In a country where all books are forbidden,
the hurricane spits out a new world
with a new legacy of destruction.
People stop by the house with a light on and a blue door,
the house with boarded-up windows where
the mandolin player keeps an eye
on his own basement revolution.
These are the days when the truth learns to
travel on cigarette papers, between prison cells,
before the police arrives
to evacuate.
Ink on paper: ‘Fisherman’, Maria Stadnicka
I made a big fire
In the middle of the room
In your absence I sat down white
Watching the carpet burning,
The books, the shadow you drew
On the wall, a while ago.
( it looked like a piece of absent land )
The neighbours could see the flames
Coming through the shut window
As I went to bed covered in ash;
But I did not mind such a public display.
I was not in a hurry.
The landscape locked me in.
The real winter began.
Acrylics, ink, newspaper: Maria Butunoi
Maria Stadnicka 