Kiedyś próbowałem wyprasować to zdjęcie. blow-up Did You ever try to iron a developed photograph? I did. A green shot, nice one. Potted plants, shadow and my nose, pointing at some dark beyond. I put a cloth over it. I was extremely gentle. Caring. In a state of grace, I think. A true self-communion, and then - communion with the object. With its world. With it - all that. Intruded only by the inner shivers of my uncertainty. The iron. The altar. The picture. And me. Hung in the balance. A white, lambda-shaped gash, perfectly smooth and leveled with the surface. Unveiling a photo-surface from the object’s one. It draws my gaze in whenever I enter the room. The picture hangs on a white wall, but the crack is whiter than the vast, porous whiteness around. And thus it hovers between realities. If the wall is the background and the picture - foreground, - this one makes a groundless ground. It seeds my insight with clarity. [February 2012]