When I moved to Amsterdam, I experienced a lot of shame around coming from Poland. Here, as in many other Western European cities Eastern Europeans can be looked down upon – even though we still possess the privileges of being white. There is a lot of stereotypes around, for example, being thieves and drinking too much. Back then polish ruling party was doing horrible things (as they still are) like initiating aggression towards lgbtq+ community and refugees, limiting (already scarce) access to abortion, lying, stealing, destroying public finances and democracy. All served in catholic and patriotic narrative of defending Poland. I didn’t want to be associated with that. I was happy when someone didn’t guess my accent or when I didn’t have to explain where I came from.
At the same time being an immigrant was hard. And being an immigrant who doesn’t know how to relate to where they come from was even harder. Like a weird, painful wound I could not understand.
Still I would go regularly to Poland, visit my family and my sweet queer feminist community. I would passionately buy books and magazines to bring back to my new home with me. And food. I would eat a lot of traditional, veganized dishes and my grandmas preserves. And these preserves I would also take in my suitcase back to Amsterdam.
In Poland there is a pejorative word for people from small cities, who go for weekend to their family homes, get stashed with local food (in jars!) and then at the end of the weekend travel with those jars to the big city where they live and work.
I became an international Jar. I would avoid planes, not only because flying is bad for the Earth, but because I would not be able to take grandma’s cucumbers or my mum’s pickled pumpkin. Then, back in Amsterdam I would eat potato salad and read latest books that were published in Polish. My guts (which love fermented goods) and my eastern european friends in Amsterdam were very happy.
These home-made jars with fermented food actually allowed me to find something about my roots that I could be very proud of. Of course I was extremely proud of feminist and queer comrades fighting on the streets for freedom and basic human rights! But these jars helped me rebuild my deeper connection to where I come from.
I made this 12 ceramic cups and bowls to appreciate and honor this experience, my roots, my grandmother’s best fermented cucumbers and my other ancestors who knew how to preserve food and take care of each other, wherever we currently are.
