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Granice sztuki, granice muzyki

GRZEGORZ WOŹNIAK Granice sztuki, granice muzyki, "Lampa" 1-2/2010

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Gazetka festiwalowa

John von Sturmer

John von Surmer was invited to the festival as a visual artist. He spent the whole festival ?visualising? Biziel Hospital in the gastroenterology and surgery wards. After that he had a day, when he was able to see Wojtek Zamiara exhibition at ?Galeria Kantorek?. This is his impressions while seeing the exhibition:

The Fifth Mozg - Jon Dobie

Jon Dobie took a part of the festival as a musician in Mazzoll/Wanders/Dobie/Janicki/Janicki Quintet.

It is Tuesday. It is much like any other Tuesday except that I am leaving to go to Poland tomorrow.

The day before any trip is filled with the mundane. I drop my washing in at the laundrette where a rather nice woman called Kathy does a service wash for me. Kathy never remembers my name but always remembers my ?around the world in eighty days? bag. Some hours later I pick up my freshly laundered, neatly folded bag of clothes. Then to the bank, pay bills and get some cash for the trip; Supermarket for some Quorn and a poppy seed loaf and cigarette papers then back home. I check my guitar, strings, picks, cables, pedal, and adaptors. All is in order. Cook dinner. Eat. Pack my bag. Wash up dinner things. Print out air tickets. Check passport and medical card. Double check everything. Drop my spare door keys with my next door neighbour. Put out the rubbish.

Polska by day and by night: or, 5th MOZG Festival - John von Sturmer

John von Sturmerwas invited to the festival as a visual artist. He spent the whole festival ?visualising? Biziel Hospital in the gastroenterology and surgery wards.

There were things I saw and there were things I didn?t see. There were things I did and things I didn?t do. I never saw a cat; I never stroked one or looked it in the eye. As for drawings, they existed a-plenty. But actual cats, real, furry, purring, claws bared or retracted, back arched, sliding past your leg or seeking your lap, nothing. As if the domestic creature, the domestic creature par excellence, did not exist.

But then I saw one, at night, wild, on the loose, a black cat fleeting swifter than swift across the road. Szubin. Sensed rather than saw for it was dart, motion, escape. The merest glimpse.

As for dogs I saw dogs, not too many, out on the streets with their owners, Mostowa,  on the bridge over the Brda. Where ducks swam.

I never rode in a tram or on a train though both beckoned. I never got to Torun or Poznan. We skirted round both. I did get to stand on the banks of the Wisla, my shoes caked with mud from a newly plowed paddock. In the distance there were deer; to myself I called them ?chevreuils? because that?s what they reminded me of, creatures I?d seen flushed out by beaters in the Foret de Fountainbleau or the woods round Vaux-le-Vicomte where I?d spent Christmas many years back, in 1967.