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minimalist art magazine

volume 1/4 #PARALLEL WORLD

9 TACMO Thilo Heinzmann

30 SURFACE SCULPTURE Sarah Hogan

43 REDUCE REUSE REPEAT

33 PARALLEL WORLD

47 POMIĘDZY

15 NO EXIT Jeremy Ewerett 23 Adrian Tone

# 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 OBRAZ FOTOGRAFIA GRAFIKA PRZESTRZEŃ DESIGN INSTALACJA

57 TALK ABOUT SCULPTURE Tony Smith

63 Benjamin Graindorge

70 PELES EMPIRE Focus Case Study 82 END THOUGHTS, PART OF DOUBLE INFIDELITY Daniel Gustav

TACMO

THILO HEINZMANN Zasadą obrazów serii Tacmo jest misternie zorganizowana czarna powierzchnia, ponieważ jej jakość i przestrzenność przewyższa zwykłe płótno, a jej formalna waga w tych prac przewyższa zwykłe tło. Potwierdzenie tradycji malarstwa kolor pola, te czarne samoloty stają się także miejscem napisu dla nielicznych i dobrze obliczonych ruchów, które artysta wykonuje zarówno pędzlem jak i dłońmi. Artysta zastosował odwrócenie sposobu, w jaki te narzędzia tradycyjnie są wprowadzane do użytku. Efektem są wydłużone huśtawki, eleganckie, proste linie krzywe o różnej długości i szerokości, które wynikają z pracy farby, poprzez usunięcie niewielkiego poziomu górnej powierzchni, przez szczotkowanie, gdy farba jest jeszcze świeża. Każde płótno jest tym samym produktem danej gospodarki doczesnej, która łączy rozszerzoną, skrupulatną i długoterminową inwestycjię - przygotowanie powierzchni w decydującym momencie, w którym szczotka i ręka musi interweniować szybko. Wykonane z ufnością, pochodzące z wykwalifikowanego rzemiosła, odbijają światło w bogatej różnorodności pośród czarnych matowych teł. Wytwarzają one wizualną jędrność i wrażenie prędkości, które wyłaniają się ze spokoju, który emanuje z obrazów.

TACMO 2012 olej na płótnie za pleksi 193 x 215 x 11 cm

TACMO 2012 olej na płótnie za pleksi 201 x 300 x 11 cm olej na płótnie za pleksi 147 x 200 x 11 cm olej na płótnie za pleksi 147 x 200 x 11 cm

NO EXIT

JEREMY EVERETT Edouard Malingue Galeria w 2014 roku miała przyjemność przedstawić „No Exit”, wystawę solową nowojorskiego artysty Jeremy Everetta (b.1979, USA), prezentującego liryczne exposé, które nie zawsze jest w pełni kompletne, różnorodność wiecznie zmieniającego się stanu pomiędzy pięknem i rozkładem.Everett zdobył tyuł magistra sztuk pięknych na wydziale Architektury Krajobrazu Uniwersytetu w Toronto. W rodzinnym Colorado, Everett od dzieciństwa obcował w surowej przestrzeni gołej ziemi. I do tej pory powołuje się na inspiracje, takie jak Ziemia, sztuka Roberta Smithsona i Michael Heizer, prace Everetta wynikają z intuicji i naturalnego procesu. Wystawa prezentowała nowy dorobek, który nosi tytuł „No Exit”. Pomyślany i opracowany przez zastosowanie różnych materiałów np. na kocu mylaru, lekko skażone powierzchnie są zanikające. Nanoszone lub lekko rozszerzone, ich powierzchnie i ruchy nienaturalnie wywołują subtelne poetyckie brzmienie: twarzą w twarz przed tobą są uziemione, podatne, uczciwe w ich przejrzystości i enigmatyczne we włsnej teksturze. Każda praca została wystawona poza murami studiana pustyni lub suchych równinach rodzinnego Colorado poddawana naturalnym procesom „destrukcji”, która w tym przypadku stanowiła klucz w końcowym procesie dzieła. Doświadczenie, kiedy pocieramy oczy zbyt mocno, a następnie je otwieramy - dostrzegamy miliony kolorów, pulsujące tekstury, które wibrują od oczodołów do palców. Chcemy je zachować pocierająć ponownie, ale to sprawia ból, mimo to ciągle je widzimy i nie możemy przestać pocierać, jedyny raz, kiedy czuje oczy od wewnątrz. To uczucie można dostać tylko na chwilę. Patrząc na prace Evertta, możemy tę chwilę rozciągać w nieskończoność.

„Co jeszcze widzisz?” Poza odczuwaniem kolorów jest też stale rozwijająca się opowieść o ich tworzeniu, w jaki sposób zostały stworzone przy użyciu jakich technik, ekspozycji i rozwoju, jak w fotografii, ale bez użycia aparatu. W tych pracach, a także innych, medium fotografii celowo zwolniono z kajdan mechaniki, podczas podstawowych metod twórczych Everett- rozprzestrzenia emulsję i odsłania ją na światło, w ten sposób swoje próby przeniósł do świata malarstwa abstrakcyjnego. Everett łamie kody i przesuwa granice poczętej formacji artystycznej aby stworzyć wizualne fragmenty wyroku, który wiecznie istnieje i rozwija się. Taki nacisk na łączenia i rozłączania się przejawiał się w jego prace automatycznej ekspozycji. Stworzone przy użyciu farby olejnej, cyjanotypii i płótna, stojąc na wystawie, największą uwagę przykówa ciemnoniebieska powierzchnia. Podchodząc bliżej zauważamy bogactwo szegółów. Urzekająco surowe! A ta surowość została osiągnięta przez dotyk klęsk żywiołowych. Nacisk w pracach Everetta nie znajduje się na doskonałości, lecz na zaangażowanie w piękno, które może być odkryte w „awarii”. Ogólnie rzecz biorąc, „No Exit” ujawnia, za pośrednictwem różnych serii „pracy, jak twórczość Everetta jest transcendentalna i niepokojąca, a jednocześnie przenikające hipnotycznie jakości. Subtelne i bezpośrednie, otwierające umysł do licznych transformacyjnych możliwości. Przynosi jasność i okrakiem granicę między zaburzeniami i rozpadem, porządekiem i pięknem. Rzeczywiście, jest to doskonała ucieczka od codzienności, bo to niebanalna sztuka, która przedstawia prace w połowie procesu i w połowie istnienia.

