I see myself like a storyteller: I live on the road, between the city and the countryside. I can’t settle in one home or find my place in a single current. Exploration and searching have become the essence and foundation of my actions ever since I accepted this state—a state of perpetual fluctuation. I find peace among the fields, pondering how reconnecting with the body affects well-being, restores sensation, and influences the environment. That’s why I’ve recently been exploring ecosomatics, somatic experiencing, and bodywork—the relationships between our bodies and nature, and with non-human beings, especially in the era of the ecological crisis and changes in ecosystems. From this perspective, the human body is not autonomous—it becomes a permeable membrane, an extension of the landscape, a biological structure that resonates with the Earth. I feel a deep inner stratification, which is nevertheless held together by the post-humanist philosophy close to my heart and illustrated by biomorphism. This stratification resembles river maps with numerous tributaries—eco-feminism as well as a deeply rooted folk-mythical parable—all of which connect my work and my daily life. I feel a great sense of responsibility for what and how I create; I’m not interested in clichés, but I appreciate simplicity. I always look deeper, sometimes digging through multi-layered threads. Everything is a process—I like that moment when the threads intertwine and a strong, powerful sound begins to emerge from the polyphony—an impulse to act. I also take responsibility for what I choose to look at; it is precisely those images that linger behind my eyelids that have the strongest impact on the entire process. My roots lie in craftsmanship; I value artistry and attention to detail, and I work closely with the earth. I explore materials, seeing in them a living, active entity. In my work, I combine various media, including found-footage film, photography, oil and watercolor painting, and ceramics. These media exist in various relationships with one another, usually complementing each other. I experiment with alternative firing techniques; I have my own Anagama—known as “Łaciata”—a Japanese-style wood-fired kiln in which the process of firing clay is a ritual preceded by hard physical labor. Here, the fire creates its own narratives, and the kiln always has the final say. For me, painting is an intimate encounter and a journey to my own limits; only then does the interaction with the viewer begin, along with a completely new story. In everything I do, I strive to follow the rhythm of nature and practice mindfulness—both toward what is familiar and what is unknown. I believe that art can be a deeply transformative tool accessible to everyone, which is why I prefer the language of art to be inclusive, clear, and encouraging of further exploration. I teach clay work using my own curriculum, run two studios— one in the countryside and one in the city—and help run the Farfurnia Szczecińska brand, which is reviving Szczecin’s forgotten Pomeranian pottery tradition. I tend a permaculture garden and spend time with my family of humans and animals.