WILD SPROUTS
Agnieszka Tarasiuk
2015
text from the book accompanying the exhibition
Cultivating Culture ⟶
BWA Tarnów, 2015
The waves had almost completely disappeared, and the top of the fluid—the stuff the ocean is made of—had become semi-transparent, with smoky spots that faded away until, after a very short time, the whole thing was completely clear and I could see several yards, I believe, into the depths. Deep down there was a kind of gold-coloured ooze that was gathering and sending thin streaks upwards. When it emerged onto the surface it became glassy and shining, it started seething and foaming, and solidifying. At this point it looked like dense burned caramel. This ooze or sludge collected into thick knots, rose up out of the ocean, it formed cauliflower-like swellings and slowly made various shapes. I started being pulled towards the wall of fog, so for a few minutes I had to counter the drift with the engine and the rudder. When I was able to look out again, down below, underneath me, I saw something that resembled a garden. That’s right, a garden. I saw dwarf trees and hedges, paths, none of it real—it was all made of the same substance, which by now had completely hardened, like yellowish plaster.
Stanisław Lem, "Solaris”