PROOF – PINK 2014 tusz, spray farby na jedwabiu 228 x 170 cm NO EXIT 2014 miedź, technika mieszana na folii antydetekcyjna 129 x 102 cm miedź, technika mieszana na folii antydetekcyjna 183 x 132 cm miedź, technika mieszana na folii antydetekcyjna 127 x 101.6 cm miedź, technika mieszana na folii antydetekcyjna 195 x 137 cm

BURIED SONG 2012 (EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS IS NOWHERE) tusz na jedwabiu 208 x 166 cm x 2 panele 3 Venus Study, 2011 technika mieszane 1, 2 HOLES IN THE CURTAIN 2012 technika mieszane

ADRIAN TONE Adrian Tone, rumuński artysta sztuk wizualnych z siedzibą w Brooklynie, tworzy intuicyjne prace wielkoformatowe, budując emocje, bawiąc różnymi technikami. W skali szarości abstrakcyjne obrazy Adriana Tone mocno nawiązują między powierzchnią dzieła sztuki, a jego malarską teksturą. Tekstura może być związana z odbiciem obiektu lub wzór na podłożu.Aby utworzyć osobistą abstrakcyjną wizję artysta bada świat tekstur i kompozycji. Adrian Tone kładzie nacisk na intuicji i swobodnym eksperymentowaniu podczas przetwarzania jego dzieła. Każdy obraz akrylowy tworzony na papierze jest przytwierdzony bezpośrednio do blachy aluminiowej 120 x 250 cm. Adrian wykorzystuje różnorodne techniki sztuki do tworzenia jednolitego monochromatycznego wszechświata obrazów, w tym pigmentów akrylowych, kapania i fotograficznych procesów montażowych. Artysta także eksperymentuje z technikami grafiki, takich jak monotypia, która wywołuje echa tekstur tkanin, które ponownego drukuje na papierze. „Robię zdjęcia wielkoformatowe, które mają wydają się szybkie i intuicyjne, jak rysunki szkicownika. Akceptuję fakt, że moje obrazy są asocjacyjne (plastikowe torby, martwe skóry, przezroczyste woale), ale to jest dla mnie ważne, że wyglądają jak przedmiot, jako rzecz, jako element pierwszego materiału. Są one zarazem tym czym sa jak i reprezantacja samych siebei. Mówią o tym, jak są wykonane: rozdarte, rozpadające, myte i połatane.”

1,2,3 4,5 BEZ TYTUĹ U 2014 akryl, akwarela na papierze 120 x 250 cm

1,2,3,4,5 BEZ TYTUĹ U 2014 akryl, akwarela na papierze 120 x 250 cm

SURFACE SCULPTURE

SARAH HOGAN Londyńska fotografik Sarah Hogan zajmuje się fotografią wnętrz od ponad 10 lat. Jej obrazy mają prawdziwe poczucie spokoju oraz prawie malarską jakości. Sara wspaniale umacnia obraz za pomocą koloru, kompozycji i światła. Nominowany do Nagrody 2014 AOP. 2 zdjęć w kategorii obiekt Martwa natura Klienci redakcyjni: Elle Decoration Est Magazine Australia House & Garden Homes & Garden Saturday Times Harrods magazine Living Etc Hearst Promotions Klienci komercyjni: The White Company Linley Brissi Mamas & Papas Violet & George Godrich Conran Design Redwood Publishing

BEZ TYTUĹ U 2014 fotografia

PARALLEL WORLD Ciągle istnieją miejsca w Japonii i wschodniej Azji egzystujące, w pewien sposób równolegle do reszty swiata. Ich autorem jest Jan Vranovský - architekt, projektant i fotograf, obecnie mieszka w Tokio.

METABOLISM IN TOKYO, 2015

PALE 15, OSAKA, 2015 GRID FRENZY, TOKYO, 2015 ISOMETRY- NAKAGIN CAPSULE TOWER AT NIGHT, 2015 PINK AND TEMPORARY (YANAKA, TOKYO), 2015

CINEMA IN JIMBŌCHŌ, TOKYO, 2014 PINK WALL, TOKYO, 2015 MALEVICH-ESQUE FAÇADE, YUSHIMA, TOKYO, 2015 SENSORY DEPRIVATION CONSTRUCTION SITE IN MINAMI-ASAGAYA, TOKYO (THANKS TO PETR HOLÝ FOR THE TIP, 2015 WHITE VOLUME, SHINJUKU-KU, TOKYO, 2015 RESIDENTIAL BUILDING IN TŌYŌCHŌ, KŌTŌ, TOKYO, 2015 CURTAINS, TABATA, TOKYO, 2015 GETTING DARK IN SHIROKANEDAI, TOKYO, 2016 WHITE TILES OF SOUTH KYOTO, 2015

REDUCE REUSE REPEAT

ROBERT MOSKOWITZ ELLSWORTH KELLY PETER DOWNSBROUGH „Reduce, Repeat, Reuse” przedstawia trzech artystów, którzy stworzyli cykle prac wykonane czarnym tuszem na papierze w celu zbadania rozumienia reprezentacji, tworzenia obrazów i strony jako miejsce zrozumienia.

Robert Moskowitz # 1, 2, 3, 4: BEZ TYTUŁU 2009 akwaforta z akwatintą 49,5 x 35,6 cm

Ned Rifkin w swoim eseju dla monografi pt. „Robert Moskowitz” z 1989 roku opisuje prace Moskowitza jako znaczące połączenie abstrakcyjnego ekspresjonizmu z pod szyldu nowojorskiej szkoły oraz malarzy nowoobrazowej abstrakcji z połowy lat 70-tych. Wyjaśniajac wykorzystywanie prze artyste cech abstrakcji oraz obrazowania. Rifikin oświadcza, na jego unikalnej drodze, Moskowitz polaryzował obie idee, a zarazem ciągnął je dosyć oddzielnie w taki sposób, że pokrywały się w pewnym sensie, łącząc się w oryginalną wizualną mowę. Mowie którą z powodzeniem posługiwał się aby wyrazić jego pełnie wewnętrznych uczuć i ustanowić o jego przenikliwości oraz inwencji twórczej.Cztery akwaforty w tej wystawie, indywidualnej i jak razem przedstawiają bilans wyrafinowanej specyficzności i śmiałej wyraźności, z której malarz jest dobrze znany. Jak wiemy z historii, Moskowitz miał swóją pierwszą wystawę w wieku 27 lat w Galerii Lwa Castelli, w Nowym Jorku w 1962 roku. Jego praca również weszła do ważnej wystawy, Nowy Obraz Farbiarski w Muzeum Whitney w 1979 roku, oraz miał przegląd środkowej kariery, zorganizowany w Muzeum Hirschhorn, Waszyngton, oraz zorganizowano go także w La Jolla w Muzeum Współczesnej Sztuki, w Kalifornii oraz w MoMa w Nowym Jorku.

