Krystian Furman

My parents haven’t spoken to each other in years, and yet they still live in the same huge house. Over time, the luxury of space strengthened the separation between my whole family. We enter the home through separate doors, cook in separate kitchens, and speak behind closed doors. As the youngest one, I was not told much and grew up with a distorted image of home, and within a culture that taught me it was better not to talk about it. According to the common Polish saying Nie mów nikomu co się dzieje w domu - Don’t tell anyone what happens in your house, I just stood on the sidelines and didn’t ask questions.

Now, as an adult, I am building the foundations of my own idea of home, resisting the silent walls of the one I come from. When I tried to raise my voice, I couldn’t find the right language. Was my family “dysfunctional”, “toxic”, or “broken”? Can I see the “wounds”? Will these all stay like a birthmark?

I disagree. The story is not yet complete. The work is a pursuit of my own wording of the experience I have been through and a subtle gesture that breaks away from the past. With photographs concealing fragmented memories and puzzling metaphors, I call for empathy, curiosity and vulnerability. I invite you to follow the process of constant rebuilding, redefining the troubling notion of home and cautiously reading between the lines. What is there to find between the walls of silence?