The discrepancy between a bleak, dreary provincial town and an imaginative woman in her prime who longs for adventure bursts forth as a stirringly animated cri de coeur. Maria Dakszewicz’s protagonist immerses herself so deeply in a Bollywood film that in her imagination she becomes the main character of the colourful and divinely joyous love story. This makes her return to the empty, cold “reality bar” all the more painful – with its annoying neighbours, depressing weather and the mocking slogans for self-improvement on advertising boards and in women’s magazines.
A high-proof cocktail of tragicomedy, garnished with enormous power, humour, love, physicality and melancholy. The last brushstroke is the equivalent of the unattainable, shimmering figure of the Bollywood sultan in the Bar Croquette reality – which also brings a kind of contentment, albeit of a quite different nature … With this film, Dakszewicz creates a distinctive, original and wild aesthetic: The clay figure, still warm from fingerprints, blends seamlessly into ink drawings –incongruous at first glance and yet as harmoniously fused as dreamt sensuality with an Indian sultan in the grey Polish province.

Tunnel vision, dark circles under the eyes and breathlessness – a warm bath will help against the traces of an exhausting night out. If it wasn’t for the small rubber duck, who starts to interrogate you in your hallucinating fatigue. Your crumbled memories return one by one, spiked with accusations. The conversation slips away towards an overwrought, darkly poetic lament about the filth of the night you passed.
Maria Dakszewicz not only invents highly original and apt linguistic images in which “drops of sweat are floating like kebab grease” on the bathwater. Her watercolour-spotted drawings with their rough black lines also bring the taste, smell and seediness of the food stalls you frequented on the way home into the supposedly cleansing domestic hygiene idyll. A darkly humorous hangover where you have to share the bathtub with yourself.

Is it not unlimited freedom, the most radical form of self-realisation, to exist in every conceivable setting as a flying mythical creature, a sad mouse or a furry figure with an extended naked spine as a tail? In her film, Monika Masłoń moves through different spaces as an avatar, exploring the subject of touching and being touched on VR platforms. Anything our phantasy can imagine can be created from pixels here. The limits of existence can be extended infinitely by a click. But what about human – or avatarian – closeness? Can an emotional signal like shaking hands be simulated in this VR world, despite the complete absence of physical bodies? When I see my avatar being touched, can my body memory suggest that I feel this tactile event even though there is no other physical body?
Masłoń examines these questions with a delicate sense of humour and in exchanges with other avatars. But then we enter a VR space that feels more intimate: She has taken us on a personal date. How does the impossibility of physical touch in a long-distance relationship differ from that in VR? Can a VR date create more physical presence and still the longing for the beloved person better than other forms of communication?

The inhabitants of a village witness an unusual event. The religious figures that surround them come alive and leave their accustomed places. The statues step down from shrines and niches, from altars and pedestals. They turn their backs on the village. Nobody knows where they are heading and why they are departing.

Most of the people are frozen in religious adoration, but some of them overpower a statue of the Virgin Mary and smash it on the ground. The fragments of the broken statue, however, live on, and are still heading away. A young girl – born boneless and unable to move without help – manages to make contact with one of the departing statues.

Going under or a lonely island life – there is not exactly a surfeit of options in this Polish village by the sea. The community functions, but social intercourse is rough, alcohol present. Archaic-seeming rituals and social patterns are handed down from the old to the young men. Winter envelops the village in white silence which every now and then betrays its deceptive appearance in small things. At midnight on Christmas Eve the voices of the dead and tortured souls ring out. Anka lives in the middle of this. The young woman takes hits, gets up, struggles through with her love of Jesus.

“Zima” portrays a state of suspension with occasional rollercoaster rides and builds up to tremendous emotional power. Colours are rare in the black and white drawings of the winter landscape and the dark houses, but when they appear, they lend great intensity to the events. Scenes of daily routines and village life are associatively interwoven both on the sound and graphic level. They burst with excess and expressive design, transforming into mystical dream images.