Ellsworth Kelly zawsze podążał w swojej karierze według statusu: nie obrazować, przestrzeń. Rozpoczął badanie motywu „Concorde” już w 1958 roku jako swoje rzeźbiarskie ukojenie. W 1982 roku stworzył szereg akwafort udoskonalających niektóre z jego zainteresowań. Dwie z nich, zazębiają graficzną i ‚rzeczywistą’ przestrzen-wywołaną poprzez używanie śladów talerza (spowodowanych procesem tworzenia akwaforty) z formami i fakturami pokrytych tuszem obszarów. Tworząc zarazem obraz jak i w ujęciu fizycznym, wyrzeźbioną powierzchnie. Trzy prace Peter Downsbrough’a wystawione dla przeglądu, wszystkie z 2009 roku. Iluminują jego ikonicznym naciskien na użycie słowa jako graficznego urządzenia, które jest zaaganżowane, czytane i rozpatrywane. Dwuwymiarowa powierzchnia papieru staje się miejscem, gdzie widz rozpoznaje jedno założenie uczy się, jak czytać, jako jedno „czytanie i obraz”, i przez to powtórnie rozumie proste obrazy i symbole jak skomplikowaną otwartą sytuację. Artysta, który obecnie ma dwie wystawy i nowy projekt outdorowy w Berlinie. Jest w tej chwili pionierem konceptualnego malarstwa, który skupił się przez ostatnie 40 lat na związku pomiędzy miejscem, odstępem czasu, a zrozumieniem. Kilka wczesnych prac było niedawno pokazanych w Moma w Nowym Jorku, razem z licznymi wystawami organizowanymi na europejskim kontynence.

Ellsworth Kelly # 1, 2 : CONCORDE I (STATE) FROM THE CONCORDE SERIES, 1982 akwatinta 105,7 x 75,2 cm

Peter Downsbrough EACH, 2009 AND, 2009 OPEN, 2009 Inkjet na papierze 20 x 20 cm

POMIĘDZY

MICHALINA WAWRZYCZEK-KLASIK tekst: Aneta Bulkowska

Sitodruki Michaliny Wawrzyczek-Klasik wymuszają partycypację widza, mobilizują jego psychiczną sferę komfortu do konfrontacji z nowym realizmem. Zaginają ramy czasoprzestrzeni i stawiają w określonym kontekście pozornej bezprzedmiotowości. Luźne asocjacje dyscyplinują dwie bryły a „Pomiędzy” nimi nic. A „Pomiędzy” nimi iluzoryczność obszaru. „Pomiędzy” nimi… Prezentowane wystawy są zaskakującym przejawem zdolności młodej artystki do pobudzania świadomości afektywnej w aktorach zaaranżowanej weń przestrzeni i za pomocą intersubiektywnych znaczeń nawiązywania z nimi ukrytego dialogu. Ascetyczne ściany pomieszczenia wystawowego zostały zdominowane przez nieznaną dotąd aranżację. Monumentalne 240-centymetrowe obeliski wykonane techniką sitodruku na piankowo-kartonowych płytkach przywołują na myśl celtyckie menhiry i kromlechy, tworząc wymykający się racjonalnemu ujęciu krąg mistycyzmu. Na każdej ze ścian widnieją monochromatyczne „kamienie” o fakturze betonu, które dzięki łagodnym przejściom światłocieniowym sprawiają wrażenie odlewu, siejąc w umyśle początkowe wrażenie spustoszenia. – W swojej poetyce odwołuję się do nierozerwalnego związku architektury z człowiekiem, ale również z naturą. Dlatego formy te są równocześnie konstruowane i dekonstruowane poprzez ekspresyjny ślad, rysunek, znajdujący się pomiędzy znakiem, gestem a organiczną strukturą – mówi o swoich pracach sama artystka. Ponad półtoraroczna praca przebiegająca od pierwszych szkiców z pomysłami, poprzez wykonanie dużych matryc, przygotowania podłoży, aż po zakończenie procesu odbijania została według Wawrzyczek-Klasik zwieńc-

zona dopiero teraz, po zainstalowaniu pierwszej z wystaw w Galerii +. Te prace są dopełnieniem terapeutycznego kontekstu galerii, wchodzą z nią w układ symbiotyczny. Sama twórczyni podkreśla, że właśnie taka przestrzeń była jej wyobrażeniem już w momencie wykonania pierwszych szkiców: Czysta, przestronna, jasna, dopełniająca te prace i dająca im możliwość wchodzenia we wzajemne relacje, tworząc wystawęinstalację, która znów całą sobą absorbuje, „otacza” odbiorcę. Sztuka Wawrzyczek-Klasik odwołuje się do sfery stereotypu, zwyczaju myślowego opartego na obyczajach, automatyzmie i sugestiach. „Przejście” zrywa z krępującymi umysłowymi więzami i umożliwia odejście od nacisku znaczeń. Dzięki temu stwarza nowy obszar dla przyjmowanie świeżych pojęć. Siła ich oddziaływania polega na subiektywizacji. Artystka świadomie odbiega od klasycznego pojmowania sztuki, pozostawiając luźną sferę interpretacji. Uczestniczenie w zaaranżowanym rytuale nie wymaga przygotowania, a jedynie otwartości percepcji zmysłowej, tworząc znakomite pole egzegezy. Prace te nie wymagają teoretycznego przygotowania, oddziałują na widza bryłą, abstrakcyjnym znakiem, śladem, skalą. Funkcjonują w sferze skojarzeń czysto obrazowych, które trudno nazwać słowami. Łączące je w pierwszej części galerii linie, narysowane na ścianach, spajają całą przestrzeń i sprawiają, że realizacja jeszcze pełniej oddziałuje na widza. Dlaczego serigrafia? Szybkie wykonywanie prac w dużym formacie, swoboda rysunku na różnym podłożu okazały się w przypadku artystki doskonałą metodą rejestracji chwili. Wszystkie prace są żywym zapisem emocji, kumulacją energii napierającą na widza.

