‘I went to the Warsaw Old Town. A man painted in silver, with a halo and wings, stands still on a silver platform. He pretends to be a sculpture of an angel, but from close-up he does not look like a sculpture, he looks like a motionless man painted in silver. Sometimes he blinks, his body muscles tremble. There are silver and gold coins in the hat under the platform. When the angel hears their buzzing, with a moderate grace, he slowly changes his body position. „I wonder if this clown earns more than I do.” – I’m getting over my head, but I’m gonna take it away. I’m standing in the distance. I’m afraid to approach and stand in front of him with the children. I know that he will look at me with his acting, confident eyes, and then I will blush and cry. For some reason, I think the angel hates me. I’m standing in a shady alley, it’s safe here. I put the earphones in my ears to stop the tourists from talking. And with the soundproofing, the whole world falls as if it’s melting, only me and the angel bathed in the orange light of the lighthouse in front of me. After a while, I disappear, I melt into a brick wall behind my back, deeper and deeper, until only a cold bas-relief remains of me.’ ~ Zuzanna

‘There are little souls in different places. As you wish, you can meet them at home or on a walk. They are a few hairs on white linen, which have formed the shape of a rose. With a silent voice coming out of your belly, you can cuddle up to. Or, sitting on the wall by the supermarket with a purchase confirmation holding a credit card receipt. No one will know when they’re gone. No one will know when they’re gone and blend in with the bedding, bellies and walls. They can have everything they want, combining images or sounds. I want to understand everything they say before they die, killed by other little souls.’ ~ Krzysztof

‘It’s over. Not even a season. Once again, no time to bring something to an end. Tonight the last night of my good old number. And it’s a full moon. And the trapeze artist comes tumbling down… Tais-toi. Be quiet. I never imagined it like that, the farewell to the circus. The last evening, no one shows up, you play like fools… and I fly around the ring like a poor chicken. And then I’m a waitress again. Merde. Moments like that, like right now… a beautiful memory in 10 years time. Time will heal everything, but what if time was the illness? As if sometimes one had to lean over to go on living. To live… A look is enough. The circus… I’ll miss it. It’s funny. It’s the end, and I don’t feel a thing. An angel passes by. I must stop having a bad conscience. (…) Who are you? I don’t know anymore. But I do know: I will no longer be a trapeze artist…’ ~ Marion / ‘Wings of Desire’, 1987 (Wim Wenders)