Stefania Gurdowa. THE INNOCENT TIME

A gold chain, a watch, a bicycle, a computer, a envelope stuffed with banknotes: these are things which we talk about after a dozen, or even tens of years, from the perspective of parents, aunts and uncles, or grandparents. Or we read about them in newspaper reports that stigmatise contemporary materialism, the profanation of religious or holy events, such as First Communion.

However, when our thoughts turn towards that day in May, when we were eight or nine years old, and in an honest one-on-one contemplation, we may think that the presents, cakes, the smug feeling that we were the centre of attention of our close ones (much to the jealousy of our siblings and cousins), were important; but then again not all that significant. Of course, it was very pleasurable. But most of all it was an occasion to let everything go, forget about the fear that kept you awake at night for the few days running up to the First Communion Sunday.

This fear was multi-dimensional. Its first signs would appear in the form of a notebook with hundreds of questions, thankfully with answers, and prayers, which had to be learnt off by heart. Remember: the Three Theological Virtues, Six Kerygmatic Points, Seven Deadly Sins, the Ten Commandments. Not to be confused! An empty mind would accompany you when visiting the priest, who would test you on such knowledge. This emptiness would be much the same ten years later, on the day before taking the matura exam, and the question why it is called "the coming-of-age test".

The next step: first confession. Apparently the key to it is the Decalogue. I say it to myself over and over, but what is it with this "You shall not commit adultery"? Does this mean that I have to tell the priest that I jump into bed with my parents to say goodnight or after I've had a nightmare? Is that a sin? And what about "You shall have no other gods before me"? Up until know I hadn't heard of any: maybe I should confess about the Greek myths I had been reading, and what's more, with pleasure? Yet of course I know that these are simply tales of yore (although I must admit that the picture of Zeus clutching his lightning rods looks similar to the depiction of God the Father on the altar at the Dominicans).

It certainly wasn't easy conjuring up sins "on demand"; maybe I'm just a gilded individual? Thankfully I remembered that I once stole some chocolates from the kitchen drawer, and that I'm jealous of Jola because she has her own room (but after all she is an only child; maybe it's better to have a brother after all?). Now, in the church, I can't lose my crib sheet of sins which I spent a whole day working hard on. Not because it would fall into the hands of the guy who sits in the back row, and whose turn it is next. The fact of the matter is, that without it, I won't be able to utter a single word once I'm in the confessional. Not that I would forget what I've written down (is confession null and void if you forget something?), it's just hard to remember all those set phrases you have to learn: "This is my first time in confession... I can't remember any other sins... I ask you Father for penance and forgiveness..." Three knocks on the side of the confessional. Phew, finally time to get up from kneeling in these stalls. The boy looks at me jealously. It's his turn. Now what's happened to that bit of paper I crumpled up in my nervous state?

The culmination of this fear lets itself known on Sunday afternoon. This is a fear which is both regular, as well as metaphysical, in the most grave meaning of the term. From the very outset of Mass I ponder whether I will be able to swallow the Host, after all it is Jesus Himself. And what would happen, if I start choking or drop Him on the floor? Will it hurt Him? I just hope I won't bite off the priest's fingers when he gives out communion. On the other hand, did I really manage to confess well yesterday? What if I didn't? Maybe I managed to perform some sort of new sin? (After this thought a panic-driven lightning-speed balance of conscience, repeated a few times during the sermon). So in a moment, when I kneel in front of the altar, will I be struck by lightning, like in the stories about Zeus? A child who goes for First Communion doesn't have any problems with the actual reality of the Sacrament.

When the children leave church in orderly lines to be greeted with flowers and presents, be photographed with their parents, siblings, grand-parents and god-parents, they do not feel happy, but rather a huge sense of relief. Their parents kind of feel it too...

*

A wreath, a lily, a candle - symbols of First Communion, illumination, lucidity, innocence. Maybe happiness in addition? At the same time a first dress (true, it is white, but usually quite stylish) and a first suit made to measure, a white shirt with cuffs and a tie. First Communion is an experience that crosses the limit, an experience that crosses a boundary - by pushing a child into adulthood.

Agnieszka Sabor

THE INNOCENT TIME - exhibition

06.06.2009-15.08.2009
The Camelot&FIM Gallery

Address: ul. Św. Tomasza 17/Kraków
tel. 0048-12- 421 04 72
e-mail: galeria@galeriacamelot.eu

 
Curator: Andrzej Kramarz

The exhibition organized by: Fundacja Imago Mundi

Muzeum Etnograficzne im. Seweryna Udzieli w Krakowie

Partners:

Galeria Camelot&FIM

Kolektyw Fotografów Visavis.pl

free entrance / thusday-sunday /12 a.m.-6 p.m. /

* the exhibition is acompanied by a catalogue - limited edition 350 copies