku, chociaż nie odtwarza go biernie, a raczej współtworzy na nowo, a żeby tworzyć — niszczy, jest więc zarazem czasem końca. 42 43 Koncepcja cyklicznie wyczerpującego się i regenerującego się czasu, a wraz z nim wszystkiego, co się w nim zawiera, współist­ niała z pojęciem kosmogonicznego czasu linearnego, tj. od początku świata, po jego hipotetyczny kres, na tej osi mieścił się również czas obejmowanej zbiorową pamięcią historii i czas życia ludzkiego. Oba te czasy stykały się z sobą w momencie zmiany — znosząc lub łącząc swoje właściwości, otwierały przejście w wymiar nadprzyrodzony. Uchwycenie tego niezwykłego mo­ mentu miało dla praktykujących obrzędy decydujące znaczenie. Cóż, kiedy było ich więcej niż jeden w roku kalendarzowym i każdy rozpoczynał oraz kończył jakąś (tj. według różnych kryteriów wyznaczaną) jednostkę czasu. Świadczą o tym progno­ zy i wróżby, a więc odczytywanie znaków już powstającej „Tam", ale mającej się dopiero za czas jakiś zrealizować „ T u " , przyszłości, jak również działania sterujące tą przyszłością. Z faktu, że nawet w blisko z sobą sąsiadujących obrzędach powtarzały się analogi­ czne życzenia i oczekiwania, wynika, że każda z tych jednostek była pojmowana jako pełna i samodzielna, a wszystko jedno jaki �wycinek czasu kalendarzowego ogarniała, jej początek miał walor N o w e g o R o k u . Także i w chrześcijaństwie czas rozumiany jest dwojako: dzieje stworzenia i zbawienia świata odtwarzane są cyklicznie w kolejnych etapach przejścia. Według Germano Pśttaro: „Chrystus jest Panem wszystkich czasów, toteż jednoczy je w sobie, a więc przeszłość się w nim spełnia, a przyszłość się w nim zapowiada. (...) Liturgia przedstawia więc historię przeży­ waną przez chrześcijan i rytualnie przez nich wyrażaną. (...) Dokonuje się ona w cyklu rocznym, wewnątrz którego istnieje cykl tygodniowy."* Rozmieszczenie obrzędów w roku liturgicz­ nym godziło oba kulty. Czas niezwykły nastawał więc regularnie (choć w różnych odstępach) i był odbierany, jako dany z Góry. Jednakże poza tymi ustalonymi terminami, także rozpoczęcie i zakończenie cyklicznie wykonywanych prac, sprowadzało ó w czas, umożliwiając kon­ takt z nadprzyrodzonym. Pracę poprzedzał i zamykał rytuał; obowiązywał podział ról, strój (czyste, niekiedy białe z elementa­ mi czerwieni ubranie, przypinanie oznak...), zakazy i nakazy, potrawy, działania, życzenia, wróżby... Obrzęd niekoniecznie więc był okazją do próżnowania, beztroskich zachowań, nawią­ zywania towarzyskich kontaktów, których „rzeczywiste a ukryte funkcje" sprowadzały się do rekreacji, niezbędnej dla biologicz­ nej odnowy i integracji społecznej. Obok powszechnie znanych, wplecionych w obrzęd prac, jak pierwsza orka, siew, żniwa, wypęd bydła, przędzenie... także i te wykonywane w zmiennym rytmie (np. budowa domu) zdolne były poruszyć świat, dopro­ wadzając do zetknięcia to, co na co dzień się nie stykało. W Piszczacu, na Podlasiu, gdy kobieta kończyła tkać sztukę płótna i wylatywał z warsztatu wałek, na który nawinięta była osnowa; „porywało go małe dziecko... i wlokąc go po ziemi wybiegało na próg. Jeśli pierwszą spotkaną osobą był mężczyz­ na, wróżyło to urodzaj na byczki... jeśli kobieta, to na jałóweczk i . " Na Węgrzech (rejon Bacs-Kiskum) w dniu świniobicia, do domu przychodzą przebierańcy; składają życzenia, psocą, żartują, wypraszają dary. 4 4S 48 C z a s p r z e j ś c i a nastawał więc w każdym momencie, w którym dana społeczność u p a t r y w a ł a z m i a n ę . Narodziny człowieka, osiągnięcie dojrzałości, małżeństwo i śmierć również naruszały porządek kosmiczny, mobilizowały siły nadprzyrodzone. Los noworodka zależał od chwili, w której przyszedł na świat, pojawiały się wtedy znaki w przyrodzie wskazujące jego przy­ szłość. Nie był jednak w pełni zdeterminowany, właściwym postępowaniem można mu było pomóc, błędnym zaszkodzić. Obrzędowe zabiegi i życzenia obejmowały zwykle czas do wesela. Niedopełnienie ich mogło utrudnić późniejsze założenie rodziny. Radost Iwanowa cytuje przykład z bułgarskiej wsi, gdzie dla dwudziestopięcioletniego kawalera powtórzono „ p o w o j n i cę", obrzęd spełniany tydzień po chrzcinach. Zabiegi, wróżby, życzenia dotyczące dzieci miały miejsce także w obrzędach dorocznych. Z kolei dzieci pełniły w nich aktywne role. Wcale często w Europie małe dziewczynki i chłopcy występowali zamiennie z najładniejszymi pannami i najzręczniejszymi kawale­ rami, jako postacie pana młodego i panny młodej lub króla i królowej w rytuałach końca wiosny—początku lata. Wspominałam już o ekwiwalentności postaci starca i staruchy z panem młodym i panną młodą bądź królem i królową. Człony opozycji stare — młode, odniesione do czasu odpowiadają przeszłości i przyszłości. Pomiędzy nimi znajduje się graniczny czas przejścia symbolizowany w obrzędzie przez parę weselną. Jednak ulotne przejście oznaczają również porody i śmierć — zwrócone zarazem ku przeszłości i przyszłości. Przeciwstawie­ nie życie—śmierć rozwija się w obrzędzie w tetradę: dawna postać życia—śmierć—odrodzenie—nowa postać życia. Stąd równoważność i komplementarność, a niekiedy ekwiwalentność scen umierania i ożywania, zabijania i rodzenia oraz scen wesel­ nych. W obrzędach narodzinowych rytuał projektowany jest na wesele, w pogrzebowych ku niemu się zwraca. Zmarłych przed ślubem grzebie się w strojach weselnych, a kondukt przypomina orszak z drużbami i druhnami. Małżonkom daje się do trumny fragmenty, a nawet cały strój weselny. Tak jak w