Paweł Daniel
Zalewski

Native Cracovian. Teacher by vocation, English philologist by trade, businessman by
gumption. Son of the painter Wanda Macedońska-Zalewska.

An individualist, a Pisces, a numerological one. His Zodiacal sign tells him to keep on going, like a shipwrecked survivor, on a wave of emotions running in two different directions. These tides and outflows, only seemingly intertwined, create what is his coherent world. Imprudent, stubborn, compulsive.

 

 

An individualist, a Pisces, a numerological one. His Zodiacal sign tells him to keep on going, like a shipwrecked survivor, on a wave of emotions running in two different directions. These tides and outflows, only seemingly intertwined, create what is his coherent world. Imprudent, stubborn, compulsive.

 

 

He has been persecuted by final judgment since childhood. He is still trying to escape his destiny, and the books and photographs he has created in recent years are the expression and result of this escape. He spends a few months out of the year with his wife on individual trips. They are dense with events and crazy states of consciousness. A rush. To outsmart time. He still runs away. He writes. He captures other worlds with a lens.

 

 

Surprisingly to himself, he become friends with the computer. He travels the internet forhours, looking for peculiar places on other continents and forgotten discs, and at night, he creates his stories and novels on his laptop.

He used to draw, now he writes and takes photographs. His life is based on forms of colors, emotions and premonitions. A synesthete, so he takes in the life, mixing the senses. He was brought up at home where surrealistic shapes and scrambled colours were confused. It is probable that this is the reason why he ridicules colouressness and stereotypes. As an author and a photographer he perceives the porous surface of life. He voraciously cops hold of the world. A photographer of the existence of simple people. Fascinated by dirty, dark side of life.

He has been persecuted by final judgment since childhood. He is still trying to escape his destiny, and the books and photographs he has created in recent years are the expression and result of this escape. He spends a few months out of the year with his wife on individual trips. They are dense with events and crazy states of consciousness. A rush. To outsmart time. He still runs away. He writes. He captures other worlds with a lens

Addicted to long journeys, colours, the works of Chopin, Scriabin, Radiohead, Elbow, Morrissey, David Bowie, Peter Doherty, Alex Turner, Scott Matthews, Artur Rojek and, last but not least, ethnic music of the places he visits. His favourite writers include: William Somerset Maugham, Stephen Zweig, Francis Scott Fitzgerald, Janusz Głowacki, Andrzej Stasiuk, William Wharton, Wiesław Myśliwski.

Native Cracovian. Teacher by vocation, English philologist by trade, businessman by gumption. Son of the painter Wanda Macedońska.

He hates: smell and taste of meat, PE lessons, going for a walk, nums, cotton wool bread, group trips, creams, ointments and tanning liquids, naive and unpractical people, gastroscophy, engineers and military personel, condolences, proposing a toast, berets, coats with belts and epaulettes digging oneself in a sand on a beach, laughing at peoples jokes, sharing a wafer while exchanging Christmas greetings, breakfast in bed, grill in an garden arbour , cakes, odour of sweat, weddings, gardening, fireworks and experiments instead of decent literature, standing in a queue, go and see a doctor, confessional, stupid waitresses, hospital smells, beer, condoms, cold and hot drinks, going to bed early to get up in time.

He loves: all languages of the world, peeled tomatoes, teach in a class, walk and work fast, the 70`s in Trójka and Radio Luxembourg, old family letters and photographs, his own laptop, creativity, punctuality, Thai soups, Khadai and Madras dishes, hunt old books, keep all neceessary item in one pocket of his trousers, visit Koninki at the foot of Turbacz, vodka, melatonine, freshly squeezed carrot juice, hot spices, big glass windows, views from the top, stay several thousand kilometres from drab routine of his hometown…

Puzzle pieces without its box. No instruction attached. The puzzles solve to me. Not always. But it does not matter.

 

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