1,2 POMIÄ&#x2DC;DZY sitodruk 160 x 240 cm

49 Sitodruk jest jedną z technik graficznych, której możliwości są nieograniczone – nie zawsze jest to atut. Duże możliwości kreacyjne i realizacyjne wynikają od stopnia zaangażowania w jej tajniki. W rękach artysty może stać się narzędziem przekraczającym dotychczasowe osiągnięcia grafiki – odkrywanym w kuluarach pracowni sitodruku, samej w sobie mającej coś z alchemii czy laboratorium, ale też i przyczyną klęski. Wawrzyczek-Klasik pokazała, że nie boi się eksperymentować z formą i potrafi dla niej znaleźć ujście w tak wymagającej dziedzinie jaką jest grafika, odsłaniając w pełni artystyczną dojrzałość w procesie świadomego przetwarzania rzeczywistości. Ujęcie widza przez zaskoczenie opiera się na różnorodności doboru próby. Stworzona na pograniczu grafiki i instalacji wystawa odbiega od tradycyjnego pojmowania grafiki, poszerzając pole twórczego wyrazu dla adeptów szkół artystycznych. Bożena Brzezińska napisała kiedyś: Sztuka chroni naszą sferę psychiczną przed dosłownością dnia powszedniego. Prace Michaliny Wawrzyczek-Klasik są mistycznym dopełnieniem codzienności i przepustką do nowego, lepszego wymiaru. Wystawa pt. “Pomiędzy” prezentowana była min. w Katowicach w Galerii+ w 2013 roku oraz w Krakowie Międzynarodowym Centrum Sztuk Graficznych - Galeria Eksperyment w 2015 roku.

Michalina Wawrzyczek-Klasik, absolwentka ASP w Katowicach, otrzymała dyplom z wyróżnieniem w 2010 roku w pracowni serigrafii prof. Waldemara Węgrzyna. Prezentacje do dyplomu powstały w pracowni malarskiej prof. Ireneusza Walczaka oraz pracowni intermediów prof. Adama Romaniuka. Stypendystka Ministra Kultury, dwukrotnie nominowana do Grand Prix Biennale Grafiki Studenckiej w Poznaniu, uczestniczka kilkudziesięciu wystaw w kraju i za granicą.

II CYKL PRZESTRZEŃ OSWOJONA sitodruk na jedwabiu 417 x 152 cm

TALK ABOUT SCULPTURE

TONY SMITH tekst: Lucy R. Lippardem

Tony Smith was something of a Renaissance man. Best known for his steel sculptures (he preferred the word “presences”), the New Jersey-born artist also dabbled in architecture, painting, and art criticism. Today, he is remembered most for Die (1962), a six-foot black steel cube that weighed in at 500 pounds. Its title doubles as a reference to its shape (it looks like a die) and a command evoked by its cold, imposing nature (“Die!”). In that way, it’s typical of Smith’s sculptures, which are often made out of black industrial materials and could easily flatten viewers if knocked over. Three major sculptures by Smith are currently on view at Matthew Marks Gallery. In honor of the show, we turn back to 1971, when Smith was interviewed by art critic Lucy R. Lippard. Smith discusses puns, hamburger rolls, and why sculptures should be colorless. —Alex Greenberger Since around 1960, Tony Smith has produced a continually fluid and self-generating network of sculpture based on the concept of a continuous three-dimensional space-lattice and on a standard tetrahedral (and octahedral) module, the possibilities of which he feels he has barely explored. In the last two years he has worked on a number of commissioned sculptures much larger than anything he has done before, and, simultaneously, on smaller pieces suggested by parts and offshoots of the major products. The interrelationships between all of these and the process by which each new piece arises from one or another of the old, or from an entirely new situation or site, are enriched by the complexity of Smith’s background as an architect and painter, his knowledge of a sophisticated geometry related to crystallographic structure, and a generally acute and probing mind.

The large works that have occupied him since 1969 are, in brief: Hubris, commissioned for the University of Hawaii at Manoa, one of Smith’s most open and regular pieces to date, which consists of a two-section, 9-by-9 grid in black concrete, one half thin slabs at ground level, the other half the same grid raised to 3 feet 3 inches by a four-sided pyramidal module; Batcave, a complex environmental interior designed to “mold space and light” rather than material form, at the Osaka World’s Fair, a new version of which will be shown soon at the Los Angeles County Museum; a gigantic triangular sculpture inserted into a Californian mountainside; a labyrinthine water garden for a delta; Smog, a huge new horizontal piece made from the dismantled components of Smoke (which was made for the Corcoran’s “Scale as Content” show, 1967) Haole Center, a sunken square “pavement” within a square stone sculpture, with a metal ladder leading down below the earth’s surface; two related monumental sculptures on platforms (Arch and Dial); and a flat 81-block grid proposed for downtown Minneapolis. All of these last works and Hubris, which deal with open and closed situations and sections or extensions of each others’ forms, are structurally related to one another and stem from Maze (shown at Finch College in 1967), Singer (in the Museum of Modern Art’s “Art of the Real” show, 1968), and Lunar Ammo Dump (projected for the University of Illinois’ Chicago camps). The smaller sculptures from this period, now being exhibited at Knoedler (to April 24) were all conceived int the same three-month period in the summer of 1969 and relate particularly to Hubris, Haole Crater, Arch and Dial, as well as to

earlier works shown in Hartford and Philadelphia in 1966. Made from the same module and consequently of the same general scale, they form what Smith calls an open labyrinth, though they are not seen as a fixed group and were not made in any particularly sequence (unlike the 1968 series, Wandering Rocks, conceived as a definite unity). The nine pieces at Knoedler’s began as very small marbles, gifts for friends whose initials provide the titles. Last fall they were transformed into full scale plywood mock-ups and shown at the Newark, Montclair and Princeton University museums; for the current show they have been constructed in bronze with a special black patina. The following text was taken from a taped conversation with the artist at his home in New Jersey on Jan. 18, 1971.

