It's there! You can see it. You can touch it. And most importantly, you can sit on it!
Elegant, lightweight, slim, bright, comfortable, stylish. Made of beech wood. Made of bent plywood with chestnut veneer. Real.
On Monday, we celebrated its premiere with the guest of honor – Bogusława Kowalska, who was the first to test the new piece of furniture.
Before this could happen, however, a long line of people waiting to "accept the goods" formed outside the For Form Gallery on Paderewskiego Street. The chair "wandered" up the street, animated by Janusz Stolarski.
“The "shop" atmosphere quickly relaxed, and the opening transformed into a stylish party. There were 1960s outfits. There were chair vouchers. There were anecdotes and memories about the Kowalski furniture. There was a song about the designer family written by their son Jacek. There was orange soda and other drinks. There was steak tartare, herring, and eggs in mayonnaise.
We would like to thank Ms. Bogusława Kowalska for an excellent project.
We would like to thank the For Form Gallery for their hospitality and pleasant cooperation.
We would like to thank Janusz Stolarski for the theatrical journey.
We would like to thank the Poterski family for providing us with an elegant period table set.
We would like to thank all guests for coming and celebrating with us.
And to the album with photos from the premiere we also add the lyrics of Jack's song:
Concrete, concrete, concrete, 1960s,
Gray, gray, gray, the depths of dirty times.
Above the grayness a scant remnant of light shines,
This is my home.
The window is bright, the ordinariness is simple,
Angle, rectangle, square, horizontal, vertical.
Mondrian small, beech and pine,
This is my home.
The window is bright, the ordinariness is simple,
Angle, rectangle, square, horizontal, vertical.
Mondrian small, beech and pine,
This is my home.
Above Mondrian the Virgin Mary,
The rustle of tracing paper, the smell of oil paints.
Father's leaning figure,
A mother's eye, profile, flexible hand.
Time covers memory with dark gray,
Like a pike in the Niemen it will fall into the dark depths.
But in me, in me the Father's gray head,
Mother's eye, profile, flexible hand,
The window is clear.