weselu, przy pogrzebie opłakiwania kontrastują z żartami. Moment śmierci nie jest obojętny dla losów zmarłego, np. zgon w Wielki Piątek, we Wniebowstąpienie albo w święto Matki Boskiej zapewnia łatwą drogę „wprost do nieba". Są też dni odpowiednie i nieodpowiednie dla pogrzebu, który w związku z tym będzie opóźniany lub przyspieszany. Przed i po zgonie wypatrywano znaków wróżebnych już wtedy odbijających się w przyrodzie, a wyznaczających przyszłość zmarłego, jego rodzi­ 47 48 li. 13. Weselni „Strawboys" czyli „słomiani chłopcy", Irlandia, ok. 1990 r. 27 �Zważywszy, że wszystkie obrzędy, związane z konkretnym terminem czy spełniane okazjonalnie, mieściły się w roku — coro­ cznie przecież odbywały się chrzciny, inicjacje, wesela i pogrzeby, uroczyście obchodzono początek i zakończenie podstawowych prac gospodarskich, założenie podwalin, zwieńczenie i zasiedle­ nie nowego budynku... były więc faktycznie obrzędami dorocz­ nymi. Rozkład obrzędów praktykowanych przez społeczności europejskie był nieregularny, a jednak wszędzie uderza ta sama tendencja do nadania mu regularnego rytmu. Jeśli w praktyce było to nieosiągalne, uciekano się do różnych sposobów, jak wspomniane już odgrywanie scen z życia rodzinnego podczas rytuałów dorocznych i vice versa, albo dzielenie obrzędu na dwie części: pierwsza miała miejsce w ustalonym czasie, druga gdy nadeszła odpowiednia pora: symboliczna orka i siew w Nowy Rok lub zapusty i dopełnienie rytuału pierwszej orki oraz siewu we właściwym czasie; symboliczny wypęd bydła w dniu św. Marka lub św. Jerzego (dla wielu ludów europejskich był to koniec zimy i początek lata) i zamknięcie rytuału, gdy trawa podrosła na tyle, by wypas był możliwy; święto przylotu ptaków (na Podlasiu w Zwiastowanie NMP — 25 marca, rozdawano dzieciom „bocianie łapy" i modele narzędzi rolniczych z ciasta) oraz powitania i wróżby, gdy rzeczywiście przyleciały. Obojętne z ilu rytuałów i jak rozmieszczonych w czasie składał się rok obrzędowy danej wsi, całość zawsze była kompletna — obejmo­ wała wszystkie zdarzenia, które zaistniały albo powinny zaistnieć, wpisując je w boski plan stworzenia. Za każdym razem obrzędo­ wa zmiana odtwarzała mityczną śmierć, hierogamię i odrodzenie — Świat stawał się na nowo. Urodzenie dziecka do roku po ślubie było nie tylko naturalnym pragnieniem nowej rodziny, z którym korespondowały weselne zabiegi wzmagające płodność. Gdyby jednak małżonkowie dzieci nie chcieli i próbowali w tym celu uciec się do magii,.należało temu przeszkodzić. Włodzimierz Szuchiewicz opisuje, że na Huculszczyźnie (także i na Podlasiu) wyznaczano do pilnowania małą dziewczynkę „świtywkę", która z zapaloną świecą stawała Uczestnicy obrzędów nie silą się na rozróżnianie znaczeń, niczego nie tłumaczą. Współdziałając, poddając się nastrojowi niezwykłości, grozy, piękna, smutku i radości, zaiste rozumieją z pełną jasnością to, co wyrażają za pomocą obrazów i przypo­ wieści. To my, patrzący z zewnątrz, potrzebujemy wyjaśnień, dzielimy i klasyfikujemy, usiłujemy nieudolnie zamknąć słowami niewypowiedzialne. 48 90 91 52 28 I za Młodymi: „Matka młodej niesie biały zawój — peremitkę, nowożeńcy stają, schylają głowy, a matka przykrywa ich zawo­ jem, siadają, a świtywka patrzy, żeby kniahynia nie przysiadła palców, bo to oznacza, że nie chce mieć dzieci..." Potencjalna rozrodczość młodej pary była wszak skojarzona z mnożeniem wszelkich dóbr, narodziny dziecka to znak przychylności sił nadprzyrodzonych, nadzieja na lepszą przyszłość. Symbole, z którymi w czasie wesela wchodzą w kontakt nowożeńcy, oddają im swoją moc, ale od nich zyskują nową, która udziela się obecnym. Na południu Polski pan młody z panną młodą jedli odrobinę sera, a resztą częstowali gości, „żeby krowy dawały więcej mleka", na Podlasiu pszenicę, którą obsypano młodych, dodawało się do siewu (podobnie jak ziarno wykruszo­ ne z ostatnich zebranych kłosów, z wigilijnego snopa lub z obsypkina św. Szczepana czy na Nowy Rok), by lepiej rodziła. Jan Komorovsky rozdział swojej pracy o weselu u Słowian poświęca magii „płodności i obfitości", sygnalizując jej bliskie analogie z obrzędowością zapustną, nie wyciąga jednak dalej idących wniosków. Typologiczne zbieżności można bez trudu znaleźć w rytuałach spełnianych w innych porach roku i w pozos­ tałych obrzędach rodzinnych. Pozostańmy jednak przy zapustach i weselach, skoro ich terminy najczęściej się pokrywały. W Austrii i na Węgrzech zanotowano, że gdy w zapusty nie było wesel, spodziewano się nieurodzaju i przebierańcy w ostat­ nim ich dniu imitowali wesele. Odgrywanie scen weselnych w obrzędzie dorocznym traktowano więc jako alternatywę praw­ dziwego wesela. Inscenizacje wesel, porodów i śmierci w czasie obrzędów dorocznych (przeważnie w zapusty) znane były w ca­ łej Europie. I znów na Węgrzech, dziewczęta przed Wielkanocą topią lub palą słomianą kukłę — Kisze (tj. kwas, żur), tylko o ile podczas Postu nie zmarła we wsi żadna kobieta. Na Łużycach, niszczona kukła ubrana jest w koszulę ostatnio zmarłego, a prze­ pasana ślubnym pasem ostatnio wydanej dziewczyny. Na zachodzie Europy piłuje się kukłę staruchy, albo napastuje się starych ludzi, bądź też urządza się wesele staruchy i starca.** Z kolei podczas wesela (a lokalnie przy chrzcinach i pogrzebach) odgrywane były sceny znane z obrzędów dorocznych przez te same, co i tam postacie. To już nie tylko podobieństwo form, a wzajemne kopiowanie się rytuałów i trudno przypuścić by było przypadkowe. ny, wsi, zwłaszcza jeśli śmierć nastąpiła w niezwykłych okolicz­ nościach. Tak narodziny, jak śmierć były więc wydarzeniem w cyklicznym wyobrażeniu czasu, wpisywały się w rytm przyrody. 