“Sleep, Granier’s little grandson, when the chest falls, the bottom opens” – I woke up, The song still resonates in my ears as my grandfather sang it to me. It was our secret. The fact that sometimes in the evening he would come to me and sing it to me to sleep. He never wanted to say what the song is and why it should be our secret…
Grandfather was the head of our family. Born and raised in France, In the family of lawyers from my great-grandfather. During World War II, he falls in love with Teresa, a polar who fought in the resistance. She also studied law … After the war she did not want to stay in France, she missed her homeland. So Françoise’s grandfather, Francesc, followed her to Gdansk. They put something here Kind of legal dynasty. Both grandfather and grandmother were lawyers. Also their children – three sons and a daughter.
It was a fertile family – at least three children in any marriage. I was, unfortunately, the only son. And although both of my sisters followed in their parents’ footsteps, the most important thing for my father was that his only son should take the lead. Unfortunately, I hated the law. I wanted to be a painter. It was visible, I grew up of diapers. I paint where I can and what I can’t (on walls, furniture, even on the floor) and everything I can. I remember a scene…
I must have been five or six years old. I grabbed a piece of coal somewhere, and, forgetting the last beat, filled the hall wall with delight with visions of galloping horses. Just like the original Lascaux cave artists. Maybe the graphics are the same. Well I draw you and my tongue hangs, I can almost hear the horses chirping in my mind when I realize someone is behind me.
Looking for – Grandpa Francesc. A terrifying grandfather, with thick hair, a fierce look, and a cold, commanding voice. All the children of the family were afraid of the grandfather. Now I know that adults too… The grandfather was staring at the stained wall, his forehead wrinkled. I almost felt pain in the buttocks. Then he did something strange – he looked around as if to check to see if anyone could see us, and then leaned over me, touched my hair and said:
– My poor son.
And then he would come into my bedroom from time to time in the evening and sing to me that strange song about my granddaughter and the box falling to its bottom.
I had to deal with myself
As a born artist, I have never felt very comfortable in my family. Parents walked proudly and stiffly, as if every stick had been swallowed up. The sisters quickly absorbed this atmosphere that characterizes the whole family. They only talked about law and court cases, And of course about money. We were rich, even in the communist era.
As you can imagine, as a sensitive child with a soul that craves laughter, tenderness and sincere feelings, my life has not been easy. Especially when my parents realized where my thoughts, plans, and intentions were headed.
Get out of your head and she’s patting! dryly announced. – You won’t have any of this bread. There is no respect. Thank God you have a family that will provide you with a job and a future. Get your ass up and start studying.
Of course he didn’t say “the donkey to belts”, because that would be less of his dignity, but the meaning of his immersive vocabulary remained the same.
I cannot. I couldn’t imagine a life other than the brush in my hand. So after graduating from high school, instead of submitting my law papers at university, I submitted them to the Academy of Fine Arts, along with my secretly prepared drawing papers. dad, When he found out, he kicked me out of the house. As far as I know, not a single voice has raised in my defense.
I’m left to my fate. I studied, got extra money in a student co-op, and sold paintings on the streets. Somehow I was making ends meet, though it was hard, cold and hungry. But at least I felt happy.
About a year later, the dean of the family called me. I went to his house. My grandfather seemed younger, less menacing, and more advanced in age to me. Well, he was old; And when my grandmother died five years ago, he must have been through her often, for his stiffness had disappeared somewhere. I guess I just noticed it, and the rest were too busy putting the stick in their ass… Grandpa made me sit up and asked:
Do you think art is more important than family? Who is defending the innocent? It gives more to the community?
It surprised me. Watch the case From the wrong point of view.
I said, “It is not about what is more important to society – law or art.” Each one does his part and each one is required. Come about it For me personally, law doesn’t matter and art is everything. emotions. energy. Life. Forgive me, grandfather, but at times I had the feeling that I was surrounded by people without life and feelings. Logic, arithmetic and efficiency. Where is the joy and madness? For love. just to live…
My grandfather looked at me for a long time and I had the impression that he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t. Finally he sent me away waving his hand. I thought I noticed Tears in his eyes. No… I think I imagined it. He died six months later, after several months of illness.
Remember the lyrics
My father and brothers quickly quarreled over the inheritance, which my grandfather carefully divided among the whole family. However, lawyers soon realized that the will was written in such a way that the fight for her overthrow and subsequent wars for the most part would bring no benefit to anyone, only loss. So it was decided to recognize the records of the grandfather.
As part of the inheritance, I received a worthless plate, which for some reason my grandfather liked and always kept in his office, and a small box with books of law and laws. Before I could take it, it was thoroughly inspected. The will of the will said it unambiguously At the time the box is handed over to me, others lose everything in it. Just in case they want to know what they’re going to miss. They didn’t find anything.
I put the box on a shelf in a rented studio apartment without a toilet. Although the apartment was terrible, it was so I couldn’t afford it anyway, and it wasn’t long before I had to leave. Even worse, I lacked money to buy paint and was thinking of taking time off to work and earn money for my studies. I knew the family was about to come He would know about her and toast my defeat. felt bad.
He confessed – I wish Grandpa would leave me with more From ordinary drawing and old law books. He just made fun of me. As if to say: “You have a choice or you have to paint badly Hunger or return to the bosom of the family like a prodigal son.” do not wait!
I decided to paint a picture of my grandfather, the one I remember from our last meeting – with an imaginary tear in his eye. Even human. He certainly wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t appear as a human machine. finisher. This was the only way to show my disappointment. The night after the painting was finished, I had a dream. Grandpa’s hoarse voice sang “Our” lullaby. When I woke up, the song was still ringing in my ears: “…when it rains the box, the bottom opens.”
I looked at the shelf. I’m still half asleep, I got up and took the box I dropped him on the ground. And when he fell, his bottom suddenly fell and some papers slipped from under him. It was the policy of my grandfather’s life that made me the sole beneficiary of several hundred thousand zlotys, which my parents and uncles were looking for in vain. I also found a handwritten letter by my grandfather:
“I am proud that you chose your own path. I am even more proud that you persevered in your decision once. Proud of your courage. You don’t even know how to envy you. I also wanted to paint. Apparently I had a talent for it. The painting I got, which is sure Everyone I bought it from a street painter in a frenzy moment, it’s my work. The only one I ever dared to create. Unfortunately, I didn’t have your courage or determination. Or maybe I didn’t want it badly enough. Anyway In the old days the will of parents was sacred. So I did my father’s will and became a lawyer… Would I be just as good at drawing? I certainly could not provide a high standard of living for my family. I once promised myself that if any of my kids wanted to go another route, I would let them. But only in you, in the third generation, does the artistic soul speak. The character of the fighter. Because I give you my blessing. be free. Be happy. Fight for you and let my money help you achieve your goal. And he proves to the rest of the Granier family what wisdom and what stupidity takes our souls and makes our lives unbearable. Your loving grandfather.”
“Husband thinks motherhood is not a job. Diapers pile up, baby cries, and boiling pots don’t seem like relaxation”
“Stupid games of summoning ghosts can cause tragedy. Let us leave the dead where they are.”
“A friend at first dragged my husband to bed and now she wants to spoil my career. Why would I pay such a high price?”