Third book by Marcin Wicha and a stunning piece of literature. It starts with Kazimir Malevich, but the scope and boldness of this essay is hard to fathom: it is a multidimensional book on art, its longevity, power and weakness, about the Communist Revolution in Russia in 1917, about tangled life paths of people who lived through these times and tried their best to change the world. Sad and epic. I had to use the black square on the cover as the most obvious reference to Malevich, but I wanted to show its symbolic potential: is this the end of the line? Or maybe it is an exit of sorts? The reader has to decide for herself/himself.
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