Wielka radość! ❤️ Nasz film BEDROCK, którego jestem autorką zdjęć będzie miał premierę na Berlinale 2025 ❤️❤️❤️ Dziękuję @kinga.mi.666 za zaufanie i za 5 lat wspólnej pracy 🎥 ❤️ i całej niezastąpionej ekipie ❤️
@januszdabkiewicz@peterhostak@agnieszkaejme
Synopsis
BEDROCK is a psychological journey across today’s Poland that weaves together stories of Poles living on Holocaust sites. Through a series of intimate encounters, this poetic film looks at the unsettling contradictions people learn to live with.
After taking his horse for a walk around Europe Piter @peterhostak crashed through my cavernous ceiling for a two week drawing residency. As you can see it was a necessary post film festival tour processing conversation. We were more intentional in our composition than past collaborations and found the result very satisfying. This piece has begun generating a painting series and the still forming seed of a stop-motion animation. #collaborativeart #brothersinart #henhouse #fox #canadaslovakia #blackandwhitedrawing #collaborativedrawing #montrealartist #henhousebreakfast #circleoflife #childhoodmemories #memoriesofslovakia #smalltowncanada #eggseggseggs #goodfoxbadfox #ruralart
It is an honour and a pleasure to invite you to come to experience my film COLD AND DARK which will be presented in Montreal at RIDM @ridm_festival in the short national competition on November 19 and 25. The link for the tickets is in my bio.
Leaving here a note from the making...
It is 6:30 in the morning and the village bar near the train station is already packed. The usuals are having their first set. The set consists of a shot of something green, a beer, and a cigarette. The smoke moves in stillness and slowly mixes into steam from soaked jackets stacked on corroded heaters. An old dog with a poked eye wanders through dense tobacco clouds and keeps coming to a corner occupied by toothless construction workers smashing cards against the table. One of them sneezes loudly in the air because his hands are on the job with a set of cards and a cigarette. He wipes his snots in his flannel sleeve. After every puff, he coughs intensively and cures himself with gentle sips from his one-deciliter shaky shot. The conversations are raspy fragments of touching politics, health problems, and nonsensical phrases that do not go anywhere. Looking around carries a loose notion of time but also a sensation of a deadly routine. The conversation interrupts a distorted announcement with a three-tone progression tune from a train station speaker. No one seems to care because no one is there to catch the train. The door opens and a cold wind howls in. A young guy in a reflective jacket enters the bar with a lit cigarette in his mouth while greeting everyone with a silent head nod. Smiling. He reaches out for a handshake with his filthy hand. “Let’s go. The horse is in the van.”
It is a breezy night in the mountains and chicken rest their heads deep in the warmth of their feathery bodies. The soundless paws bring a creature that sticks its smiley head right in the coop with no absence of confidence. Imagine the chaos and space for no escape. The fox tears apart every chicken and takes just one. Proudly paws away towards the moon-lit forest with head up and straight tail. Waking up to kids crying over the garden covered by organs and white feathers with bloody freckles. Sad, but looks like a real work of art. I go buy coffee to a place which is a half grocery store and half bar. The bar is full and someone of the attendees chained a bull to a tree right in front of this hybrid institution.
I’m teasing for my film and energy crisis like this: We all live here in a delirious dream in between heavy hangovers and steamy sunrises, drained bodies and lungs filled up with tobacco. The rust of chains is engraved into foaming sweaty backs leaking into the dirt of these lands. We pull logs together for living and live for the heat of it. Warmth and comfort are the currency and glowing amber will need to be shaped into diamonds soon because everyone is afraid of the cold and darkness. In these landscapes, any sensation will be a gift, even hundreds of flies migrating between excrements and testicles so every fiber of muscle is involved effortlessly to shake them off. At the end of the loop we celebrate that the organs stayed in their place, count fingers and hoofs, and celebrate greatly until we can’t count anymore. The night magnifies collected energy into a burst of chaos so we can work towards another sunrise.
