Selections from FM GALICIA
23.12
Lately, I have not only lost the ability to distinguish between years, but also between days of the week. That is why the idea of a “Sunday stroll” has become an archaism for me. And it’s not so strange that this Sunday stroll took place on a Thursday. Actually, it was quite a perfect day for a walk— sunny, snowy, and frosty. Snow is especially conducive to strolling because it alters the space—it makes it more porcelaneous—it becomes divided, portioned, and partitioned into its various fragments. I chanced upon the most prestigious neighborhood in my city. This is an extraordinary neighborhood with magical blocks that lies to the right of a small park and to the left of the railway tracks. The fantastic world of a different city, of quiet streets—upon which you can walk outnumbering automobiles—of villas and orchards. It is the villas that are the most interesting. This corner of the world overflows with them. There are many of them and they are all different. Each of these villas acts as an illustration to a long story. Each of these stories includes an introduction, a conclusion, a peak, a culmination. They feature stability followed by collapse, one that is unnoticeable at first but then becomes steep, and later tumbles towards ruin. So that should be the end of the story. But not in this case, because the villas are stalwart and lasting. That is why old stories are replaced with new ones. And then everything begins anew—an idea, a peak, a culmination, stability. It is also clear that a collapse is coming. Without a certain aftertaste of collapse, buildings such as these lose their taste. It is especially interesting to see these villas as the materialization of someone’s concept of an ideal building. Someone came up with the idea of having his own palace. Usually, it was the reflection of certain Viennese, Praguian, Cracovian, or, at least, Lvivian dreams. But how their dream was supposed to look was imagined poorly by the owners. That is why builders took this task upon themselves. Their dramas were also notched into each building. They, these buildings, are actually the manifestation of everything that did not work out in the lives of these architects, builders, engineers, and decorators. And, nonetheless, they are very much triumphant. It is our good fortune that there is a small territory such as this in our city. And it is our good fortune that one can take a Sunday stroll there. Even if takes place on a Thursday.
Translated by Mark Andryczyk