1966

I think it was in fifth grade of primary school that I decided I would become an architect. These were the dreams of that strange age, no longer a child, and not yet fully adolesced. The following years, the end of primary school and high school, were a time of preparation for university.

But whether my zeal was too weak, or fate had other plans, my flirtation with architecture ended in failure. A costly failure, lasting two years. After two failures, I was captured by the "people's government" and landed in the army. By some miracle, I managed to escape after a few months. My parents had already submitted "applications" on my behalf for studies at the Faculty of Industrial Design. I left the military unit three days before the exam, on Friday afternoon, and took the exam on Monday morning.

It was June 1966, when, in disbelief, I found my name on the list of twelve people accepted for the first year of studies.

Could I have suspected that at that moment, almost my entire future life was decided? That it would be bound to this group of people, this building, the genius loci of this place? A rhetorical question. Yet it inevitably arises as I search my memory for memories, feelings, and words that would best express it. In truth, awareness of the extraordinary nature of this place, its history, the uniqueness of the people who would mark the course of my life, was negligible at the time. It developed slowly, but consistently. The teachers' attitude toward us young people, who by nature don't value authority very much, was almost collegial. This doesn't mean, however, that it didn't inspire respect. Quite the contrary. They adopted an attitude of kindness that's difficult to put into words, while simultaneously, implicitly, yet demanding full commitment and effort. Not to mention the respect we felt for them. That was obvious.

As a result, the atmosphere surrounding our studies resulted in a state of complete mobilization and dedication. A mobilization that, incidentally, could be felt and seen around us every day and at every turn. These words are not exaltation or exaggerations, merely for the sake of embellishing memories. How many times have we witnessed, and over time, participated in, teamwork between students and teachers on various occasions, usually far beyond the basic responsibilities of both parties. These were most often instances of openness, of sharing the Faculty's program and achievements, as was the case with the work on the film "Professor Morfeo Cracoviensis." But also in incomparably more mundane moments, such as the subsequent adaptations and arrangement of faculty spaces. This fostered a bond of mutual understanding, attachment, and respect.

I was a student in one of the first cohorts in the Faculty's history. Thanks to this, I had the opportunity to encounter such personalities as Andrzej Pawłowski, Zbigniew Chudzikiewicz, Antoni Haska, Ryszard Otręba, Wacław Nowak, Wacław Pieniądz, Antoni Hajdecki, Jerzy Panek, Barbara Gołajewska, Józef Marek, Włodzimierz Hodys, and many others. This was a time of curricular experimentation, the strengthening of the Faculty as a research and teaching institution. I'd be grateful to know which of us, from subsequent generations, benefited from these experiments. I believe, in fact, I'm almost certain that they probably didn't harm anyone. This belief is easily confirmed by following the lives of graduates from those years. The aforementioned atmosphere of mobilization and the work associated with it would not have been possible without our, the students', acceptance of the prevailing principles. This, in turn, stemmed from the fact that life at the Faculty was not limited solely to intellectual endeavors or creative work. The Faculty was also known for its ability to have a great time and have a good time. Just think of the annual St. Andrew's Day celebrations. How much inventiveness and resourcefulness was displayed by both sides – we young people and those we considered too old. All of this combined meant that we would remember our years of study and our time at the Faculty until our final days.

It so happened that I was unable to meet Andrzej Pawłowski during classes. The annual program changes and the fact that I had decided to specialize in the Department of Visual Communication effectively cut me off from direct contact with him. I regret this. The same thing happened to me with the other figure of Form, Professor Zbigniew Chudzikiewicz. However, I still remember fear of contact with Professor Antoni Haska. His reverence and precision in choosing words to express his thoughts were paralyzing. The figure of Associate Professor Wacław Pieniądz is equally etched in my memory. His unique, not to say highly original, personality certainly contributed to this. The way he expressed his unconventional yet provocative views made it impossible to remain indifferent. Let alone the violent reactions of delight or dissatisfaction. The names of the courses he taught—Physical and Technical Foundations of Design or Technical Objects and Processes—perhaps didn't fully reflect their content. In reality, they were a kind of ideology that shattered the stereotypes we'd generally been educated in, and a kind of philosophy for Professor Pieniadz. Over time, his classes also became a wonderful source of anecdotes.

I'm ashamed to admit that I don't remember what prompted my choice of specialization. Perhaps it was the memory of the time when Professor Ryszard Otręba led Visual Arts B after returning from a scholarship in the USA. His personality truly moved me. I owe Professor Otręba much gratitude, not only for his teaching, but also for the understanding he showed throughout my studies, especially during my thesis. Now, years later, I know that my overwhelming desire to be independent, to test my own skills in design, bordered on arrogance. The only justification for my attitude is that I did not betray the trust placed in me.

After graduating, I began working as a freelance designer. I tried not to limit myself to visual communication design, as dictated by my degree specialization. However, the vast majority of my work was graphic design. I quickly learned how challenging it is to be a designer. It takes a lot of effort to explain your perspective to clients, and what arguments or even tricks to use to convince them.

I reconnected with the Academy of Fine Arts a year after graduation. I accepted an internship offer at the Faculty of Graphic Arts at the Academy of Fine Arts in Krakow, in the studio of Professor Witold Skulicz. I don't have fond memories of that time. It turned out our personalities weren't a good match. My work at the Department of Graphic Design for Packaging lasted a year. In the late 1970s, I received an offer from Professor Otręba to work with the Department of Visual Communication. Initially, these were freelance hours. In 1981, I was hired as an assistant, becoming a senior assistant in 1983, and finally a lecturer in 1986. It took me a long time to learn before I felt strong enough to take my first independent classes with students. Although the term "learned" doesn't quite capture what I wanted to say. It's about achieving a difficult-to-define state of inner readiness, a certain calmness but also a strength that allows me to gently captivate my partner, capture their attention, and motivate them.

I constantly ask myself: what is most important in teaching a designer? What determines their well-being as a designer? What qualities make some people better than others? It's much easier to ask questions, incomparably more difficult to answer them.

More on that another time.