Words by Art Jefferson
Photography by Gene Glover

The moniker aint about me seems fitting for poet, author, and artist Lukasz Polowczyk. For years penning pieces that are social windows, his observations of the ever affairs of the world, even at its most horrid, are confronted with humility and grace that allows him to sit in a position of critical understanding. Despite the emotional attachments to the topics, it’s not about him. It’s about digging into the core of humanity, wrestling with the philosophical questions of how and why, as well as any possibilities of bringing them to a point of right. And even that gets complicated.

Though based in Berlin, Polowczyk’s lenses have been shaped through his excursions growing up in New York City during a potent time of Hip-Hop’s golden era, punk and hardcore’s underground rumble, the danger that blanketed the city like a comforter, and its multiculturalism that stood prevalent especially in his borough of Queens. That melting pot allowed for a distinct style of expression that is evident in his writings, and absolutely gripping for readers and listeners. The stark vividness of his work fosters imagery so detailed, you feel like an extra standing in various scenes of his films of reality. Mind you, while some of these movies are autobiographical, you don’t feel it’s about…him. It’s about all. It’s about every character that made up the experiences, one piece of the puzzle equally as important as the next to form the big picture.

Lukasz Polowczyk’s latest work Pink Warm Belly Of A Dying Sun is a record with multi-instrumentalist and composer Prairie (Marc Jacobs). The experimental album found him deep diving into some of the most ill and grim aspects of humanity. Yet despite the darkness of the tone, there is an undenied beauty that prevails throughout, with the words delivered via an emotive truth aided by Prairie’s sometimes calming, sometimes utterly haunting soundscape. Pink Warm Belly Of A Dying Sun also manifested into a full art exhibition featuring visual artists Brigitte Fässler, Clemens Behr, TiND, and Manuel Carbone, which took place in Berlin on November 15th, 2024. Garnishing acclaim, the project has now been published as a book, which not only features the writings of Polowczyk, but also documents the exhibition, and features interviews with all creatives involved. Like his previous releases, Pink Warm Belly Of A Dying Sun is a shared experience, with the multifaceted artist being a vessel, an ambassador of life’s every component. It’s about that ounce of glimmering light, the hopeful love, that honesty and the nuances that exist in it. It’s about us.

You are no stranger to providing a visual experience with your recordings. However, with Pink Warm Belly of a Dying Sun this was done in conjunction with a full-on art installation in Berlin, which featured artists Manuel Carbone, TiND, Clemens Behr, and Brigette Fässler. Talk about the inception of this project.

Lukasz Polowczyk: Whenever I finish an album, I take a moment to think about the best way to present it. On the one hand, I want to celebrate the project—give it a vehicle, a body in which it can live, even if only briefly, out in the real world. The digital landscape is so flat and very fast food-like. The medium is certainly great for getting information out quickly and efficiently, with no crazy overheads, but it also makes everything feel disposable. The speed at which things are consumed also changes the experience—it’s always surface-level, and context is non-existent.

This project is dense; it requires a bit of work from the listener, which also translates to time. So presenting it in a gallery context felt right. Plus, I was really buzzing off the idea of being able to step into the album—literally. Lastly, I wanted to have some access to how others experience this material, so having the work refracted through the expressions of other artists, their work, felt like the right approach.

You worked with producer and multi-instrumentalist Marc Jacobs, better known as Prairie, on this project. What I found interesting is that you wrote about him preferring to be a loner when creating in the studio, yet this felt like a hand-in-glove collaborative effort. The soundscape is beautifully cinematic at times and haunting and jarring at others. What was the experience like working with Marc?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I had no idea that Marc was so precious about his creative space—that it’s not easy for him to share it with others. I only found out once the project was finished; it came up in a conversation we had as a tangent. I would have never guessed because the whole exchange felt so natural. It was just an extension of our never-ending conversation, which, in this case, happened to be expressed through music and poetry.

But beyond the process being so smooth, I think we were properly aligned in terms of frequencies—what we were vibing on, our obsessions with sound, what we were feeling, and the concerns we shared. I mean, the seed for the collaboration was planted when I heard Marc’s record ‘And the Bird Said: Cut Me Open and Sing Me.’ It touched me deeply; it felt very familiar emotionally, and I thought, “Now is the time for us to do something together.”
We’ve known each other for a very long time and had casually spoken about working together, but it was this album of his that made the collaboration feel urgent—at least for me.

While your work can be highly introspective, the outer perspective has been just as prevalent. With your latest writings, what made you want to delve deep into the harsh and brutal acts of man, which at times can foster a morbid outlook?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I didn’t choose to write about these specific topics. As a matter of fact, I was writing this simultaneously with the material for ‘Indigo Sine Wave.’ And I have no idea why that batch of songs turned out so personal, while this body of work addressed what’s going on in the world—albeit through an impressionistic lens and, often, through the prism of dream logic.

I write using stream of consciousness, so what appears on a piece of paper or my laptop screen is always a revelation to me. I think the music has a lot to do with where the words end up going because I write to the music. But how this actually works is a mystery to me. Certainly, music dictates the emotional tone, but I also see pictures while I’m writing. The question is whether the music is responsible for those as well or if it just gives shape to what’s already been brewing inside of me.

I am certainly concerned about the world. Some of these concerns are mine; some are media implants. It’s hard not to go morbid after a deep dive into the day’s newsfeed. 

While the topic itself can be quite grim, you manage to pen each piece with a level of empathy and human integrity. How important is it for you personally to preserve humanity when touching on a subject like this?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I’m a radical humanist—I love people! I think we’re fucked up, we’re fallible, but generally, most people, when given the space and the means to thrive—when they are not manipulated ideologically—are beautiful beings by design.

