The Tenant

"I work with staged photography. In the studio I’ve set up in my apartment, I direct all sorts of scenes. I dress my friends in costumes and ask them to perform invented roles. Old toys and small found objects are transformed into elements of narrative still lifes. I draw, glue, and repaint walls, constantly creating new arrangements and scenographies. My photographic series respond directly to whatever feels urgent at the time: it may be an inspiring book, a new episode of unbearable politics, or something deeply personal. In my everyday practice, everything is in flux: faces, motifs, spatial arrangements, and with them the studio itself, endlessly reshaped. Yet one presence has remained constant over the years: my cat. He is hardly sociable, usually keeping his distance. Still, the moment I begin to work, he appears. With the air of an exhausted full-time employee, he performs his daily rituals: napping on an open sketchbook, inspecting every new trinket, and testing the capacity of cardboard boxes scattered across the floor. His stern gaze can judge my work with perfect accuracy. Demonic makeup and frightening masks leave him unimpressed, since every person in the studio is a potential source of food. When I pick up the camera, he comes alive, arranging himself in the frame like a seasoned model. He truly believes all these setups exist for him alone. I do not correct this misunderstanding, and for thirteen years I have obediently photographed him every day. After all, can anyone ever have too many pictures of a cat?" [Irena Kalicka]