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Diary of an artist, Sunday, July 21, 2019
Woke up 5:45 am
So we’re back in Warsaw (me and my family). Spent very pleasant two weeks in the Baltic sea region (on the Polish coast). I like the house where we stayed. It’s one of my favourite writing places.
I would like to spend some time one day in a place up a hill which overlooks the whole area (a village or a small town), or a place with a view on the sea, and be able to write there. I think it would be cool.
From the places we visited this year during our two-week vacation I would pick some place (a hotel room, or a table in a public area of a hotel or private residence, estate, or bed-and-breakfast — a library or lobby, or a drawing room) with access to a window with a view on a big garden or some part of the estate. Such places I saw this year in Ciekocinko Palace and in Six Oaks Manor House in Prusewo. Couldn’t afford it right now.
In my Warsaw apartment I prefer the room where the table is against a whitish wall. The wall is not entirely empty however as there is a painting by a Polish painter by the name of Soter Jaxa Małachowski on it. Or a fake, as many of the paintings which my father bought as original paintings were actually fakes, which my mother discovered after his death by trying to sell some of the paintings from his not small collection. The painting is from 1924 (or, if it’s a fake, pretends to be from that year) and depicts people in Planty Park in Cracow and one of the adjacent buildings. Fake or not, this painting (as all the paintings from my adoptive father’s collection) is a certain inspiration for me. For my photos, and, in a way, for my writing too.
You can have paintings on your walls which are fakes but you believe they’re originals and so to you they are originals. You don’t know they’re not original works so your brain must treat them as originals. And you can die having such conviction in you. Thinking that something was real but actually it wasn’t. Thinking that something happened but actually it didn’t. Thinking that something was the truth but actually it was a lie. But it won’t matter to you after your death. You died having a certain narrative (certain beliefs) about the surrounding reality, the world, and to you it was the truth. Isn’t it interesting? I think it’s ultra interesting. When you’re dead you can’t be set straight anymore. People can’t reveal the truth to you anymore. You can’t reveal the truth to people anymore, so there is a good chance they will also die believing in something (some story) which is bullshit. So very interesting! We take our “truths” to our graves, so to speak.
Back to writing places. One of my weirdest writing places is when we’re visiting my in-laws. They have a house (not big, ca. 150m2). It’s a two-story house with bedrooms in the upper story. I would probably have never ended up adapting this place as one of my writing places were it not for the fact that my in-laws never close the door to their bedroom. As there is only one area with a door on the ground floor (the rest is open space — living room and kitchen) I use the small bathroom (it’s rather a tiny water closet with a shower cabin; the shower cabin makes it feel a little bit bigger but, of course, the cabin is closed and the space inside the cabin doesn’t count — if one doesn’t use the cabin, if one isn’t inside the cabin, the place stays 2,5 m long and 1 m wide). That’s my most peculiar writing place. I put there a chair so that I have somewhere to sit, close the door and write. I do it so that they’re not awakened by the sounds of the keyboard. Luckily at 4 or 5 am there are no unpleasant smalls in that water closet. It’s like any other room, only it has lavatory. Certainly more comfortable than a prison cell — and many used their prison cells to write. Hence I think there is nothing wrong with using water closet for that purpose. Of course, it’s super weird to my in-laws.
YouTube videos and movies (since my last diary entry):
The Story of God with Morgan Freeman Creation (on Netflix) Finished it.
The Story of God with Morgan Freeman Why Does Evil Exist? (on Netflix) Finished it.
Music for this writing session: Max Richter (on spotify)