0 ile jednak tego rodzaju zmianę odbierano jako wynikłą z woli sił nadprzyrodzo­ nych (trudno bowiem, choć bywały i takie przypadki, zaplanować porę rodzenia i śmierci), o tyle wesele celowo prowokowało zmianę, było zatem starannie uzgadniane z dorocznym cyklem obrzędowym. Jeden z okresów tego cyklu uważany był za najodpowiedniejszy. Zwykle były jeszcze dodatkowe terminy, jednak ślub wtedy rezer­ wowano dla osób unikających ostentacji albo przeciwnie, jakoś się wyróżniających — np. w Niemczech wesele w dożynki urządzano tylko parze bez skazy. W zdecydowanej większości krajów europe­ jskich, główną porą wesel był karnawał. Zawieranie małżeństw po osiągnięciu dojrzałości było powin­ nością wobec społeczeństwa, toteż u kresu przewidzianego na wesela okresu powszechnie występują obrzędowe piętnowania panien i kawalerów (często wzajemnie), którzy tego obowiązku nie dopełnili. W rytuałach tego typu, żartobliwie lub złośliwie traktowane działania nie sprowadzały się li tylko do manifestacji' społecznej dezaprobaty. Ciągnięcie drzewa, kloca, pługa... sta­ wianie kukieł, rysunki na ścianach, smarowanie okien... miało przede wszystkim ułatwić założenie rodziny w przyszłości. M o ­ ment zamknięcia okresu wyprawiania wesel, był równocześnie otwarciem następnego cyklu, w którym aktywną rolę zaczynały odgrywać kolejne roczniki dorosłej do małżeństwa młodzieży. W tym d o r o c z n y m c y k l u w e s e l n y m , zapoczątkowa­ nym dopuszczeniem do grona panien i kawalerów (a więc zarazem zakończeniem cyklu inicjacji dziecka), a następnie nasilającymi się przy okazji obrzędów kontaktami między dwiema płciami, kulminacją były rytuały, podczas których przekazanie odpowiednich znaków odbierano jako zapowiedź wesela, niekie­ dy wręcz jako obowiązujące w prawie zwyczajowym zaręczyny. W obrzędach dorocznych działania promatrymonialne przeważ­ nie były powiązane z działaniami skierowanym na pomyślność w innych dziedzinach, niekiedy jednak były wyodrębnione t w o ­ rząc autonomiczny rytuał, jak np. wróżby i zabiegi w dniu św. Andrzeja, św. Walentego, św. Jana... stawianie pannom majowe­ go drzewka, licytacje panien... Doprowadzenie młodych do małżeństwa należało do podsta­ wowych zadań społeczności, która w odróżnieniu od jednostki miała trwać wiecznie, odradzając się w nowych pokoleniach. Toteż cała wieś była o weselu zawiadamiana i proszona o błogos­ ławieństwo. Wszyscy, nie sami weselni goście, byli jego świadka­ mi, komentowali je i wróżyli z jego przebiegu o pożyciu zaślubio­ nych, powodzeniu w gospodarce, ale też o pomyślności dla pozostałych. Dobrze wyprawione wesele miało powiększyć plo­ ny, pomnożyć bydło, związać węzłem małżeńskim kolejnych kandydatów do tego stanu. Kontrola roztoczona nad weselem nabierała intensywności w czasie pokładzin. Rezultaty próby, jakiej poddana była młoda para, wywoływały ogólną radość albo przygnębienie, decydowały o dalszym przebiegu obrzędu. T ł u ­ maczenie znaczenia pokładzin troską o zapewnienie legalności potomstwa, wydaje się wątpliwe wobec faktu, że jeśli pan młody nie był w stanie wtedy właśnie dokonać def loracji, musiał go ktoś zastąpić. Racjonalne argumenty nie wystarczą do uzasadnienia rangi dziewictwa. Wakarelski przytacza jakże wymowne przykła­ dy zachowań w razie stwierdzenia jego braku: „Jeśli jednak okaże się, że panna młoda nie jest dziewicą — nećesna, wszystko jest ponure i goście opuszczają dom. W niektórych wypadkach kobziarz wychodzi na dach domu i głośno obwieszcza wieśnia­ kom, zwraca się do bydła i do całej przyrody mówiąc, że w tym domu wydarzyło się nieszczęście. Gdzieniegdzie chodzą specjal­ nie do bydła i komunikują im: 'Słuchajcie koniel Słuchajcie bydełko! Słuchajcie owieczki! Słuchajcie ludzie! Słuchaj ziemio! Słuchaj słoneczko! Słuchajcie wszyscy! — nasza panna młoda nie jest dziewicą!' (...) Wszystko to czynią w przekonaniu, że podobny wypadek jest źródłem nieszczęść dla domu i w s i . " 53 94 99 56 57 58 80 61 �II. 14. Wielkanocny „Niedźwiedź", Góra k/Jarocina, 1966 r. PRZYPISY W. Heisenberg, Część i ca/ość. Warszawa 1987, s. 246 L. Kołakowski, Obecność mitu, Paryż 1972, s. 3 2 — 3 5 Tamże s. 131 E. Gellner, Słowa i rzeczy, czyli nie pozbawiona analizy krytyka filozofii lingwistycznej. Warszawa 1984, s. 37 i 50 • M. Weber, Szkice z socjologii religii. Warszawa 1984, s. 195 R. Tomicki, Religijność ludowa (w:) Etnografia Polski, przemiany kultury ludowej, Ossolineum 1981, s. 3 0 — 3 5 i 4 1 — 4 9 L. Stomma, Antropologia kultury wsi polskiej XIX w., Warszawa 1986, s. 86 • J . i R. Tomiccy, Drzewo życia, ludowa wizja świata i człowieka, Warszawa 1975, s. 153, 189 i inne Por. S. Glotz, Les origines de la tradition du masque en Europe, (w:) Le masque dans la tradition europeenne, Binche 1975, zwłaszcza s. 21, gdy cytuje słowa Św. Paciena (biskupa Barcelony 360—390), który po kazaniu piętnującym pogańskie obchody zanotował: „ M e Miserum! Quid ego facinoris admisi? Puto, nescierant cervulum facere, nisi illis reprehendo monstrassem." E. Mieletinski, Poetyka mitu. Warszawa 1981, s. 211 Nie podaję więc odnośnika, gdy przykłady były wielekroć publiko­ wane i czytelnik znajdzie je w pracach ogólnych jak: K. Moszyński, Kultura Ludowa Słowian, t. II cz. 1 i 2, Warszawa 1968; Etnografia Polski, przemiany kultury ludowej, cz. 2, Ossolineum 