9 II 1993

National Museum, warszawa

during the Ars Erotica exhibition (I-III)

Description of the manifestation:

Description of the manifestation:
The setting: the official platform in the main hall of the National Museum in Warsaw, a few steps above the ground floor. From the platform, stairs lead left and right to open galleries on the first floor. In this central spot stands a black podium measuring 70 × 70 cm and 50 cm high. A white inscription reading POLSKI EROTYK (POLISH EROTIC) appears on the podium. Next to it, set slightly back, is a museum table: round, black, and decorated. In the center of the table stands a bottle of cognac, and next to it lies a very large red apple. Glasses are arranged around it. Spectators who have arrived for the 5:00 PM event are gathering in the hall. Regardless, there is already a heavy flow of visitors, as admission to the museum is free that day.

Action: ​​The artist enters the hall naked, with a loop of rope around his neck. He holds the rope in his hands. His penis is painted red and white.

He climbs the steps to the platform and stops at the table. He removes the noose, takes the large red apple, places it in the loop of the noose, and tightens the knot. Holding a snake composed of the apple and the rope, he addresses the audience: God has endowed man with, on the one hand, free will, and on the other, to ensure the continuity of the human species, an overwhelming sexual instinct. This contradiction between free will – the foundation of human subjectivity – and the overwhelming, objectifying instinct finds a sinless resolution in Judeo-Christian religions through the marriage vow, sanctified by a sacrament. The artist places the rope with the apple on the podium. He approaches the table, unscrews the cap, and pours cognac into several glasses. He then paints the letter J in green paint on the front of his body. He approaches the podium, takes the rope, and, at some distance from the apple, ties another knot. He turns his back to the audience and paints a black cross on it. While doing so, he explains that the sinless continuation of the species, in accordance with religious norms, involves the mutual objectification of spouses. The sinful discharge of instinct in the sexual marketplace is not only mutual objectification, but also self-objectification for money.

Here, the artist refers to the reflections of philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. More glasses are filled with cognac, more green letters appear on the front of his body, black crosses on his back, and knots on the rope. The artist explains that these crosses represent the crosses of his life.
At this point, the narrow stream of visitors descending from the upper floors and passing left and right of the scene becomes a dense crowd. Visiting hours are ending; rooms throughout the museum are being closed. The upper galleries fill up, leaving people with no alternative path. The entire hall becomes packed. The artist does not stop the manifestation; he merely slows his pace. When the flow of visitors has passed, the artist continues. He says that Søren Kierkegaard, the great discoverer of the truth about the essence of humanity, the truth about the trembling of the subject, could not accept any form of objectification. He did not marry, and he fled the brothel. He remained alone until the end of his life. However, there is a way out of this Kierkegaardian paradox of the subject’s loneliness – and it was discovered and verified here in Poland. A long-existing idea took on real form here: the idea of solidarity. Solidarity allows people to connect while retaining full subjectivity. As a purely human endeavor, solidarity opens a partnership dialogue with God; it is a path that does not originate from Him. Proof that God was pleased with this dialogue was the extraordinary driving force of the trade union Solidarity, which managed to defeat a vast totalitarian empire enslaving many nations. Unfortunately, later, when Solidarity found itself within the Church during martial law, it became emasculated. There was an electoral uprising in 1988, but divisions quickly followed, wars at the top and bottom, and the formation of political parties. And what Mr. Krzaklewski and Mr. Jankowski are doing today is not solidarity; there is more hatred there than solidarity. It is, rather, anti-solidarity. There is more solidarity in what Jerzy Owsiak, Ms. Ochojska, and Ms. Labuda are doing. The latter, however, has a feminist bent. Just like my wife, he adds. I propose solidarity to her. But she fights me. The artist continues to perform the described actions as he speaks.

The cognac has now been poured into all the glasses, more crosses have appeared on his back, more knots in the rope, and the green inscription JESZCZE (YET) appears on the front of his body. The artist arranges the rope on the podium in a zigzag pattern: a rope divided by knots, beginning with the looped, large red apple. He then takes a cup of green paint in one hand and a brush in the other. Standing on the podium and stepping onto the rope, he expresses his belief that solidarity will return to Poland, this time consciously, unlike the previous obscure version, and that such solidarity will please God. Concluding this thought, he paints a green dot on the red-and-white penis. He steps down from the podium and asks the audience whether they agree with his opinion. He invites them for cognac and discussion. The conversation is emotional but brief, as museum staff have long been waiting to close the museum.