Near the family home, just outside Wrocław, there was a forge, hundreds, if not thousands, of which operated on Polish soil at that time. Nothing unusual, but for me it was a magical world shrouded in an aura of mystery that permeates through and through.
As a child, I spent hours staring at the titanic work of a village blacksmith. Fascinated by the color of the hot metal, I was losing track of time, and the thought of shaping matter, giving it the form assumed in my head, did not give me peace.
The magical sound of the anvil became a pleasant tune, and the sparks emerging from the onyx depths of the furnace and disappearing in the air resembled falling stars. How many wishes were born in the young head then. The desire to create something different, unique led me to my own forge.