1981; Kalendarnyje obyczai iobrjady wstranach zarubieżnojJewropy, t. I, Moskwa 1973, t. II — 1 9 7 7 , t. III — 1 9 7 8 , t. IV — 1983;Ле masque dans la tradition europeenne, Binche 1975; H. Biegeleisen, U kolebki, przed ołtarzem, nad mogiłą, L w ó w 1929; J . Komorovsky, Traditna svadba u slovanov, Bratysława 1976 Np. postacie „lekarza" i „pielęgniarki" pojawiły się między 1920 a 1930 w: Albanii, Bułgarii, Jugosławii, Portugalii, Włoszech i Polsce; Kalendarnyje... t. II ss. 56, 21, 247, 319 P. Ricoeur, Egzystencja i hermeneutyka. Warszawa 1985; tenże, Symbolika zla. Warszawa 1986 Cz. Witkowski, Doroczne polskie obrzędy i zwyczaje ludowe, Kraków 1965, s. 22 i 39 Przy obrzędach dorocznych zanotowano ich obecność: w Boże Narodzenie, Nowy Rok, Trzech Króli, zapusty, półpoście, Wielki Tydzień, Wielkanoc, Zielone Świątki, Wniebowstąpienie, Boże Ciało, św. Jana, dożynki, św. Marcina, św. Andrzeja, św. Mikołaja, św. Łucji... nadto na Węgrzech z okazji dorocznego świniobicia, oraz na Bałkanach przy obrzędowej prowokacji deszczu. Powszechnie spotyka się ich na weselu, rzadziej przy pogrzebach (Huculszczyzna, Mołdawia, Siedmiogród), sporadycznie przy chrzcinach — patrz: Le masque dans la tradition europeenne... N. M. Listowa, Awstrijcy, (w:) Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 166; Urpo Vento, La tradition de la mascarade en Finlande, (w:) Le masque..., s. 152, fot. 64 1 2 3 4 8 7 9 10 11 12 13 14 13 18 Ż. Stamenowa, Kukeri i surwakari. Sofia 1982, ss. 6 , 1 2 , 1 6 , 1 9 , 23, 28, 31; Archiwum ISPAN w Krakowie, t. 452—86, „droby" ze Skawicy k. Suchej; J . Komorovsky, Traditna..., s. 221—264 T. Baraniuk, O kilku postaciach widowisk zapustnych na północ­ no-zachodnim Mazowszu, referat wygłoszony na sesji w Ciechanowie w 1987 r. S. A. Tokarew, Łużiczanie, (w:) Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 238; M. Gavazzi, Le masque en Yougoslavie, (w:) Le masque..., s, 313 W. Iwanow, W. Toporów, Issliedowanija w oblasti slawianskich driewnostiej, Moskwa 1974, rozdział VII, s. 181 i dalsze. A. Leroi-Gourhan, Religie prehistoryczne. Warszawa 1966, s. 94—96 Ch. Wakarelski, Etnografia Bułgarii. Wrocław 1965, s. 347—348; U. Vento, op. cit., s. 157 J . Komorovsky, op. cit., s. 270 i dalsze. M. F. Gueusquin, France, deguisementsen ours, (w:) Le masque..., s. 369—370; por. także B. A. Uspienski, Kultśw. Mikołaja na Rusi, Lublin 1985, s. 131 Materiały z konkursu PTL w Łodzi z 1984 г.: Wiaderno, w. piotrkowskie. Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 4 5 , 6 4 — 6 6 , 1 0 7 , 1 8 6 , 2 6 6 , 307, t. III, s. 202, 224, 244 Kalendarnyje..., t I, s. 6 1 — 6 2 , t. II, s. 3 1 , 1 4 2 , 1 6 5 — 1 6 7 , 224, 279, 323—325; D. Niewiadomski, Orka złotym pługiem, „Twórczość ludowa", R. II: 1987, nr 4 O orce jako odpowiedniku aktu płciowego piszą m. in. J . i R. Tomiccy, Drzewo życia, s. 135, i G. Krajew, Obrednoto trawestiranie po balgarskite zemi prez zimnija kalendaren cikal, (w:) Obredi i obreden folklor. Sofia 1981, s. 164—169, który dowodzi, że inwariantem doroczne­ go cyklu zimowego jest wesele. Konopielka śpiewana na Wielkanoc gospodarzowi na północ­ no-wschodnim Podlasiu. Archiwum ISPAN w Krakowie, t. 177, cz. IV J . Stęszewski, Muzyka ludowa, (w:) Etnografia Polski. Przemia­ ny..., s. 254 ™ J . Kowalska, Środkii mechanizm przekazu tanecznego, „Etnografia Polska", XXIX: 1985, z. 2, s. 81 J . P. Dekowski, Z badań nad problematyką wesela opoczyńskiego, „Łódzkie Studia Etnograficzne", t. XXVI (1984), Wa-wa — Łódź 1986, s. 49, przyp. 41 Ch. Wakarelski, op. cit., s. 274 J . Kowalska, op. cit, s. 78 G. van der Leeuw, Czy w niebie tańczą?, „Literatura na świecie", maj 1978, s. 349 A. Llano Rosa de Ampudia, Del folklore Asturiano, Oviedo 1972, s. 217—219, za: Kalendarnyje..., t. 2, s. 6 0 — 6 1 , por. także s. 160 (Niemcy). Analogia nie jest przypadkowa i nie powstała później pod wpływem karnawału, jako że już w średniowiecznych manuskryptach (Le Roman de 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 28 28 27 28 29 31 32 33 34 38 38 29 �Fauvel— 1310—1314 i Le Roman d'Alexandre z XIV w.) zanotowano przebieranie się za zwierzęta, ubieranie strojów na opak, „kocią muzykę" itp., za: Le masque..., s. 358 Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 232 Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 269 Yi-Fu Tuan, Przestrzeń i miejsce. Warszawa 1987, s. 161—162 Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 225 Yi-Fu Tuan, op. cit., s. 5 1 — 5 2 i 62 A. Zadrożyńska, Powtarzać czas początku. Warszawa 1985 M. Eliade, Lemythe de 1'eternelretour, Gallimard, 1969; E. R. Leach, Deux essais concernant la representation symbolique du temps, (w:) Critique de I'anthropologie, Paris, 1968; W. Toporów, O kosmologicznych źródłach wczesnohistorycznych opisów, (w.) Semiotyka kultury, Warszaa 1977, s. 109—110; S. J . Serów, Ka/endarnyj prazdnik i jego miesto w jewropejskoj kulturie, (w:) Kalendarnyje..., t. IV, s. 2 4 — 5 3 G. Pattaro, Pojmowanie czasu w chrześcijaństwie, (w:) Czas w ku/turze. Warszawa 1988, s. 314 i 315—316 " Archiwum ISPAN w Krakowie t. 177/1641 E. Gyórggi-Fóldes, Personnages travestis dans les coutumes payannes hongroises, (w:) Le masque..., s. 185 i 187 Radost Iwanowa, Edinstwo na siemiejnata obrednost, (w:) Obredi iobreden folklor..., s. 32 (przykład cytowany za J . Zachariewem). Autorka udowadnia jedność systemową obrzędów rodzinnych, inwariantem — wesele. Kalendarnyje.... t. II, s. 45, 65, 85, 106, 120, 174, 185, 200, 