Tony Smith: I think the volume of my work has much to do with a response to contemporary life generally; I don’t think it relates much to the art scene, although certain things just happen and may seem somewhat alike. I have always admired very simple, very authoritative, very enduring things. I feel that’s what the new pieces are about. It isn’t that I have anything against the ephemeral, it’s just that I find there is very

little, not in contemporary art but in contemporary life, that we think of as continuous, in terms of substantial, sort of 19th-century values, though the fact that we live in a period of great change probably affects my work too. All times have had some sense of this. I find the art world very oppressive; it’s hard to be passive in it. It seems to me that in the 1950s, everything I knew about was within a very narrow compass, where today I can’t understand a lot of it. Lucy Lippard: Seeing the new steel pieces in the factory this afternoon, dominating that big, rough, industrial space, they looked like they were going to be there forever. T.S.: I think a curious transformation takes place in making things of very solid materials. For instance, when I did the piece For J.C., I merely thought of it as somewhat tricky, in the sense that there is a vertical-horizontal square, and then there is another square on a diagonal, then the four triangles are also a square, so they come to the same point. There are all these kinds of things that could happen in that piece, so I thought of it as very Cubist. I did it for someone whom I think of as a Cubist and I thought it had a kind of humorous quality;

58 at the same time, when you see it in bronze, it takes on a more somber quality and looks monumental. L.L.: Because of the traditional connotations of bronze? T.S.: No. After all, the original maquette was more to the scale of a Cubist collage, and the association of paper…I don’t think it’s a question of bronze but of making it 80 inches high, which is the height of an ordinary door, and allowing these planes to expand and take on more substance because of their size. I think that the character of the piece has been transformed considerably, and I like this to take place. L.L.: I wonder what exactly are the visual components of, or maybe criteria for, a totally abstract sculpture. Are visual puns associative and therefore less abstract? T.S.: I think a certain element of unexpectedness, something done with great economy which nevertheless has an element of surprise…it has something to do with the unexpected without being frivolous or trite. There is certainly an element of surprise in my work, but it’s not calculated. I suppose the best way to put it would be that in working with the maquettes I think, well, that’s sort of interesting; I wouldn’t know how to seek it out because I can’t visualize in advance. I would never have been able to visualize Amaryllis [1965]. In fact, sometimes I find it hard to reproduce these things, even though I should be fairly familiar with them. When I try to put them together I can’t remember how certain things go, or the direction of certain planes confuses me. Sometimes when that quality comes out, I like it, I keep it. As a matter of fact, when I first did Willy [1962] I thought of it as quite horrible. I was just playing around with some pieces, sort of liked the way some of the parts went together, but I don’t think that I would make a practice of that because for one thing, it would bore me. L.L.: How did Smoke turn into Smog? T.S.: It was just shipped back here from the Corcoran and it was put over near the back fence. I thought the man on the other side of the fence might be getting tired of it there, so I decided to have it taken to the dump and burned. Then that night, I was actually asleep and was awakened for a few minutes; I thought maybe I could do something else with Smoke before I threw it away. I thought I could put it on one level, instead of the double-storied original, but I felt the angle of the pieces coming to the ground would be so acute that it would lose any quality, you know, where the sloping pieces hit the ground; it would be so low it would lose quality and any sense of value. Then I decided to put those little triangular prisms on, in order to raise it from the ground and create a sense of space. Then, just for symmetry, I felt I needed to put the same caps at the intersection. The hardest problem

was to arrange the 45 pieces so as not to make a completely symmetrical impression in plan. No matter how I did it, the patterns repeated. Then I figured out a way of doing it on a piece of paper about 2 by 3 inches, and I gave it to the boys and told them to put the pieces in that order, but the little piece opf paper blew away. I tried to repeat it and couldn’t remember it, so I went through the same process again. I don’t think it was as good as the first version, but it was the best I could do. But I was pleased with it. Even though I didn’t put the piece together very well, and a lot of parts are roughly joined, I feel it still has continuity. I guess the ground gives it that sense of cohesion. I must say I’ve had all kinds of ideas about this piece that I never had about others. Even though Smoke was intended to accommodate a lot of people, I didn’t feel that the people were essential to the piece, whereas here, when I see people looking at it, or when the boys were putting it together and were having lunch out there, the image complemented by people is very strong. I think of it as something for a park or a place for street people. Even if people aren’t active in it, there is a sense of creating diagonals. They may take something away from it, and they also soften it, but it is also as though an entirely new three-dimensional form passes through it and gives it a sense of fluidity. In that way it relates to Water Garden more than anything else. When I did Hubris I really didn’t think people would go in among those pyramids. I don’t know whether you have ever seen any pictures of the mountains in Honolulu, but they have very sharp crests and sharp curves. I had thought of Hubris as very hostile and I found out the students didn’t think that way at all; they go barefoot and thought of running through it, racing, which seems to me quite a feat—to go from one of those things to another with no place to settle your feet. At any rate, it’s very hard for me to get into Smog, so to a large extent I see it from the outside. That’s the way I like to think of it. L.L.: The lateral extension of Smog, as opposed to the verticality of Smoke and most of the early work, say before 1968, reminds me of the Chicago piece, Lunar Ammo Dump. What happened to that project? T.S.: Well, it was postponed for three years, partly in protest against Daley and all that, then they never brought it up again. I don’t know if it’ll ever be revived. I’m kind of sad there is no good record of it, because there was a certain grandeur about it. It was 132 feet long, with two walls on either side of this amphitheater, so that its width was much greater than its length; it was spread out at a point where the pavement of the mall broke in two because of the theater; it was made up of two rows of six boxes on each side, 24 in all, each 12 square, 12 feet apart in each direction, and 8 feet high. This proportion would have sat in there very easily; it wouldn’t have had a lot of muscle, but it would have made nice places

59 for people to wander. The pavement is black granite so there wouldn’t have been any kind of strident contrast to the general yellowish red of the campus designed by Walter Netsch who, by the way, was perfectly content with the piece.

L.L.: Your idea of voids and solids being equally important reminds me of Carl Andre’s idea of sculpture as “cuts into space,” solid as a hole and hole as solid. And what about your mountain piece?

L.L.: What’s its relationship to Maze?

T.S.: I haven’t seen his work. Of course the mountain piece is related. Right now it’s just waiting until they find a place in the vicinity to use the fill for building a road or something; the property is so big they can’t dump the fill at random. I’ve always been much interested in projects that deal with the land in a large way but I don’t know exactly how to approach anything of that sort. Except in a few cases, like the church I have been wanting to do for a long time, and a couple of other things of that sort, I never did very much in the way of projects. For instance, when people asked me about houses, I would always say, well, you get the land and I’ll talk to you about the house. I feel that way about earth projects. Generally, I wouldn’t know how to go about one, because I’d be faced with an infinite number of possibilities. I think much better when I have something specific to work on. In just the same way these pieces happen in the models themselves. I never think of them on paper.

