on existence of a failure

It seems difficult to admit the existence of a failure. Something so apparent and so vague at the same time, is it even real or is it the matter of perception?

First of all, there is a question of criteria. Who do we compare ourselves with? Is it the world or is it just our best friend? Is it our Instagram guru with 500k followers or is it just us? It seems that taking a humble approach and measuring oneself with own self only may indicate the lack of ambition. Putting personal actions and achievements in a larger frame of other people’s lives seems non-sense. Keeping in mind the profound lyrics of Graham Nash’s ‘Wounded Bird’, in the end ‘it’s with you you have to live.’

Then, there is also an idea of ambition. If we aim really high, a relatively small downfall can evoke a river of tears. What if we are more down-to-earth and our mind can serenely accept a state of dissatisfaction. Some do not even try to properly think the matter over, because as much as they evade work, they also manage to escape sense of guilt or self-disappointment. Can anyone come to tell us we failed? Obviously. A jury, a judge, our competitor carrying an advantage. There is always someone to make a statement, but often we forget, the final word on the functioning of our small universe will always belong to us. This thought is quite empowering.

Finally, the most basic question remains: what exactly is failure? Probably the contrary of success, but there is no precise definition of that term either. If we are simply incapable of mastering a certain skill or life circumstances do not allow us to exploit the full potential, shall we consider it a defeat or an untapped opportunity? As questions multiply, failure appears as a mere phrase to describe a momentary weakness that we can accept or turn to our advantage.

Failure is an intrinsic element of life. It is result of all the imperfections. Edith Wharton once wrote: ‘Her failure was a useful preliminary to success’. Only under this condition, I admit its existence.

the sound of the dusk

Evenings are late, summer is approaching. No sense of haste, because the day naturally prolongs itself, time seems to elapse at a controllable pace. Life is in your hand. So when the dusk comes, it changes the palette of the sky - from solid to blurred and hazy. Then, it seems like looking out of the window is the only reasonable thing to do. This activity needs a special playlist.

Your Friend ‘Tame One’

Warren Zevon 'Steady Rain'

Dear Nora 'Girl From the Northern Country'

Junior Kimbrough 'Meet Me In the City'

The Space Lady 'Synthesize Me'

Tomasz Makowiecki 'Na Szlaku Nocnych Niedopałków'

what does it mean to overthink and has it ever done any good

Any day, any time, thoughts are our companions. Sometimes, we reach the point where we’d like to put our head aside, so the body can shyly exist and perform most basic of activites.

I came up with a definition. Overthinking - entering every little interaction offered, by the world, by people, by nature, by our heart. That is something I cannot simply repel out of inborn sensitivity. I know I’m not the one. Actually, as I observe people, their fragility astounds me. Many of them constantly debating, what to do and how to do it to avoid an avalanche of consequences. Overthinking seems to make our life secure because of all the insecurity. It also makes it incomplete.

Intuition is to be followed and I was taught to trust the instincts. Still, it takes a lot. Of self-acceptance, of trust, of familiarity with oneself. It’s not the question of age, it’s how much you want to learn. How much you want to walk through the world, watching people’s attitudes and their ways, drawing conclusions, readjusting your own schemes. Out of a sudden, to overthink means to think a lot and eventually, to make a decision. The one that leads further. The one that allows you to live to the fullest.

when things come to an end

Sometimes all you need is to feel nothing will change for a while.

When things end, a heart is shattered. I don’t mean life revolutions, but states of feelings that we’d like to keep becuase they infuse us with something good. I never expect that coming, it’s when you recognize a certain emotion being present and a moment later, it’s gone. It can be a day, a week, a month. You  also do not expect it's about to end, so once that happens, there is confusion. After, comes realisation. Finally, sadness.

What does it mean to 'keep a life', is that even possible. As much we can create and influence siutations, our tiny existence is nothing permanent. This is a cliche fueled by awareness, missing our acceptance.

Next time things come to an end, I may be slightly smarter, but never less eager to keep them the way they were. As long as they were good.

the roads leading to right directions and everything’s going wrong

Set it free,

things are cool.

Let it be,

life is full.

Then you made it,

it is all,

you should love it,

final call.

Then you say

‘I’ll be going’

that's the way

love is showing.

Right directions,

roads are leading,

and projections

of wrong meaning. 

tell me about the museum of the future

Gesamtkunstwerk, power station, an institution, an archipelago. The museum of the future is not a futuristic creation, but a vision of the world, art and place, filtrated through the history and globalization. The book by Cristina Bechtler and Dora Imhof is a compilation of talks with the curators, museum directors and artists, who answer for the same question set, gradually building up the new definition of  a place to display art. Chris Dercon, Michael Gavin, Hans Ulrich Obrist, Jacques Herzog - these are their concepts we observe in this series of ordinary interviews that inspire and make us realize how grateful we shall be for those buildings and artworks, that someone set into a museum. 

we were made by the cities

History cannot go wrong, people built the cities. They constructed and planned, following the logic, utopia and utilitarian ideals. City is a creation that was supposed to serve the human and now it’s a power station that makes us as we are.

I’m taking London as a point of reference, because that’s where I’ve spent the last two years and that’s the place I will leave in three months for a different, obscure location. Trying to observe the rhythm of days, the silent noise of nights, the never ending blinking of the lights, I see the blurred lines passing by. Nothing I can discern in full glow, just a blend of images, constant rush, ambition pulsating and clashing ideas emerging. I need to be thankful for that, a lesson of life I don’t want for myself. For a while, that’s how I was, exactly like that place, always oblivious of good things, without the capacity to hear my own head saying ‘it’s a different way of being you need’. And then, millions of people, thriving or suffocating, loving or detesting, they find themselves in the set of streets, where they become the tiny elements of urban landscapes, either lost or found, the city wants you to fit.

Being non-conformist, being honest with oneself will always lead to the question about the physical place you’re in. I don’t want to be made by a city. I’m searching for the city that will be my natural reflection.