233, 303, t i l l , s. 9 8 — 9 9 i 112—113; E. Frankowski, Kalendarz obrzędowy ludu polskiego. Warszawa 1931, s. 49; G. Michaiłowa, Kostiumyt w ba/garska obrednost. (w:) Obredi..., s. 5 2 — 8 2 Kalendarnyje..., t. III, s. 133 J . Komorovsky, Tradicna... rozdz. I i III " Tamże s. 256 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 4 6 47 48 49 80 Ch. Wakarelski, op. cit, s. 275 Wł.Szuchiewicz, Huculszczyzna, Kraków 1902, t. II, s. 64. We Francji, kobieta która w rok po ślubie nie była brzemienną, była w „tłusty czwartek" poddawana specjalnym zabiegom — Kalendarnyje... t. II, s. 39 Archiwum ISPAN w Krakowie t. 26/940 i t. 177 cz. III J . Komorovsky, op. cit., s. 93 i 187—227 Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 166 i 193, por. też s. 247 (Jugosławia) i 144 (Niemcy) oraz Le masque..., s. 187 i 76 Le masque..., s. 418 Kalendarnyje... s. 239 *• Kalendarnyje,.., t. II, s. 3 5 — 4 0 i 62, Por. także podstawianie starej kobiety zamiast panny młodej w weselu — J.Komorovsky, op. cit., s. 159—168. W Niemczech nazywanie ostatnich snopów „starcem", „staru" lub „parą młodych", Kalendarnyje.... t. III, s. 132 oraz obrzędowe przeobra­ żenia postaci bądź kukieł „starców" w młodzieńców i dziewczyny podczas rytuałów przełomu zimy i wiosny, Kalendarnyje..., t. II, s. 8 8 — 8 9 i 147. Mityczne wątki tego rodzaju metamorfozy omawia M. Eliade, Histoire des croyances et des idees religieuses, Payot 1978, cz. 2, s. 147 i 438 M. Maj, Rola daru w obrzędzie weselnym, Ossolineum 1986, s. 3 9 — 4 0 ; R. Iwanowa, Bułgarska fołklorna swatba. Sofia 1984, s. 129—130; J . Komorovsky, op. cit., s. 264—275; Le masque... s. 187—192, 240 i 256, 286, 301, 326, 377—378 M. Eliade, Historia wierzeń i idei religijnych. Warszawa 1988, t. I, s. 44; „Mityczno-religijne scenariusze Nowego Roku, mniej lub bardziej podobne, spotyka się w niezliczonych kulturach. (...) Scenariusz jego zawiera hieros gamos między dwiema postaciami boskimi patronującymi miastu, przedstawionymi przez ich posągi lub władcę... oraz hierodulę. Owa hierogamia urzeczywistniała łączność między bogami i ludźmi z pewnością chwilową, ale o poważnych konsekwencjach." Por. również M. Eliade, Histoire... s. 146, 169, 4 3 7 — 4 3 8 52 5 3 54 ю 56 57 M 60 61 II. 1, 3, 5, 7, 10, 11, 13 reprodukowane z książki pod red. Samuela Glotza Le masque dans ta tradihn- ^uropeenne. Binche 1975. Stefan Deptuszewski - - il. 12; Wanda Drabik — il. 8; Marek Pabis — il. 6; Stanisław Stępniewski — il. 9; Jan Swiderski — il. 2 i 4 oraz reprodukcje; Marek Woźniczko — il. 14 Stanisław Zagajewski, Głowa Pana Jezusa, cierniem ukoro­ nowanego, ceramika wypalana Fot.: Jan Sieraczkiewicz I � https://cyfrowaetnografia.pl/files/original/c342bac573a5b5d1f728bc6e6545ca85.pdf 6d2a5e13c59ec8a30d5220923d6f74a4 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Relation A related resource oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:publication:2250 Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1990 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context oai:cyfrowaetnografia.pl:2087 Title A name given to the resource Pochwała intuicji / Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1 Description An account of the resource Polska Sztuka Ludowa - Konteksty t.44 z.1, s.31-36 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Jackowski, Aleksander Language A language of the resource pol. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Polski Instytut Sztuki Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf PDF Text Text capture metadata for PDF documents Text Aleksander Jackowski POCHWAŁA INTUICJI W twórczości intuicja odgrywa poważną rolę. Obok wrażli­ wości, wyobraźni, wiedzy, umiejętności, świadomości wyboru. Zmieniają się jedynie proporcje czynników. Zrozumiałe, że profe­ sjonalny artysta-plastyk w większym stopniu wykorzystuje swój obszar świadomości niż wiejski prymityw czy malarz naiwny, zdany na swój domysł, inwencję, właśnie intuicję. Inny jest też zasób wiedzy jednego i drugiego, a więc i stosunek do niej, do tradycji, widzianych wzorów. Można by zaryzykować twierdze­ nie, iż czym bardziej skonwencjalizowana jest twórczość jakiejś grupy czy społeczności, tym mniejszy w niej udział takich czynników, jak wyobraźnia, fantazja, intuicja. Widać to na przykładzie sztuki ludowej. Widać też na nieselekcjonowanych wystawach amatorów-plastyków. Jest to jednak ogromna różnica między jednym i drugim. Na korzyść sztuki ludowej. „ L u d o w i " naśladują też, to prawda, ale czynią to z pełnym pokryciem. Włączają swój głos w chór, świadomi swego miejsca, wiedząc co się śpiewa, kiedy, o czym, jak i poco. Włączają się ze swą inwencją w tradycję wspólną całej społeczności. Nie naśladują jej, ale współtworzą. Natomiast amatorzy bardzo często naśladują powierzchownie, nie widząc istotnych problemów sztuki, do której chcą się przybliżyć. Idea­ łem wielu jest kopia. Bywa, że z uśmiechem wyższości, a nawet wzgardy, patrzą na prace naiwne czy „inne", nie umiejąc dostrzec ich wartości. Jest to zapewne problem dla instruktora plastyczne­ go Domu Kultury, ale nie zmienia faktu, iż plastyka amatorska ma swoje poważne uzasadnienia — społeczne, psychologiczne, kulturowe. Wyraźnie to chcę podkreślić — funkcje amatorstwa plastycznego są wielorakie i ważne. Dotyczą także spraw artysty­ cznych, ale — podkreślam — nie ten aspekt decyduje o znaczeniu amatorstwa. Jest to sprawa niezmiernie ważna, jako że większość konflik­ tów, nieporozumień