T.S.: Just that it is a very simple thing, I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. You know, I don’t think of Maze as being in an open space. I think of it in a closed space as it was at Finch Colz[or like smith’s own Roosevelt Memorial proposal] and I didn’t think of it in that way. As a matter of fact, a while before I did any of these pieces I did a lot of projects that were somewhat like Maze in that they were, let’s say, excavations, where the excavation would reach a certain depth, but then all the earth that was taken from the excavation would form an embankment on the sides, something like Haole Crater. Sometimes I would have some kind of organization of rectangular prisms or something in the plot so you would be able to see it from the raised part of the mound. I had been interested in things of this sort for a very long time. As a matter of fact, I often thought of making sunken gardens. I remember a specific place where a house had burned so only the excavation was left, so I put the house to one side and the excavation became a sunken garden. Quite a few of my houses have been partially below the surface, that is the earth comes up to the sill line on the outside and then the floor is below. At Fritz Bultman’s studio in Provincetown, one side of the building is about 4 feet below the surface. And then my scheme for Betty Parsons’ house—the floor dropped 2 1/2 feet below the ground level. I have always been particularly interested in excavating and then piling the dirt up; a lot of it has to do with cutting into the side of a hill and then using excavated earth beyond that as fill.

L.L.: What happened to Water Garden? T.S.: I never worked on that again. I’d like to, because I’m very fond of the idea of making the paths a maze, so people wouldn’t always be able to get out. At certain points they would have to retrace their steps and see the moving water in a different mood. If you walk along where it is flowing one way, you get a different feeling than when you are walking in the opposite direction. There again, you see, it’s halfway between the Osaka Cave and the flat pieces like Hubris.

L.L.: Are you still painting? T.S.: I haven’t had a chance to paint lately but I have started to do a lot of drawing. L.L.: It’s struck me that your paintings have been mainly concerned with curved shapes and the sculpture with angular ones. T.S.: I think my interest in painting remains that of dealing with the interchange of figure and ground. I don’t think of certain shapes. I am mainly involved with trying to make an equilibrium over the surface based on fairly close values. The reason I tend to use those convex shapes is that I feel an area of color has its own center, and I resist shapes that radiate or suggest style and structure. I think that goes partly with my dislike of fragmentation, of busyness and disturbing overlays of speed and noise. To relate that to sculpture, the same thing happens in three dimensions that happens in two. Forms tend to have their own masses, their own centers of gravity, but it seems (and this is a hangover from architecture) that I think of walls, which enclose space and also define the exterior space. From an urban point of view the activity is just as important as enclosed space. We find round plans among nomadic peoples because the public state is at the center of the group; the nomadic hut is a very organically defined area, not defined in

any formal sense. It’s only when people begin to live in towns that the need for plane walls becomes necessary because, for one thing, buildings being right next to each other so as not to waste space, it is simpler to use plane walls and and also courtyards, streets, squares. While nomadic people have round plans, in urban communities, domes and such features are raised above street level. They don’t ordinarily rise from the ground which indicates people want to look at centrality somewhere, like in the sacred nature of the dome. But at the same time they don’t have to live in a world of concave/convex surfaces pushing in on the space; the public space is free of forms. I think my own work has architectural vestiges in that sense and that may also be one reason why I like things placed so the spaces between and around forms have a certain clarity. If I should do curvilinear sculptures, I would try to give them a kind of shape again, so there would be a balance, as there is in the paintings, between inside and outside. L.L: Can you think of any current work that has it? T.S.: No. Or perhaps Kelly. But most colored sculpture is in classical architecture and sculpture, and the essential premise is primitive, giving clarity to certain kinds of form, but very often using colors symbolically, and also without any of the comprehension of colors that we have today. If you think of sculpture as fundamentally primitive, really primitive, you see that colors are used very much in terms of contrasts in

61 light and shade, and even though they may have used reds or browns or some other colors, it isn’t color in the modern sense. It is very pleasing, but it is pleasing in a… L.L.: In a cosmetic sense? T.S.: No, I wouldn’t say that. I think it is simply a sense of form that relates more to pattern or ornament, without thinking of ornament as something bad in itself. I’m not using the term pejoratively, but I am simply saying that if you make an entire wall or floor out of red and black tiles, it is not exactly color in the modern sense. It is based rather on the availability of pigment and clay and all that. You certainly don’t get any spatial sense of color in anything of that sort. A lot of high sculpture from some other periods has to do with the fact that it ages very beautifully. Contemporary technology gives the possibility of new color relationships. The only colored piece I ever did was intended for a southern city and I thought in strong sunlight the use of colors in the classical sense would be logical, and compatible with the piece. It was going to be on a piazza with more or less monumental buildings, fountains and trees; I felt that since the buildings were whitish concrete, the associations of my work with blackness might just not be the same in this part of the country. I had the feeling that there it might just look dirty… Color is a three-dimensional phenomenon, but it doesn’t have what I’d think of as sculptural quality. L.L.: I like the way Oldenburg uses color. T.S.: I don’t know. Take Gideion’s Mechanization Takes Command, the part where he talks about all kinds of bread. I think you could go into a Jewish bakery and find half a dozen kinds of bread that I would find sculptural. To me, hamburger rolls would fit in with what I said about convex forms in architecture—totally contained. Hamburger doesn’t become part of its environment except as existence. What I am trying to say is that I find that those things in themselves have a fantastic elegance of form, and that when you make them out of some other material, they lose that fundamental elegance which, in the case of bread, only the process of baking can give. The idea that bread rises, that it gets brown, that it has this particular kind of surface tension, that something different happens at the bottom than on the top. These things are fantastically subtle. Even the hamburger roll, just taken for its own visual quality, is quite astonishing. You know, the culture behind making something like a roll is incredible. It is not a simple thing, whereas making anything on earth as if it is part of a carnival really is a simple thing. Baking is a complicated thing. It may be easy enough for some kid to learn to bake, but the process of baking and the art of baking, the beauty of what it produces—if you think about things that have been baked and the way they are cut and seeded and everything…

L.L.: A whole sensuous process. T.S.: More than that. The whole symbolism of different countries and different breads and things like that strikes me as being absolutely astonishing. But in relation to sculpture— there are certain functions. Bread doesn’t do anything for the environment except in terms of a temporary situation. L.L.: That’s a funny distinction between internal and external. T.S.: It seems to me that what is contained…I relate to the total of the container, as architecture. That plant over there is an organism and is designed for its own life, whereas the table is designed for my life, and the table relates to the wall and the floor. The bread and cheese are for consumption, whereas a work of art isn’t.

