Here is how Magdalena Franczak explores the structure of a home. She
seems to be re-creating its timeline, wherein vivid memories become
intertwined with guesswork and fantasy. The home’s complex structure,
converted into ascetic collages, resembles a map with a removed key.
What we can see are only faded paper folds and creases, uneven strips,
protruding rounded elements that have come unstuck from the surface and
interlocking shapes.
According to Franczak, the map of an ideal home is certainly not some
liveable-in convenience, but a thick, cozy nest, a soft body with
sagging walls and narrow, velvety passages; a cluttered, messy space,
which the artist slices across to make sections to reveal its various
layers, patiently peeling away its outer skins as if it were an onion.
She peels off the wallpapers and peeps under the carpets, looking out
for dusty hiding places, reaching deposits rich in history, borrowings
and lash-ups. She seeks an algorithm for this structure’s growth. Her
collages attempt to catch the very moment when a piece of architecture
becomes domesticated, appropriated, attuned to the bodies of its
inhabitants.
Just like in her other works, Franczak combines memory, imagination
and blind fate with the vigilant, analytical mind of an anthropologist.
It is possible to hear distant echoes of rituals for space clearing,
building and assuming responsibility for one’s home. The building
becomes a continuation of one’s body, reflecting its experiences, and
participating in the most important moments of one’s life. Franczak
describes these rituals by means of geometrical paper cut-outs. She
describes these forgotten rituals on a piece of paper from a yellowed
notebook that she has found in an attic. In these hastily-made notes,
she goes back to some old refrains, whose slightly deformed, altered
forms keep repeating in her memory. In the past, before people settled
in their new place, they let a bird or another animal stay there for the
night, so that all the evil forces would settle in their bodies
instead, and to protect the future inhabitants. When moving into her new
home, a bride had to touch the stove. Before childbirth, cupboards and
chests had to be left open. To protect it from evil forces, the building
was perfumed with herbs. Sitting on the table was not allowed. During
a thunderstorm, all windows had to be closed. When someone died in the
family, mirrors would be covered, clocks would be stopped, and the whole
house would become enveloped in silence. There were plenty of rules and
regulations that governed the space, and they were best obeyed for
peace of mind. To describe these rituals, Franczak uses elegant forms
and abstract, balanced language, as if she were following a handbook on
good manners. Her work abounds in a variety of gestures, which refer to
securing, renewing, patching and marking things. As well as patience and
accuracy, these activities require muscle work and sweat. Not all of
the depicted instructions and rules can be easily deciphered. The luxury
of domestication requires great effort.
Curator: Marta Lisok