a Lair

The house in Witowice Dolne is my childhood home. There live my eyes and spirits collected so scrupulously in the first years of my life. The house stands next to a forest so green and virgin that it is impossible not to discover magical creatures there. Going back, I return to adventures and riddles never solved. I'm still searching for answers. A guide to this world was my grandma. She led me to the woods, called mushroom, stones and roots by their names. Some she anthropomorphised and took home with her. Through the years, the inside of the house has been filled to the brim with objects she collected. Grandma never threw anything out. Once she has brought something in, it remains with her forever. The house, together with her, grows old, everything there is subject to natural cycles.

When I was a child, we slept in the attic. Walls let in the wind carrying sounds of the outside. I had an impression I was sleeping in a tree house in the heart of a forest. The mountain wind sweeping through the room gave me shivers, but I wasn't afraid. We were safe, because protected by my grandma's charms. Enormous animal-resembling roots, bunches of plants and pebbles arranged on the stove kept their watch over us. They reconciled home space with dark woods.