BENJAMIN GRAINDORGE Benjamin Graindorge urodził się w 1980 roku w Paryżu. To jeden z młodych talentów francuskiego designe. Absolwent ENSCI - Les Ateliers w 2006 roku, jego projekt domowy krajobraz był obiektem pomocy VIA. Benjamin dwa lata pod rząd wygrał festiwał Parada Design oraz kolejne konkursy i Cinna et les Audi Talents Awards w kategorii Design.

IKEBANA MEDULLA, 2010 VASE

SOFASCAPE, BANQUETTE, 2012

SWEET HORIZON, COUPE, 2011

PELES EMPIRE

FOCUS CASE STUDY Attributed to a fictitious 17th-century source, Jorge Luis Borges’s shortest story – ‘On Exactitude in Science’ (1946) – tells of an empire in which the art of cartography has been perfected to the point of producing a map that corresponds exactly to the territory it describes. People live in the map as if it were the empire, or rather live in both simultaneously, the two being indistinguishable. Oppositions between real and represented, or original and reproduction, cease to have any meaning; object and image reflect each other in an endless cycle. Peles Empire – both the collaborative moniker of German artists Katharina Stoever and Barbara Wolff (who was born in Romania) and the name of the two exhibition spaces that they run in London and the Romanian city of Cluj – is nothing so much as a hall of mirrors, of shifting and distorted reflections. The name is taken from Peles Castle, a former summer residence of the Romanian Royal family in the foothills of the Carpathians. The palace was built at the turn of the 20th century, its construction coinciding with the birth of the Romanian state following independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1878. Its several hundred rooms are a magpie-like collection of contemporary and historical styles from around the world – a Frankensteinian attempt to breathe life into a new national identity. The ‘Empire’ started out in 2005 as Peles, the name of the salon that Stoever and Wolff hosted in the living room of the apartment that they shared whilst studying at the Städelschule, Frankfurt. A collaged, photographic reproduction of the Princess Bedroom at Peles, life-sized, formed a gilded backdrop to these weekly gatherings. There are photos of the space candlelit, their mismatched furniture a flea-mar-

71 ket version of the prince’s gold-leafed mahogany, filled with people, sitting, drinking, talking. (Their 2011 project at Frieze Art Fair, Noroc – Romanian for ‘cheers’ – a working bar serving the Romanian spirit Tuica, was a nod to the project’s beginnings.) Since then, the pair have been reproducing rooms from the castle in ways that are becoming increasingly abstracted from their (ambiguously) original objects. Theoretical questions of simulacra and re-territorialization taken on concrete, social dimension for Peles Empire, with mirrors opening spaces for dialogue and encounter. The walls of their two current exhibition spaces are papered with the same image of a hallway from the castle – an amalgam of Neo-Renaissance wooden panelling and ostentatious chinoiserie – which has the effect of making the space feel already inhabited. The fauxneutrality of the white cube is its own form of masquerade, but at Peles Empire the walls are in drag, irrepressibly theatrical. They extend an invitation to respond and exhibitions often evolve as a kind of extended collaboration: in London, Anthea Hamilton and Julie Verhoeven installed a black and white floor, striped like the grain of a degraded photocopy, for their 2012 show; in 2011, Shannon Bool hung greyscale patterned curtains from the walls, partitioning not the space but its 2D cladding.

EVER BUILD, 2014 porcelana, materiały ceramiczne, beton, papier, cement, spray

EVER BUILD, 2014 beton, papier

EVER BUILD 2007-2014 EVER BUILD, 2014 porcelana, materiały ceramiczne, beton, papier, cement, spray EVER BUILD, 2014 beton, papier EVER BUILD, 2014 beton, papier FORMATION 10, 2013 FXG 6, 2013

That first reproduction in Frankfurt, like all those that have come since, was printed on sheets of A3 paper that were then assembled to reproduce the space at almost 1:1 scale. Paper, thin and insubstantial as it is, forms the foundation of the whole Peles edifice. This is partly because its standard dimensions and near-universal availability offer endless anonymous screens for the projection of imaginary spaces of infinitely subtle variation. But whilst paper flattens and renders indiscriminately 2D, it is materially unruly. The absurd logic of the Borgesian map is heightened by a sense physical unwieldiness: a map could never lie flush to the territory because paper puckers and crumples and overlaps. To make a fold or a crease is to shift between two and three dimensions: to give depth to surface appearances by compressing one space within another. When I visited Peles Empire’s London space – also the pair’s home – I was intrigued by the corners of the room where the flat images seemed to converge and distort. In their work A33D (2012), shown as part of the ‘Young London’ survey show at V22 last year, a black and white photograph of the space, taken face-on to the corner with the concrete floor and ceiling beams visible, had been blown up and reproduced along one side of a large mdf block, the crease in the room flattened. Photocopies of this same work were also used in thick, papier-maché layer to cover smaller mdf tablets, some standing erect and others lying flat, monoliths or headstones of ambiguous weight.

Stoever and Wolff are also aware that folds are not always material. The backdrop to their recent exhibition ‘Formation’ at Cell Project Space in London, based on Peles Castle’s armory, was formed by parallel rectangular screens papered with digitally manipulated shots of the room’s interior (Formation 1 & 8, 2013). Enlarged, cropped, rotated and layered, the screens had a glitchy and recognizably digital grain: the world of cut-and-paste construction has its own Frankenstinian possibilities. From these flat glitches come clay sculptures (Formation 2–6) – smooth white porcelain mixed with grainy black grog, stridently tactile – manipulated photographs of which currently form the backdrop to the pair’s show at the Kunstmuseum Stuttgart (Re-construct 1, 2013), and thence more sculptures. And so on, one imagines, ad infinitum. True to the cyclical nature of things, it was perhaps fated that Peles Castle, at birth a mausoleum for long démodé historical styles, should become a museum. Stoever and Wolff say they will never leave the castle. How could they? When you hold one mirror up to another, the reflections extend forever in a flat infinity, inescapable, like the no-space between the layers of a Photoshop screen.

