Open Studio The Common Field – Ujazdowski Castle Centre for Contemporary Art

On June 17, 2024, I met the Escarpment, my new geomorphological friend. I read in a book that the rhythms of the undulations of the Scandinavian ice sheet are recorded in her layers of post-glacial sediments. Her memory intrigues me.  

We meet almost every day now.  

I exit the Laboratory, go right and straight ahead. I jump over the railing, go a little down the Escarpment, and stop. All I see are patches of goldenrod, nettles, and foliophages sitting on their leaves. I take off my shoes and start striking the grass with my right foot. I pull out the grass blades and reach the ground. The soil is plump with accumulated humus, so it is easy to collapse. I try not to disturb the roots of a tiny maple tree that may one day grow large. 

I dig a small hole, and gradually enlarge it. All with my eyes closed. I keep digging. I'm already in a pit, the ground reaching my knees. There are centipedes and rough woodlice climbing up my thigh — I think I accidentally interrupted their gathering. One tells a spell to the other. Suddenly, I sink into the ground. I think I am at least 12 meters below the place where I started digging.  

I can smell the humus and the scent of medicinal herbs that grew around the hospital. I take a deep breath and feel it spread throughout my body. I feel rocks, round stones, one on top of the other. Today I join them in a half-lying position. I find comfort in the cords of mycelium, elderberry, and nettle roots that wrap around my body. A stony whisper drills into my ear canals. The remains in the rock's pores, dragged here from distant Scandinavia, shimmer with their presence.  

I'm not trying to leave. I'm staying longer. 

Julia Ciunowicz, Zuzanna Szymłowska, Ewelina Węgiel