What it’s About

None of the seven languages that circumstances forced me to learn in my childhood and later in life ever became my native language.

I often felt lost in the world. I had no means of telling anybody who I am or what I am.

It had its good sides. I had to learn to listen and to observe. The injustices and fears experienced in wars and under totalitarian rule, or the unparalleled sense of humor or sarcasm delivered by a Polish miner or English landlady, became a foundation of what started to appear on paper as “Visual Notes.”

While learning to draw or understand the power of colors, hundreds of drawings accumulated. I never dared to show them to anybody. They were my second outer skin. Packed in boxes or rolled up, they followed me wherever I had to go.

Only now, in 2025, at the age of 89, I began to open the boxes. Here is a small selection, organized into groups that are even beginning to make sense to me.