i wszelkich pretensji właśnie stąd się bierze, że amatorów ocenia się na tle plastyki profesjonalnej, a więc w tych samych kategoriach artystycznych. Jak młodszych braci, adeptów, rywali konkurujących o względy publiczności. Tymcza­ sem sens amatorstwa i jego waga polegają na tym, iż pomaga ono ludziom, daje satysfakcję, przybliża do problematyki kultury artystycznej, a nawet (i to jest bardzo istotne) rekompensuje niepowodzenia na innych obszarach życia. Ale amatorstwo staje się zjawiskiem niebezpiecznym, gdy rozdmuchuje urojone ambi­ cje, gdy wciąga w miażdżący tryb rywalizacji, zawiści, gdy daje poczucie doznanej krzywdy. Jest zjawiskiem wątpliwej wartości, a czasem nawet wręcz szkodliwym, gdy spojrzymy na nie z perspektywy edukacji plastycznej społeczeństwa. Bywa na­ miastką, przynosząc złudzenia obcowania ze sztuką, podczas gdy często jest to tylko obcowanie z przedmiotami o zewnętrznych atrybutach obrazu czy rzeźby. Pomińmy tu jednak rozważania na temat edukacji plastycznej społeczeństwa, funkcji plastyki amatorskiej i form opieki nad nią, pozostając przy właściwym temacie tego tekstu — w a r t o ­ ściach artystycznych. Umówmy się, mówiąc o wartościach artystycznych będziemy mieli na myśli nie powielanie już istniejących schematów, nie poprawne nawet powtarzanie wzorów, lecz propozycje twórcze, wnoszące coś nowego, własnego, osobistego. Nawet, gdy będzie to nie doskonałe, ale adekwatne w formie do możliwości twórcy. Takie propozycje dopełniają obraz sztuki naszego czasu, wnoszą do niej nowe wartości. Kiedy one występują? Szczególnie w dwóch sytuacjach, j e d n e j — która w istocie wykracza poza obręb amatorstwa, mimo że ze względów taktycznych może się czasem z tym ruchem utożsamiać — samodzielnego, świadomego wysuwania nowych propozycji twórczych (odwołam się tu do Van Gogha, Cezanne'a, Kandinsky'ego, Caldera, Маха Billa, Ipoustegui); i d r u g i e j , która nas właśnie interesuje w przypadku twórczości intuicyjnej. W pierwszej sytuacji mamy do czynienia ze świadomością, nawet nad-świadomością, z rozeznaniem sytuacji, dostrzeżeniem nowych dróg, nowej koncepcji sztuki (dlatego tak denerwuje, gdy się o tych wielkich twórcach mówi jak o amatorach, biorąc pod uwagę tylko fakt ich samouctwa) — w drugiej sytuacji przeciwnie, siłą inwencji jest nieświadomość, zawierzenie intu­ icji, często wręcz swoista blokada psychiczna pomagająca skupić się na własnych podnietach i wizjach, bez myślenia — a jak to będzie wyglądało? co powiedzą sąsiedzi, widzowie, artyści? Taką twórczość można zaliczyć do dwóch głównych kategorii, ugrun­ towanych już w estetyce i nazywanych dość powszechnie: sztuką naiwną oraz sztuką ekspresyjną, poza konwencjami kultury, zwaną — za słynną kolekcją Dubuffeta — Art Brut, a więc sztuką surową, nie uładzoną kulturą. Jedna i druga od chwili swych szokujących początków stały się pełnoprawnymi komponentami obrazu współczesnej sztuki. I jedna i druga — w skomercjalizowanym świecie stały się później naśladowanym wzorcem, stylem. I jedna i druga znalazły swą kontynuacje w prądach współczesnej sztuki. Naiwni — Rous­ seau, Bombois, Pirosmanaszwili, Nikifor stworzyli modę na naiwnych, na pseudonaiwnych, na obrazy w stylu naiwnym. Najlepszym tego przykładem są „naiwni" Jugosławii a zwłaszcza ze szkoły hlebińskiej, z wielkim majstrem Ivanem Generaliciem na czele. Ci spod znaku Art Brut (u nas wrzuca się ich do jednego worka ekspresji psychopatologicznej) — z n a l e ź l i kontynuatorów i wykształconych sojuszników wśród tzw. Nowych Dzikich. Jedych i drugich — tych autentycznych — łączy cecha wspólna: intuicja. Zastanówmy się więc nad sensem, nad istotą tego pojęcia. Zapytajmy kiedy można mówić o twórczości intuicyjnej? Otóż wtedy, kiedy głównym bodźcem twórczości jest nie wiedza, nie świadomość, lecz wewnętrzny impuls. Przeczucie formy. Intuicja jest wiedzą nieuświadomioną, przeczuciem formy, która jawi się jako rzeczywisty i często wręcz jedyny wyraz artystycznej myśli i wyobraźni. Twórca nie zastanawia się jaka konwencja mu najbardziej odpowiada, działa — tak się to nam z zewnątrz wydaje — direct, bezpośrednio. Umiejętność, skłonności każą mu znaleźć od razu formę wypowiedzi, którą później już tylko szlifuje. Twórcy intuicyjni nie szukają, nie próbują — oni jakby od razu wiedzieli czego chcą, dokąd idą. Zwłaszcza gdy impuls twórczy ujawnia się już wtedy, gdy człowiek jest dojrzały, gdy zaczyna późno (jak np. słynna malarka naiwna z Lublina Marta Michałowska), gdy potrzeba ekspresji plastycznej wiąże się z przeżyciami psychicz­ nymi, których jest wyrazem. Wracam tu do tego co już powiedzia­ łem, do pomocnej roli blokady psychicznej, kiedy to człowiek tworzy, by dać wyraz czemuś, co uważa za najważniejsze — idei, fantomom, lękom — kiedy jego dzieło jest tylko monologiem w samotności, rozprawą z Bogiem czy Szatanem. To, i tylko to, jest dla niego ważne, dlatego — gdy wyobraźnia łączy się z talentem, zdolny jest stworzyć dzieło o wielkiej sile wyrazu, wręcz porażające swoją odrębnością. Wystarczy, że przypomnę tu rysunki Monsiela, malarstwo Wnękowej, rzeźby Sutora i Zaga­ jewskiego. Intuicja, jako czynnik wyrzucony przed nawias (jak w mate­ matycznym równaniu) mówi nam jednak tylko o tym, że g ł ó w ­ nym bodźcem działania jest wyobraźnia. Gorejąca, impulsywna i kreatywna — u „ n a i w n y c h " czy tych spod znaku Art Brut, bądź ujarzmiona, podporządkowana świadomej woli twórczej. Taką intuicję przemienioną w świadomie akceptowaną formę ujrzymy