Autumn has begun. We count the leaves outside the window as we go, knowing well that winter is about to begin. We pass by an endless brick wall. It is as if the bricks were reflections of leaves for someone awaiting the winter. The countdown is accompanied by the steady sound of a person behind, kicking against our seat. They are probably looking forward to something as well.

We've already forgotten that we're stuck on the outskirts, with nothing more in our pocket than an expired ticket, a couple of shells, some crumbs and a note from a passenger next to us.

In the middle of the photo we see the bottom part of a salt mill shaped like the base of a transparent column. The salt inside is arranged in layers, as in the model of the soil structure. On the mill’s surface, a serial code and a use-by date can be seen printed. The mill stands on a plywood table covered with rings resembling sea waves or isolines on a map. The same table appears in the piece entitled shells, which, unlike the mill, are on display during the exhibition at Turnus.

I'll tell you straightaway. The truth stands in the middle. In a bowl. If you'll touch it with your nose, it will spill. "My new place" by Miron Białoszewski

Meet Ant Łakomsk, Piotrek Kowalski, and Tomek Tofilski, along with the founders of Turnus Gallery, Kamila Falęcka and Marcelina Gorczyńska.