One of the first things I remember from my early childhood (that is, at all) is a picture that was there on the wall of the flat at the Kopernik housing estate in Gliwice, where my family lived until I was six. The picture was a drawing of sorts. Actually, I think it was made of several black-and-white, simple paper cut-outs, glued onto the wall, forming an image of a fish seen in profile. A large, round black eye was the focal point of the fish. I stared into the fish’s eye with horror, having the unshakable impression that the fish was also looking back at me. It was the gaze of a primordial sea creature made up of purely functional elements. An aqua-dynamic body composed solely of a head and a tail, with a maw and the eye at the front. The maw directs itself using the tail, towards whatever the eye can see, in order to devour it. But the horror of the monster’s gaze is not just the blind fear against being devoured; it is the horror of seeing and being seen. The horror of getting noticed. Identified. The monster’s gaze gives identity, focusing it immediately around fear. The identity gained in the eye of the monster cannot be enjoyed. You need to flee.
The sprint continues. It is a bit like I am not only aiming for some kind of a finish line, but also running away from something. In any case, 5 minutes are behind me. The duo sang about power. There is nothing better, nothing worse in the world, than power over man. A duet, but without clearly separate characters. Something like a two-voice chorus with accordion.
Next thing - monologue of Agnes. I keep running. On the sand, and slightly uphill.
(transl. Magdalena Małek-Andrzejowska)