w wielkiej sztuce Brancussiego, Chagala i Picassa, Morandiego i Wojtkiewicza, w filmach Felliniego czy Bunuela. Jednak intuicja, o której tutaj mówimy, różni się tym, iż połączona jest z niewiedzą, iż otwiera świat widziany i przeczuty przede wszystkim samemu twórcy, iż służy bardziej jemu w wyra­ żeniu nurtujących treści niż w konstrukcji formy, która mogłaby korespondując z prądami artystycznymi stać się nową, uświado­ mioną wartością. Intuicję „naszych" odróżnia od „wielkich" moment naiwności, często nieporadności. Wróćmy jeszcze na chwilę do różnic między „naiwnymi" a tymi z kręgu Art Brut. Nie ulega wątpliwości, że u naiwnych intuicja jest silniej powiązana ze świadomością ich dzieła, że 31 �II. 1 . Edmund Monsiel, „To jest Bóg... "rys/papier, 16,6 x 11,9 cm, 1957 г.; il. 2. E. Monsiel, Słowa Boga Ojca, rys. (papier,15,7 x 9,8 cm, 1955 г.; il. 3. Heródek, Matka Boska, drewno malowane, wys. 70 cm; il. 4. Maria Wnęk, Autoportret, akwarela, 42 x 29 cm 32 �33 �И. 9. Stanisław Zagajewski, Głowa płaczącego Chrystusa, fragm. ołtarza, ceramika wypalana. Muzeum Ziemi Kujawskiej i Dobrzyńskiej we Włocławku zaskoczeni efektem tego, co namalowali, przyglądają się nieraz ze zdumieniem swym obrazkom (Iwańska, Witkowska, Michałow­ ska, Wiśnios) i później już z dozą świadomości kontynuują formę zrodzoną jakby „poza nimi". Znając twórczość wielkiego Celnika, czy naszych: Nikifora i Ociepki, dostrzegamy u nich rozwój formy „intuicyjnie zaproponowanej", fiksację tego, co odbieramy jako ich styl. Natomiast w twórczości Art Brut — rzeźbienie Heródka, Szczypawki, Gołębiewskiej czy zmarłego ostatnio H o ł d y — pole manewru było mniejsze. Wydaje się wręcz, że forma ich dzieł była dla nich jedyną możliwą i próżno by ich namawiać, by coś uczynili inaczej. Twórcy intuicyjni, jak ich nazwano w 1988 r. na wystawie w Puławach, reprezentują tradycję, która liczy już okrągły wiek. Na początku nikt ich nie akceptował, nie rozumiał, zbyt daleko odbiegali od kształtu sztuki, którą można było zobaczyć dokoła. Dostrzeżenie, a później wręcz fascynacja obrazami największego z naiwnych mistrzów, Henri Rousseau, miała miejsce wówczas, gdy zaczęła dochodzić do głosu awangarda artystyczna przełomu wieku — w Paryżu, a potem i w innych centrach europejskich sztuki. Wtedy, gdy „ n o w a sztuka" łamała konwencję i nawyki artystyczne, samotna (osobna — j a k b y to powiedział Białoszewki) twórczość Celnika stanowiła dodatkowy argument, świadzący o tym, że twórczość może mieć wiele oblicz, że akademicka poprawność i wierność anatomii nie jest jedyną obowiązującą doktryną. Bujny rozwój nowych idei domagał się przewartościoania tradycji, nowych inspiracji. Była nimi rzeźba i maska ją I murzyńska, sztuka Cykladów, ale także i naiwna formuła świata, naiwna poetyka Rousseau, a później Seraphine Louis, Vivine'a czy Bomboisa. Nieco później nurt wyznaczony przez działalność dadaistów, surrealistów, fowistów i ekspresjonizm niemiecki uformował wrażliwość estetyczną, w ramach której zaczęto postrzegać w kategoriach artystycznych dzieła twórców alienowanych powstałe w szpitalach psychiatrycznych, przytułkach i więzieniach. Ale to, co w okresie „burzy i naporu" wiązało się z kształtowaniem się nowych postaw estetycznych, co było twór­ cze, szokujące, nowe — w latach pięćdziesiątych stało się już uznaną wartością, weszło w obieg komercyjny. Nastąpiło zatarcie granic między „naiwnością" jako autentycznym wyrazem osobo­ wości twórczej, a „naiwnością" — jako stylem, jako formułą użyteczną ze względów handlowych, czy też pozwalającą róż­ nym amatorom (i nie tylko amatorom) wypowiedzieć się w kon­ wencji łatwiejszej a modnej. We Francji, w Paryżu, w latach siedemdziesiątych 80 do 90% obrazów „ n a i w n y c h " sprzedawa­ nych w galeriach nastawionych na obrót taką sztuką stanowiły prace w stylu naiwnym, pseudonaiwne. Na tym tle Art Brut wyróżniał się dynamiką formy, zaskakującymi dziełami o dużym natężeniu ekspresji. Lecz powstanie takich kierunków w sztuce jak pop a zwłaszcza ruch „Die neuen Wilden" (nowych dzikich) sprawiło, iż także ten typ twórczości został włączony w mecha­ nizm rynku, oswojony, pozbawiony cech zaskoczenia. Zdezorie­ ntowana publiczność przestała odróżniać prawdziwych szaleń­ ców od inteligentnych, młodych ludzi bardzo trzeźwo uprawia­ �II. 10. Stanisław Zagajewski, ołtarz, ceramika wypalana, Muzeum Ziemi Kujawskiej i iDobrzyńskiej we Włocławku jących swą ekspresywną sztukę. Sztukę, która stała się stylem, formułą — a nie dramatycznym krzykiem w samotności. Ale nie tylko oswojenie przez kulturę sprawiło, że zarówno „naiwni", jak i ci z Art Brut wtopili się w krajobraz współczesnej sztuki, w dukt mody. Procesowi „ukulturalnienia" twórczości intuicyjnej towarzyszy jeszcze inne zjawisko — zanik autentycznej twórczości naiwnej, samorodnej. Widoczne to jest zwłaszcza w ostatnich latach. Dość powiedzieć, iż spośród licznej grupy twórców o cechach naiwnych, którzy takim blaskiem opromienili wystawy w Szczecinie i Wrocławiu I i II Trienale Plastyki Nieprofesjonalnej, większość umarła, inni „wysferzyli się", przestali malować. Pozostały jednostki. Ten sam proces obserwujemy w rzeźbie, którą zwie się u nas ludową, a którą, słusznie można by określić (jak to uczyniono w NRD) jako naiwną. Opublikowałem w jednym z zeszytów „Polskiej Sztuki Ludo­ wej" (3—4/1986) listę zmarłych twórców ludowych i naiwnych w latach 1980—86. Jest przerażająca. Nie ma już nikogo z rzeź­ biarzy, którzy pracowali jeszcze na potrzeby własnego środowis­ ka. Skończyli się „samorodni", „prymitywni". Spośród Art Brut ubył Sutor, pozostał już tylko Zagajewski, Wałęga, Wnękowa. Do działających naiwnych zaliczyć już można tylko, coraz bardziej rzemieślniczo sprawnego, Brożka, coraz starszych i coraz bardziej niedołężnych, Ludwika Więcka, Rusewicza. Nie chodzi o to, czy opuściłem kogoś; czy wystawa, jak choćby ta w Puławach, czy w Białymskoku (Przegląd Plastyki Amatorskiej) ujawni jeszcze 2 — 3 osoby. To cudownie, że są, ale nie zmienia to faktu, że zjawisko obumiera i to w szybkim tempie. 