Works

My childhood unfolded in grey walls, empty shelves, and silence, engineered like control. Faces did not smile; they sagged under history. If inverted, their mouths might mimic joy.

The Soviet empire was collapsing. Poland was breaking open.

I was born a short drive from Auschwitz-Birkenau. No child grows up untouched by ghosts.

Raised in fracture: East and West, a Polish Pope and state atheism. Noise and silence. None aligned. God knows what God is.

Propaganda versus truth was survival. Reading between the lines became epistemology. Censorship was total. The real and the narrated lived in permanent dissonance. Such was the first experiment in authenticity.

Not theory but fracture. Not harmony. Rupture. And yet, inside the fracture, my parents held me. Pure love. A great childhood.