Tuchfühlung

Ein Tuch wird an Künstlerinnen von Endmoräne und der Frakcja-Gruppe verschickt. Es wird an ein Gebäude gehängt, an einen Baum, auf eine Wiese gelegt, gefaltet. Die Spuren des Transportes, die Spuren des Ortes, der Zeit bleiben. Dann wird das Tuch wieder auf den Weg gebracht, zurückgeschickt. Sie werden aufeinandergestapelt, gehen auf Tuchfühlung. Der Abstand schwindet. Die Spuren bleiben. Die Aktionen wurden dokumentiert. 2020

Marta Ostajewska „die überreste“, 2020 (balkon/Łódź)

i can’t breathe.
plötzlich blieb der himmel stehen. verstummte. die flugzeuge, die wie kleine spielzeuge auf dem asphalt gestapelt waren, reflektierten sanft die sonne auf ihren angelaufenen flügeln. alles war geschlossen. alles wurde geschlossen. wälder, gehsteige, himmel, atem.
2020 wurde zum jahr der stille, unterbrochen durch laute ausbrüche des schreiens. 
i can’t breathe.
der balkon wurde zur ganzen welt.
die einzelnen tage wurden durch die strecke zwischen blumentöpfen, langsam wachsenden tomaten und zucchini, gezählt.
i can’t breathe.
der atem angehalten für einen augenblick – aufgrund von mangel oder überfluss?
die welt ist zuerst stehengeblieben

Roksana Kularska-Krol
First of all I treated the fabric with water. It was rain or garden water. It took me 2 weeks. 
Later, I waited for the rain and reflected the traces of wet trees on the fabric. 
For me it is some kind of shroud. The contact with trees is very important for me.
It gives me strength and hope in this pandemic situation. Only nature can save us!

Anka Lesniak
This year I got to know that I had to undergo the surgery of my thyroid. The cause of it was a little, tiny lump, but malicious one and already determined to devour me slowly. So I got rid of it together with a part my body. This was the price… Although my thyroid was never much diligent, or maybe it was just too weak, I was a bit sorry for loosing it.
A few days after my surgery, the invitation to the project Abgefahren came. Together with it, I have received a beautiful cotton textile from Susanne. „Abgefahren“ means that something has gone, passed away, ended. What has been lost, when pandemic came? What will pass away with it? What has gone forever?
The trace that something was lost will last. The scar on my body will last until l live.
Susanne asked me to cut off a part of the textile to mark a required distance between people in the pandemic time.

Beata Marcinkowska
I measured 1.5 meters from the fabric sent by Susanne. This is a social distance that is currently in force in Poland. I decided to use these 1.5 meters of fabric and leave traces on it, in the form of my action. I made something like a straitjacket out of it.
In Polish, a straitjacket is described in two words: a jacket and the term safety. This is literally a safety jacket.
From 1 meter of unused fabric, I made straitjacket ties. Thanks to this, in the straitjacket I could be closed, laced, tied, separated from reality. Social distancing is a kind of restriction, as is the straitjacket.
However, a tied straitjacket shortens the distance. Distance disappears when you are in a straitjacket.
I asked to tie me in a straitjacket (safety jacket) with a tree. I couldn’t touch anyone, but I could touch nature. It made me feel safe.

Aurelia Mandziuk + Alicja Kujawska „obrus dystans“, 2020
2 meters of distance, 2.5 meters cloth of fabric.
It was a pity to tear off such a nicely finished piece of cloth sent by you – it’s a good cotton, with certificates saying that the plant was grown organically, and it’s has an eco-test as a fabric. It was easy to imagine the thousands of liters of water it had taken to produce it. It’s just as easy to imagine this material as a tablecloth. I like to embroider, so I suggested embroidery, but Aurelia – with whom we did it together because we live together – suggested hemstitching.
(Hemstitch, drawn work, Hohlsaum – a technique of openwork embroidery where threads are always threaded from the fabric in one direction.
Before cutting the threads, one should carefully

Izabela Maciejewska „Traces“, 2020

I spent the afternoon in the park among those dead trees. I applied a cut piece of cloth to their mutilated limbs. I covered the traces of the damaged devices on the ground. The soft earth recorded everything. Every print.
The reality around us is changing. We are losing ground, like trees that were knocked overnight with heavy equipment and their roots uprooted. Crippled. Branches were cut.
The rest of the cloth waited on the grass, picking up fallen autumn leaves and traces of sun until a puddle of mud in a tree-hole brought back a childhood memory. I was 6 years old when in the yard I found snow-white sheets drying in the sun on stretched strings. I was very happy to paint them with a stick dipped in mud. It is possible that

Monika Czarska
My work is a trace of the day I was covered by fear.
It’s a map.
The process of creating the work began with a performative action that I documented
On the day I was covered by fear, I sat down, naked on the floor of my house.
I poured black paint on myself.
I smeared it on my body.
Then I covered myself with a cloth from you.
The paint left an imprint on the fabric.
I haven’t changed anything about this print.
It is natural, uncontrolled, and undesigned.
It is a testimony to this moment, a trace, a stamp of me in this moment.
The fabric is dry.
The next step was to draw a map of „the day when i was covered by fear“
That step was therapeutic and cleansing.
I wanted to understand the whole situation and analyze its consequences.
I outline this imprinted trace with the words „the day and i was covered by fear“
Not by accident anymore.