Tekst i zdjęcia dla islandzkiej wystawy w ramach projektu "Obrzeża" i Festiwalu Świateł
This was exposed in Reykjavik for a Winter Lights Festival for a project Borders. English version below.
This was exposed in Reykjavik for a Winter Lights Festival for a project Borders. English version below.
Przedsionek
do piękła
Obrzeża
to taka przestrzeń, do której niewielu dociera. Trzeba mieć
odwagę, żeby zobaczyć, co jest dalej, na końcu, tam gdzie wyjęty
jesteś spod prawa, a jeśli życie istnieje, to toczy się swoim
torem. Lepiej być w centrum, bo centrum jest znane i bezpieczne.
Obrzeża, które tu pokazuję znajdują się właśnie na torach, po
których kiedyś sunęły pociągi do i z Dworca Świebodzkiego. To
jest ścisłe centrum Wrocławia. A w niedzielę ścisłe centrum
handlu. Handel na torach. Główna, legalna część, to stoiska z
wyrobami made in china, od jedzenia po meble. Wszystko tanio, ale nie
za darmo! Jest kolorowo jak na festynie i jak na festynie pachnie. Za
jeansami i bolerkami zaczyna się ziemia niczyja, przedsionek do
piekła, gdzie się wystawia na widok swoje życie i gdzie się
wystawia na sprzedaż życia tego dorobek. Przychodzą tu uliczni
zbieracze, nowoczesne plemię łowców i koczowników. Oferują
niechciane ubrania, zabawki, narzędzia, niechciane obrazy, książki,
płyty. Wypchnięci poza ramy i sami nie chciani, popychacze wózków
wypchanych skarbami. Jest zima i dość spory mróz, pocieranie rąk,
para z ust. Sprzedawcy się cieszą, to jedyny dzień w tygodniu,
który przyniesie im taki dochód. Dodatkowo to ogromne wydarzenie
towarzyskie. A dla mnie też kulturalno-społeczne. Jest pięknie.
Jest brzydko. Za bezcen dostaniesz prawdziwe cacka, prawdziwe antyki
i prawdziwe świństwa: zardzewiałe kłódki bez zamków, lalki
barbie bez włosów, porysowane płyty z brzydkimi filmami.Dookoła
miasto-nic, jesteś w środku obrzeży i ruin, a jednak dalej w
centrum prawdziwego miasta, pod nogami tory, kupujesz od
wykolejonych.To raj hipstera, outsidera, kolekcjonera. I ekologów.
Alternatywny świat, który fundują nam wysiedleńcy, ci
niewyjściowo ubrani i nie skropieni dolce gabbaną. Zanikający
świat równoległy, który istnieje mimo braku oficjalnej
akceptacji, mimo braku nadzoru i jakiejkolwiek kontroli, a istnieje
bardziej fair trade, niż każda inna forma kapitalistycznego handlu,
bez VAT i CCTV nad głowami. Pięknie jest w piekle. I tanio.
Text in english
Although we all cross borders a lot, they still remain pretty unknown as a space, or a place. Only some of us have ever actually been there. You have to have courage to see what is further, beyond, somewhere between worlds in a place where rules do not exist and if there is any life out there, it follows its own tracks. It somewhat seems better to be in a middle, where all is known and safe. The borders I show you here are located just right on a railway tracks, leading in the past to the Swiebodzki Rail Station and not used any more. They lay in the middle of the city of Wroclaw (fourth biggest town in Poland) and the space is a main centre of trade on Sundays. Trade on the tracks. The dominant and also the legal part of it, where everything that is there was made in China, starting from a piece of furniture end ending on a pair of jeans with tones of food and goods from Germany (like sweets and washing powders). Many of the traders come from Romania. They scream at you that everything is cheap but not for free. It is colourful, as part of some sort of festival and it smells like one, too. But when you pass the last stand with leggings and high heels, you'll see no man's land, a hell's porch, where people's lives are put on displays and those life achievements are put on sale. Merchants are street collectors, a modern tribe of hunters and nomads. They offer all things unwanted. Clothes, toys, tools, paintings, books and music records, either found or possessed by them. They are unwanted themselves, pushed outside of the picture and at the same time pushing their carts full of treasures. This is winter, quite frost, red cheeks and heavy vapour breaths where nobody seems upset, even though the festive feeling is no longer there. And all those smells. But it is a happy day for sellers, they will not only earn more money than during any other day of a week, but also they'll be having a big social meeting. For me it is also a sociological and cultural event. It is full of peculiar beauty. It is full of ugliness. You get real gems, antiques and real mucks, like rusty padlocks without keys, Barbie dolls without hair, the whole variety of scratched, nasty DVD movies classifies for people over 18. When you look around, you see a ghost town, you are just in the middle of ruins and borders, but still, finding yourself in a real city, on the wrong side of the tracks. Under your feet there are real rail tracks and you buy stuff from people who are derailed. It is a wonderland for a hipsters, an outsider, a collector. And for an ecologist. It is an alternative world, created by displaced people, tramps whose necks do not smell like dolce and gabbana. It is homeless people's homeland. It is a dying world, parallel to the one we know, which is, despite of being under some control, exists and it is being more fair than any other capitalistic trade, without any VAT and CCTV above their heads. Still safe. It is beauty in hell. And it is cheap.
Although we all cross borders a lot, they still remain pretty unknown as a space, or a place. Only some of us have ever actually been there. You have to have courage to see what is further, beyond, somewhere between worlds in a place where rules do not exist and if there is any life out there, it follows its own tracks. It somewhat seems better to be in a middle, where all is known and safe. The borders I show you here are located just right on a railway tracks, leading in the past to the Swiebodzki Rail Station and not used any more. They lay in the middle of the city of Wroclaw (fourth biggest town in Poland) and the space is a main centre of trade on Sundays. Trade on the tracks. The dominant and also the legal part of it, where everything that is there was made in China, starting from a piece of furniture end ending on a pair of jeans with tones of food and goods from Germany (like sweets and washing powders). Many of the traders come from Romania. They scream at you that everything is cheap but not for free. It is colourful, as part of some sort of festival and it smells like one, too. But when you pass the last stand with leggings and high heels, you'll see no man's land, a hell's porch, where people's lives are put on displays and those life achievements are put on sale. Merchants are street collectors, a modern tribe of hunters and nomads. They offer all things unwanted. Clothes, toys, tools, paintings, books and music records, either found or possessed by them. They are unwanted themselves, pushed outside of the picture and at the same time pushing their carts full of treasures. This is winter, quite frost, red cheeks and heavy vapour breaths where nobody seems upset, even though the festive feeling is no longer there. And all those smells. But it is a happy day for sellers, they will not only earn more money than during any other day of a week, but also they'll be having a big social meeting. For me it is also a sociological and cultural event. It is full of peculiar beauty. It is full of ugliness. You get real gems, antiques and real mucks, like rusty padlocks without keys, Barbie dolls without hair, the whole variety of scratched, nasty DVD movies classifies for people over 18. When you look around, you see a ghost town, you are just in the middle of ruins and borders, but still, finding yourself in a real city, on the wrong side of the tracks. Under your feet there are real rail tracks and you buy stuff from people who are derailed. It is a wonderland for a hipsters, an outsider, a collector. And for an ecologist. It is an alternative world, created by displaced people, tramps whose necks do not smell like dolce and gabbana. It is homeless people's homeland. It is a dying world, parallel to the one we know, which is, despite of being under some control, exists and it is being more fair than any other capitalistic trade, without any VAT and CCTV above their heads. Still safe. It is beauty in hell. And it is cheap.