In general, I interact with everyone, regardless of where they come from or what “tribal” affiliation they might subscribe to, on a human level—eye level, heart level. I don’t see people as representatives of groups but as individuals. It’s very unfortunate that we are so easily manipulated and programmed—that we are formatted in school from an early age to not question the software we are running. This is why most people don’t question the ideas they hold to be true; they don’t think about the algorithms undepinning their opinions.

Plus, we are living in a time when people literally don’t have the time to think or thoroughly digest the information they consume in a day because they’re working their asses off to survive, all while being incessantly bombarded with information. And the information is no longer structured—your favorite pop artist burping is given the same level of importance in your feed as children dying in a bombing, as shifts in geopolitics, a 5-minute recipe…

You have to be forgiving! And as artists, I think our role right now should be to restore this lost humanism and create spaces and experiences where we can really SEE each other again.

We’ve discussed your taking a “less is more” approach to your art these days. Was that the case with Pink Warm Belly…? And if so, was that due to feeling like you’ve said everything you wanted to say regarding these specific topics, or was it due to the overall package being presented as both an album and an installation?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I guess you’re referring to the conversation we had the other day, where you said you wish this album had been longer, right? Well, I certainly subscribe to the “less is more” approach, in that I reduce everything I’m working on to its essence. I’m brutal when it comes to editing or stripping down arrangements, dropping songs that don’t serve a purpose on an album or detract from the core narrative—I just love when things do what they’re supposed to do.

There is so much out there already, possibly even too much, so if I’m going to release something, it better be devoid of filler. I also don’t have the time to listen to albums that are longer than 45 minutes; like, I literally have to listen to them in parts. 

I want to touch on ‘Moths.’ On the surface, it could appear that the subjects are just unruly kids causing trouble and damage to anything in their paths. However, if you change the perspective, it could also be seen as a rebellion—kids reacting to a problem that has been overlooked for decades. I think of police brutality. I think of the 1965 Watts Rebellion, the brutal beating of Rodney King in 1991, and down to the George Floyd murder in 2020, which sparked worldwide protests. In one of the lines, you wrote, “Somebody pray for them.” How would you like listeners and readers to digest this particular piece?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I see it the same way as you. As a matter of fact, that line “dragging drivers out their fancy vehicles and beating them silly” takes me back to Rodney King and the riots that ensued after the verdict, when the cops walked unpunished. What I love about this piece is that it’s open-ended; it’s open to interpretation. I have mine, but I’m sure it will hit different people in different ways.

As for that bystander commenting on what he or she sees, and that line, “somebody pray for them”—I actually see it more as a genuine concern, a compassionate stance. It’s someone praying for these kids, hoping that their actions don’t elicit a response that will crush them—literally or figuratively—or ruin their futures. I guess this is me thinking about the situation from the perspective of being a parent. I’m instilling values in my children that could, in some foreseeable future, put them on the front lines. If this idealism—this radical humanism—that I’m imparting to them takes root, I’m aware that the consequences could be real.

Before I came to Berlin, I went to see Angela Davis speak. After the event, I met some activists who took part in the Seattle G-8 riots. This one gentleman had been caught and was going to trial for his participation, and if he were to lose, they would pin millions in damages on him. That would translate to either a lifetime of debt or a very, very long sentence. I wonder what happened to him…

Thinking of yin and yang, are the ills of the world necessary to foster a universal balance?

Lukasz Polowczyk: I don’t think of the ills of the world as some sort of catalyst or agent of change. I also find it extremely fascinating that in every conflict, both sides are convinced they are in the right. Having said that, I think the world—both nature and culture—its movement and constant unfolding, is based on a perpetual, incessant negotiation between opposite forces. It’s like a swinging pendulum. The fact that it swings with equal force in both directions, that, in itself, is the balancing act, but a stable equilibrium is not possible. In nature, however, at least the negotiation serves some practical purpose. When it comes to humans, we are dealing with ideologies, which are mostly fictions—just stories we tell ourselves. It’s usually messy, often irrational. Unfortunately!

How are you internalising pieces like this as you’re writing them? 

Lukasz Polowczyk: The act of writing them is like an exorcism, a revelation… I never know what will appear on the page, and once it’s there, outside of the immediate emotional impact, it takes me time to decipher what these things are actually saying. I don’t know how it feels to hear one of these compositions for someone who is hearing it for the first time, but I can imagine that it’s as much of a discovery for me as it is for them. That’s why I’m addicted to stream-of-consciousness writing and process-based music or art making—because I love that moment of revelation. And these pieces, my reading of them, changes over time; I discover hidden meanings in words and lines.

This one line from ‘Indigo Sine Wave’ popped into my head the other day, and I realized that you can read it both ways. I certainly saw it a certain way when I recorded it, but even the vocal delivery leaves space for interpretation. So depending on what the listener’s experience of a relationship is at the moment of hearing it, they will read it through that filter. I love ambiguity, things left unsaid, unfinished, open-ended, because in life, nothing is really what it appears to be. Time, context, access to information, and the perspective taken can change everything.

Because art and music are subjective, do you think it is possible to use them as societal reflection tools for mass change?

Lukasz Polowczyk: That’s a difficult question. I mean, I know that art shapes how people think, feel, how they define themselves, and how they see the other. I wouldn’t be who I am without punk rock or having lived through early rave culture or the golden age of hip hop. These subcultures gave me critical thinking tools, reframed my spirituality, taught me how to express myself, and put me on a path to self-discovery and forging my own voice, perspective, etc. So, I know that these things work. Seeing Ryuichi Sakamoto live back in the 90s altered me for life, as did going to a Bill Viola retrospective—I see the world differently thanks to these folks. Discovering John Cage or Éliane Radigue—same thing.

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