Translating Marek

Marek Zulawski: artist, journalist, my father

Marek Zulawski Mural Unearthed at London Transport Museum

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In early March, I emailed the London Transport Museum (LTM) out of curiosity. I’d heard a rumour that some old mural by my father Marek Zulawski was in their depot. Was it really there?

I’d never seen it, neither had my mother. We only had a remnant of Marek’s development of it, a mock-up that hung on the wall before he began working on the real thing.

A couple days later, I got a reply from LTM’s Senior Curator Laura Sleath that it was true. They would be happy to invite me to come see it.

But before we get to what happened in 2023, we need to go back over 70 years ago to understand the context and significance of this piece.… Keep reading

38 years ago today…

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This is an edited repost of the Translating Marek newsletter. It comes out every fortnight. Sign up here to get it in your inbox.

Marek Zulawski passed away on March 30th, 1985, a whopping 38 years ago.

A few years ago, I translated his thoughts about death from his autobiography. Nearly 70 at the time, he was ruminating on his own mortality after attending a friend’s funeral:

I kiss whitewashed faces. Some belong to women I had loved. When was that? Perhaps a thousand years ago. I don’t want to remember – I don’t want to reminisce.

I see a Polish athlete, once splendid in days of yore, now hobbling on crutches through fresh clay – a man from another epoch.

… Keep reading

Windowlicking Internet Stores for Marek Zulawski Art

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I’ve been spending a lot of time in the world of online auctions recently. Today I realised I had a newsletter to write, so I panicked and decided to combine the two. First point of call: Marek Zulawski art.

Marek Zulawski stuff on the Internet

Google has so many hidden corners, doesn’t it?

First Marek-related item I found via Google Shopping was an original poster for his 1957 exhibition in Warsaw’s Zachęta Gallery.

It’s on sale for $450. I have no idea why.

It’s not a particularly interesting design. It seems phoned in. If Marek designed it himself, he was probably just trying to get it out the way before doing something more interesting.… Keep reading

Kazimiera Żuławska: in her own words

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Today is the 50th anniversary of the death of my grandmother Kazimiera Żuławska. Below is a translation by Lauren Dubowski of the essay Kazimiera wrote for the remarkable “Ten jest z ojczyzny mojej” [“This One’s from my Fatherland”, info in Polish about it here], a compendium of first-hand recollections by ethnic Poles who helped save Polish Jews during the Nazi German occupation in World War II. My grandmother was a remarkable woman, and I’m very grateful to Lauren for bringing her words to English readers.
p.s. Eagle-eyed readers will note this is the first TM post in 6 years!

… Keep reading

A birthday miracle, 1981

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Marek Zulawski would have been 107 today. Here’s what he was doing exactly 34 years ago…

The day of my 73rd birthday: 13 April 1981.

At precisely 6am, in the small attic room of the Hotel Touring in Chamonix, while you, Maria, were still sleeping, I furtively, like a villain, slipped out of bed and quietly, silently, drew back the curtains. As the window was exposed, I suddenly saw pristine whiteness.

Mount Blanc rose up straight ahead of me, above the highest roofs of the surrounding homes, like an incomprehensible giant, too tall for anyone to even believe it existed.… Keep reading

Always look on the bright side of death, 1977

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Today marks the 30th anniversary of Marek Zulawski’s death, an appropriate day to share this passage he wrote about a friend’s funeral. Marek was a man who kept himself in prime health until his unexpected parting in 1985 – it seems his heart couldn’t keep up with the rest of him. The translated excerpt below is at once a meditation on age, death, virility and, of course, Marek’s own vanity.

(The banner image is a CC photo of Brompton Cemetery, taken by Scott Wylie)

Brompton Cemetery. Stefan Osiecki’s funeral.

From a distance, I could already see a group of people eagerly surrounding a fresh hole, on the bottom of which rests a coffin.… Keep reading

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