35 �Trudno dziś o nowego Heródka, żyjącego w zapadłej wsi, z dala od turystycznych szlaków, nie wyobrażam sobie nowego Nikifora, coraz mniej można oczekiwać po malarzach alienowanych — po prostu środki farmakologiczne, stosowane w terapii skutecznie uśmierzają — także ekspresję Art Brut. W tej sytuacji można powiedzieć, że duże znaczenie ma ujawnianie samorodnych talentów, czego doskonałym przykła­ dem są choćby pokazane w Puławach obrazy 83-letniego Sidora z Tomaszowa Lubelskiego Przegląd tak pomyślany ma również i ten walor, że zwraca uwagę zarówno amatorów, jak i publiczności na artystyczny aspekt, tak istotny w przypadku twórczości intuicyjnej. Nie wyczerpuje to jednak, jak już wspomniałem, problematyki ruchu plastyki amatorskiej, jest dotknięciem zaledwie jednego jej aspektu. Zapewne nie najważniejszego — j e ś l i mieć na uwadze rolę społeczną i humanitarną plastyki amatorskiej. Dlatego, jak sądzę, należałoby przemyśleć problem tej plastyki w obecnej sytuacji, mając na uwadze zarówno siły i środki, którymi dyspo­ nujemy w opiece nad tym ruchem, jak też i hierarchię celów. Sądzę, że przede wszystkim trzeba sobie odpowiedzieć na dwa pytania — jak działać, by amatorskie uprawianie plastyki było pożyteczne dla samych amatorów i, drugie pytanie, by pełniło rolę kulturotwórczą w środowisku. Jak to czynić, jakimi metodami? I kto, co ma robić? Sytuacja obecna jest diametralnie różna od tej, która się rysowała w okresie zainicjowania przeglą­ d ó w Trienale. Wtedy amatorzy byli kopciuszkami, nie mieli (nawet ci dobrzy) okazji, by się zaprezentować, by porównać swoje próby z próbami innych. Dziś amatorzy mają takich okazji aż za wiele. Powstają imprezy, przeglądy, różne biennale, z sen­ sem czy częściej bez sensu, bez myśli o tym, co impreza może dać amatorowi, ale za to reklamując tych, którzy tę imprezę organizu­ ją. Dochodzą i znane są od dawna problemy— uczyć, nie uczyć, a jeśli uczyć to kogo i jak, i kto ma to robić? Czy malowania, czy innych technik? Czy rzeczywiście podbechtywać pseudoartysty­ czne ambicje? Czy lepiej kierować je w inne strony, np. rękodzie­ ła? Jak na tle analizy możliwości kadry instruktorów Domów Kultury kształtować program ich działania? Drugi etap reformy podszeptuje też pewne sugestie. Dlaczego nie miałyby tam, gdzie istnieją po temu możliwości, powstać szkółki prywatne, ogniska II. 1 1 . Stanisław Hołda, Pod krzyżem, drewno, pakuły, wys. 71 cm Fot.: Ewa Kozłowska-Tomczyk — il. 4; Jan l zainteresowań. Odpłatne. Tym, którzy pożądają tych form w y ż y ­ wania się, należałoby zapewnić—jeśli się da — takie możliwości. Tak jest w wielu krajach. W Anglii, czy Szwecji, gdzie środki municypalne na kulturę starczą po temu, wystarczy by powstała grupa ponad 5 osobowa o określonym zainteresowaniu, byangażowano instruktora, fachowego kierownika. Ale tych grup jest wiele: jeśli kogoś interesuje sanskryt — uczy się go, jeśli historia — angażuje się historyka, kiedy indziej elektronika, inżyniera, psychologa, filozofa. U nas tradycyjnie uprawia się malarstwo. Mając inne szanse może część amatorów zajęłaby się innymi sprawami, tworzyła kluby, grupy nieformalne, bez zapi­ sów, list obecności, książki zajęć. Tu już konieczne są inne przemyślenia, dotyczące w ogóle form aktywności kulturalnej, programu działań Domów Kultury. Jeśli o tym wspominam, to po to, aby pomóc ludziom w znale­ zieniu satysfakcjonujących ich form pracy. Na przykład, czy w Warszawie udostępnienie niezwykłej, wspaniałej kolekcji — daru państwa Porczyńskich — nie mogłoby zaowocować t w o ­ rzeniem grup samokształceniowych, które zwrócone ku historii sztuki pozwalałyby mądrzej i głębiej przeżyć tę kolekcję, śledzić na doskonałych przykładach dzieje sztuki, prądów artystycznych? Trzeba przemyśleć formy wystaw, przeglądów, w które anga­ żują się Domy Kultury, placówki kulturalnej edukacji społeczeń­ stwa. Sądzę, że przy dużej obfitości różnych wystaw i pokazów amatorów także w restauracjach, kawiarniach, Klubach Prasy i Książki, w witrynach kwiaciarń itd. przeglądy organizowane sporadycznie przez Dom Kultury powinny mieć coś, co nazwał­ bym znakiem jakości. Powinno się utrwalić przekonanie, że na tych przeglądach może być nawet niewiele prac, ale reprezentu­ jących dobry poziom. Prac zarówno świadczących o pogłębio­ nym stosunku do sztuki, zrozumieniu problematyki artystycznej — jak i tych nielicznych — intuicyjnych, cieszących przede wszystkim oko wyrobionego widza. Nie odpowiadam na pytania, stawiam je tylko. Sądzę, że to jest obecnie najważniejsze — zorientować się w miejscu, w któ­ rym jesteśmy, w sytuacji kultury, w zachodzących procesach. Dostrzec złożoność zagadnień, różnorodność odpowiedzi, z któ­ rych każda może mieć swój sens, i jedna nie wyklucza drugiej. II. 12. Helena Szczypawka-Ptaszyńska, Jeździec, malowane Sieraczkiewicz — il. 9, 10; Jan Świderski — il. 1, 3, 5 — 8 , 11,12; Witalis Wolny — il. 2 drewno �