END THOUGHTS,PART OF DOUBLE INFIDELITY

DANIEL GUSTAV tekst: Jonathan Miles

Daniel’s work could function as a kind of micro-cosmos of the world. Each individual work is proposing a system, this one system that is the world around us, shifted every time, viewed from a different angle. The complexity only really appears once one comes across several of these works together. Often they give hints of their representative nature, they are circular, arranged in order, take on the appearance of a book. Despite their detachment and closeness, which one is repeatedly confronted with at first, there is a poetic warmth, a sense of “me in my time.” Modernity can be understood as a form of persistence, enduring despite the fact that many of its abstractions have disintegrated. We might circulate within the orbit of these photographs with a sense that we are afforded an image of a continuous universe in the form of the deep reserve of nature, the possibility of contemplative remove, heights, depths and extents, within a world that nonetheless shrinks. A modernist would of course bring a measure of caution against the desire for such release, but then might still offer the possibility anyway as part of a folded moment or passage of perception. Modernism placed the thought of freedom in the space in which conflicting feeling arose. To negotiate the contrary required the formation of distance. In this respect freedom derives conceptually from the opposition of idea to nature. What, I wonder in this work, are we witness to? Is it the continuity of the power of modernity, or a form of melancholic vestige which understands it’s own movement as a passing over, or descent, a hymn to the reflection of a project that is no longer possible but an acknowledgement of the incapacity to be otherwise? A breath circulating inside the space of

SEVENTEEN, 2015 instalacja

84 the photograph, followed next by a feeling, and with it, the withdrawal of thought. I would like to be able to make some more mediated or analytical claims about the work but I find that such an enterprise is quickly exhausted which is neither a way of saying that the works lack substance or equally that there is nothing that can be said of analytical value. Through memory I dwell within the images and attempt to record the play of sensibility, understanding or imagination. I am never certain as to whether this is a way of adjusting to the work or letting the work cohere with me. A momentary release from gravity as light touches all things but the trace of shadows contained within the reserve of visibility - in the wake of this momentum, fading also occurs, but only in gradual proportion. We live within a naked universe into which shapes and forms are whispered. Language occurs within the spaces that the rhythm of nature does not occupy, spaces left for naming. At times this essay appears to have assumed a stance of wishing to question the extent to which the Trilogy is Romantic, modernist, post-modernist, or a remainder issuing from those forms. I feel that it is possible to make a case in regard to such categories. The challenge though, for any form of art is whether it can hold the demands made against it in formulating such an argument. In giving an exposition of various scenarios of aesthetic theory I am only attempting to evoke the speculative measure that works of art within the modern period have either had to face or even form radical retreat from. What is centrally important about our present period though is the question of art’s relationship to aesthetics and whether or not it is possible for art to go beyond its absorption into this aesthetic concerns. If such a condition were possible then this would also call into question the autonomy of art alongside art containing its own speculation. The condition of the present can be seen as dismal in light of this. Educational imperatives should regulate the final conduct of the sphere of art in ways that ensure the interchangeability of democracy, freedom and economic exchange. Art is simply destined to be either product or instruction within this order – denying itself the opportunity for a program of resistance by artists to this situation. The question that can be asked within this essay is related to the extent to which a form of Neo-Romanticism would be capable of such resistance? What is fully at stake is what Giorgio Agamben saw in his book ‘The Man without Content’, as the alignment of modernist art with nihilism. “The greatest accusation against Romanticism has still not been made: that it plays out the inner truth of human nature. Its excesses, its absurdities and its ability to seduce and move hearts all come from its being the outer representation of what’s deepest in the soul – a concrete, visible representation that would even be possible, if human possibility depended on something besides Fate.” (Giorgio Agamben) Is photography a form of grief issuing from the passage of time? Ap-

pearances slipping away, a curse of emptying that defies the momentary grasping which photography offers; we wish to join things together in order to say “world” but equally we are inclined to slump back into an opaque depth. Different photographs in pursuit of the same realm. Landscape is the façade for this pursuit of an original source of the image which equally doubles as a final image. To figure the trilogy is to figure a circling motion. This traces the impossibility of the equivalence of direct speech. Something fails to move forward even though this or that photograph might achieve orders of difference or marks of distinction. We are neither witnessing a gradual process of construction nor a form of deconstruction. Ultimately we are being probed about the possibility of standing still. The Trilogy must be aiming to be a body of sorts and in becoming a body, lay claim to something, even if that thing stutters toward being the appropriation of its unique journey and its assembly of affects. Does it mean that this body of work will become a completed project? If this is indeed a possibility it will require that a form of discourse within the work will become self conscious and be able to reflect this operation within its own limit. Yet at this point we will of course object and ask how such self knowing could be possible, that the work will in fact be the converse of this scenario gradually losing itself as an unconscious power asserts itself within the work. Lacan would say that the unconscious is “knowledge that can’t tolerate one’s knowing that one knows.” Are we talking of fissures, gaps, blind spots, wounds within the fabric of knowledge or the possibility that non-knowledge accrues in equal measure to knowledge? Whatever the condition, the project of the Trilogy is fated, as both the “adventure of insight” and the dark night of dissolution stand as an equal possibility. Is the photograph a form of scission between expression and the thing? The first sign of a universalising instance was the flashing blade of the guillotine that delivered the equality of death to all citizens. Democracy and terror formed an intimate bond with this technological apparatus. Death was simplified, uniform and mechanical. The speed of the blade secured a form of invisible interval, life and death divided by an instance. The second sign of this universalising instance is delivered by photography which carries within it the promise of equalising representation. In the last instance I introduce yet another turn. This is the desire lodged within every artwork that, before the spectator exits, there might be a contrary rhythm of thought that takes hold, and then lingers within the space of persistence that is found in the promise of the work.

THREE, 2015 instalacja

TALES (ERICEIRA, PORTUGAL), 2014 #2 25,5 x 20 cm BEZ TYTUŁU, 2013 druk 160 x 125 cm BEZ TYTUŁU (WATER), 2013 druk 178 x 122 cm TALES (CHRÄZERENWALD, APPENZELL, SWITZERLAND, NOVEMBER), 2014, #6 25,5 x 20 cm

MARTA BEJGIER STUDIA STACJIONARNE I STOPNIA, III ROK 2015/2016 PROJEKT PUBLIKACJI PRACOWNIA KOMUNIKACJI WIZUALNEJ KATEDRA KOMUNIKACJI WIZUALNEJ WYDZIAŁ FORM PRZEMYSŁOWYCH AKADEMIA SZTUK PIĘKNYCH IM. JANA MATEJKI W KRAKOWIE

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