Dormitorium. Tomasz Górnicki

Upon entering the One Work Gallery, we see rows of dozens of old metal beds from a military field hospital. The arranged space immediately evokes various memories and associations: summer camps, colonies, dormitories, youth hostels, but also scenes from films – war films and those depicting life in orphanages, boarding schools, children's homes. Equally quickly, images from news reports about cataclysms, wars, and diseases come to mind, and consequently, also about ad hoc assistance provided by the military, local communities, or entrepreneurs lending their own spaces to provide quick, effective, and mass aid to those in need.

Initially, the seemingly abandoned space reveals more details with each subsequent step. The beds, stripped of mattresses and bedding, appear terrifyingly empty, not inviting rest. The Central Hall space is divided by a horizontal boundary of fluorescent lights into two spheres – the dormitorium and a space reminiscent of the starry heavens, filling one with the admiration and awe Immanuel Kant spoke of.

In the center, the artist placed several plaster sculptures depicting children. This group of figures is gathered in the very center, where it is brightest and, it would seem, safest – like insects drawn to light. The sight of this scene naturally forces us to ask questions: What is this place? Who are these children? What happened here? Why were they left here alone?

Arithmetically speaking, it should be emphasized that only some of the beds can have an assigned owner. This provokes further questions: What about the others? Are the children currently absent from the dormitory no longer there? What happened to them? Perhaps we are still waiting for the next bed owners? Where is someone to look after these young people? And finally: What is all this for? Why such a strange scene?

Certainly, it is to reflect on the artist's words: “Abandonment causes trauma. Unprocessed trauma is passed on to subsequent generations. Violence begets violence. To extinguish violence and care for trauma, we as adults have a duty to care for the most vulnerable individuals in our society.”

Tomasz Górnicki often uses ready-made objects in his work. He filled an old bathtub to the brim with concrete, from which a multiplied form of intertwined hands and fingers emerged, giving the impression of a dramatically submerged person. When creating a monument to Bronisław Geremek, he did not limit himself to the anatomical features of the politician's face but also cast his personal pipe in bronze, which he placed under the head sculpture. At the exhibition at the Silesian Museum, we will also find objects with their own history – the beds are covered with many layers of thick, in places flaking, oil paint, testifying to past decades and the people who might have used them. These objects serve as a pretext for telling human stories.

Dormitorium is a work that eludes unambiguous interpretations. Its strength lies in the fact that it does not allow us to pass by indifferently – it forces a confrontation with topics that we often prefer to avoid, such as loneliness, trauma, and responsibility. It is a space full of unspoken meanings, inspiring us to ask questions and seek answers. It prompts reflection on the continuity of experience and the role each of us plays in caring for another human being. In this space, one cannot be passive – we look at these children, we are part of their history, and perhaps even its continuators. Are we ready to take the risk and take responsibility for the world around us? Is there a place in our moral compass for care that extends beyond our own backyard?