Bartosz Zaskórski
And then, it turned out that I had died
For some time now, Bartosz Zaskórski has been coming across great ideas whilst taking walks. Remembering the people and places he encountered, he began to create mockups of his surroundings in the form of short stories about fictional villages. In the beginning, these imaginary relationships were told by researchers, who were tired of their work. Now they have been replaced by a group of narrators telling about phenomena, which they noticed, with the eloquence of folk storytellers crossed with frail walkers who played too many video games.
These are non-participatory observations, allowing for the surveillance of other endemic communities and boggy places from a distance and without surprise. Their status is unclear. Some of the fragments appear to be familiar, as if stolen from other people's songs, returning in a distorted echo. Maybe that's why Zaskórski, practicing his phantom geography, is trying to commence from simple statements, defining what he met along the way in individual sentences. The artist is looking for certainties that would allow him to understand the terrain's topography, which he traverses, or rather on which he morosely stumbles around, because this landscape gives the impression of one that is cluttered and compressed. He is building a manual for the existing reality, or preferably, as he writes: the game that is staying in the lower village.
It seems that the situations observed by him must be somewhere in the depths of hell. Everything here is overgrown, strangely bent, and feral. The lower village, which is given to us to explore, permeates the imagination and all the activities of those who only find themselves within it. It affects its users, lulling their vigilance and causing malign; hence why Zaskórski, being aware of the danger, prepares for his listeners a set of comfortable recliners and pleasantly soft chairs. Their choleric yellow color quickly gets on your nerves. This leads to a state of jitters, which becomes necessary during this game on the border of a pseudomedical experiment and a nap in a sanatorium.
