The first day.

The last night of the Contexts ephemeral arts festival we danced into the hour of the woolf in the park next to the old Sanatorium building and before traces of the sun became visible we went on a walk through the woods and the fields. It slowly got light, somebody gave me flowers, we walked in a circle and went back to the village. At five in the morning I had breakfast with two brothers, twins, in one of the beautiful old houses scattered around this sleepy town center. I had the feeling time had slowed down here, in this place where Kieslowski and Thomas Mann had left their traces, where abandoned villa’s and the ruin of the 150 year old sanatorium dominated the atmosphere. Everywhere around the world was speeding, but here in Sokolowsko time worked differently. When I left at six in order to get on my bike and cross the border to my house in Libna, I didn’t manage to get out of Sokolowsko. I left the bike where it was, in front of the hostel where my students were sleeping. I walked through the village, sat on a bench, returned to the park next to the sanatorium and stared at the building, the left part -normally housing the Kieslowski archive- already renovated, the right part still waiting to be put back in its old glory.

It took me 7 hours to leave. I sat on all the benches in town, said goodbye to people, waved out my students. And when I got back in the world it didn’t seem like I got lost in time like Rip van Winkle did, it was still the 23d of July, a Thursday. Sitting in my garden I wondered if I would be back in Sokolowsko.

When three days later I unexpectedly left the residency where I was supposed to teach for another two weeks, my feet led the way, I didn’t think. July 26, my wedding day. A beautiful day. Then and now. I walked carrying my most important things on my back. I was slow, I ate raspberries and cherries, and in the afternoon I found myself sitting on the terrace of the only cafe in Sokolowsko, drinking coffee, waiting for something to happen. I wandered around town, sat on the same benches again, didn’t see any familiar faces.

In the sanatorium park I found a good spot under a tree, I collected dried grass to form a bed, the moonlight was bright and when it started to rain in the early hours of the morning the tree protected me. Sometimes an animal moving through the bushes woke me up but I slept well. Nothing beats sleeping under the stars.

Still it is hard to live outside, especially when the weather is tricky. So I found myself a room. A safe place. And I offered my services to the Contexts festival organisers so in exchange for some hours of watching after the exhibition space in the Sanatorium, I had a desk and a chair and good internet to do some writing and research. So four days after I sat outside of the sanatorium looking at the door while my students were asleep in their hostel beds, I had turned my world inside out and was working inside the sanatorium, looking out into the park and at night I slept in the room adjoining the cozy hostel room where my students had cooked their communal meals. Somehow it brought the Kieslowski book I once bought back in my mind, Double Life, Second Chances.

A home, a job, wild food in abundance. What more do you need?

There’s one thing. Human company.

The Nomadic Life can be a lonely life at times, but it also gives you the opportunity to make friends easily. Suddenly there were four people sitting on the bench and the chairs outside my room, some familiar faces, some new ones. I shared the only beer I had around, they went for a bikeride and afterwards I joined them in Koala house where I had had my breakfast when time stood still. We drank wine and listened to the story of a walker who had just showed up, passing through the village on a week long walk. We talked about art and life and the magic of this place.

And afterwards I fell asleep with the scent of freshly laundered sheets, my head on a soft pillow. I slept long. I felt safe. And when I woke up I kept my eyes closed and thought of Christian Bobin again: “Great things always begin with sleep. Great things always begin by the thinnest edge.”

Today is another day. The first day. Again.