Miror Me Your Memories

The plane hovers in the air, floats above the clouds. Wherever it lands, wherever it has taken off from, for an hour or five, you are separated from reality by clumps of cotton candy. You look at the window, and looking through you find not clouds, but memories, as if the airplane window was in fact a screen on which your inner landscapes are projected. Now you can clearly see your memories: those which are so deeply engraved in your body that it seems impossible to tear them out. They tinge everything that has happened before and everything that will happen later, persistently lurking in the background, even when you think of something else. On the cloudy screen, more and more people scroll by faster and faster - high above the peaks, loved ones who have never met in the world below and those who have met, can meet again. In your head, like on a film that someone forgot to rewind after taking the picture - double exposure. Images jump: from the viewer to the film, from the photograph to the disk and from the disk to the canvas; they jump, but they do not disappear from the subsequent media, they duplicate and overlap, until it is difficult to say where they started. *** Konrad Krzyżanowski has been collecting images on disks and film rolls, on Polaroid photos and in the memory of his mobile phone for years. Some of those moments are reflected on the canvas: someone is walking away, someone is looking, someone is taking melatonin before bedtime, someone is running, someone is reading a book. Someone is lying in bed, unable to sleep, and images whirl around in their head like a merry-go-round, different moments layered in half-consciousness.