![]() ![]() ![]() Somehow, through an intermediary, this inconsequential-seeming figure finagled an appointment. He had decided to present them to Zofia Nałkowska, an influential author and playwright, and to ask her to help him find a publisher. On Easter Sunday 1933, Schulz packed up copies of his postscripts in a suitcase and traveled to Warsaw. “Loneliness is the catalyst that makes reality ferment, precipitates its surface layer of figures and colors,” he wrote. He also wrote letters in which, apparently as an afterthought, he included lengthy postscripts describing, in phantasmagorical language, scenes and stories from his childhood. On his own time, using broad, thick lines of pencil or charcoal, he drew scenes of women and men engaged in sadomasochistic activities, and had them bound under the title “The Booke of Idolatry,” which he gave out to his friends. To get his students’ attention, he sometimes told fables in which a pencil, a water jug or a stove turned into an animate object. In the early 1930s, Bruno Schulz was a high-school teacher of art and handicrafts in Drohobycz, a modest town in what was then eastern Poland. ![]()
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