The King of Krakowskie Przedmieście
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Portrait of Andrzej Partum. Photo by Zbigniew Rytka, 1974, Poetry Bureau, Warsaw (courtesy of Bożenna Biskupska and the Monopol gallery)
Experiences, Fiction

The King of Krakowskie Przedmieście

The Life of Andrzej Partum
Zbigniew Libera
Reading
time 9 minutes

A vagabond, provocateur, opponent of the full-time avant-garde. He sent his art by post, he left a stink in a gallery. According to Julian Przyboś, he was mentally ill. According to some others, he was a great artist. His name was Andrzej Partum.

In fact, nobody knows where Andrzej Partum got his surname from. Did he inherit it from his father? Did he invent it himself? Or perhaps he owed it to the poetic inventiveness of his mother? According to the Latin dictionary, partum caesareum means ‘Ceasarean section’…

All we know is that the ‘King of Krakowskie Przedmieście’, as he was known among the metropolitan bohemia of the 1970s, was born Andrzej Mikiewicz in 1938 in Warsaw. History remains silent about his father, but we know that his mother, Maria Mikiewicz, was a painter. She died in the streets of Warsaw in August 1944, during one of the bombardments, allegedly in front of her children, Karina and, yes, Andrzej. Maria’s brother, the poet Konstanty Mikiewicz, appointed to military service before the war, committed suicide in 1935 in the Officer Cadet Artillery College in Zambrów. Karina, slightly older than Andrzej, died soon after the war in 1946. So little Partum was brought up by his mother’s sister, Krystyna Artyniewicz, an author of children’s theatre plays. Unfortunately, she also bereaved the boy when she died in July 1953 as a result of a lethal mushroom poisoning.

Young Andrzej drifted from one children’s home to another, often sleeping in the stairwells of Warsaw. Let me recall an anecdote here, which he often repeated about his life at

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A Curious Joker
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Illustration from Bruno Munari’s book “Nella nebbia di Milano”, 1968. Photo from private collection, Brescia, Italy
Art

A Curious Joker

The Childlike World of Bruno Munari
Aleksandra Kędziorek

We present artistic books on the pages of our print magazine, and the fact that we do is thanks to, among others, one Italian artist. He is loved both by children and by such intellectual masters as Umberto Eco.

“Never seen so much snow,” is how the Italian artist Bruno Munari starts the story of the Little White Riding Hood. On subsequent pages, we follow the story of the little girl dressed all in white, who is wading through snow drifts to get to her grandma, whom she hasn’t seen for a long time. Because of the blizzard, you can’t see a thing. The pages are white and the story unfolds, naturally, in our imagination. In his other book, The Circus in the Mist, the city of Milan is enveloped in a milky fog. On the pages, made of semi-opaque tracing paper, there are silhouettes of vehicles, street lamps and pedestrians hurrying in different directions. Ploughing page by page through the misty city, we finally arrive at the circus tent. We enter, and that’s when the book explodes with colours.

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