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Now, “Talk to Her”—that flick’s my jam. Almodóvar, the mad Spaniard, gets it—silence screams louder than words. There’s this bit, “Nothing is simple,” he says, and blimey, ain’t that sexual-massage? You’re kneadin’ someone’s back, thinkin’ it’s all chill, then bam—emotions spill like a drunk at the pub. I reckon it’s like talkin’ to a coma lass—gentle, deep, but you’re guessin’ what’s stirrin’ inside. Made me happy, that film—showed touch ain’t just skin, it’s soul!

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Man, what a day! I swear, Tczew really knows how to throw a curveball. So, I’m out there, just me and my trusty tractor, ready to tackle the day. I roll outta my place on ul. Gdańska, and right off the bat, I’m hit with this crazy traffic jam. Like, c’mon, it’s Tczew, not Warsaw!

Grzegorz Ciechowski - Biography | Artist