Letters & Stationery

A City Written in Vertical Lines. There are cities that reveal themselves at street level, in the crush of sidewalks and storefronts and passing faces. Detroit has another language. Look upward and the city begins to speak in stone, in copper, in long vertical lines rising into an enormous Midwestern sky. Here, architecture carries the memory. The great towers of downtown still hold the ambition of another America—the age when buildings were given crowns, carved entrances, ornamental ribs and silhouettes meant to be recognised from blocks away.

Tarnowskie Góry is a city whose origins are inseparable from the ground beneath it. Unlike settlements formed around rivers, fortresses, or royal seats, it emerged from extraction — from the discovery of silver-bearing ore at the end of the fifteenth century. According to tradition, the first significant find occurred around 1490, when a peasant uncovered a fragment of silver while working the fields. What followed was not a sudden transformation, but a measured process: the organization of labor, the arrival of miners and craftsmen, and the gradual shaping of an urban structure anchored in work beneath the surface.

Gdańsk is a city formed at the intersection of land and water, faith and trade. Its earliest recorded mention appears in 997, when the missionary Wojciech—later Saint Adalbert—passed through the settlement at the mouth of the Motława River. In the account of the monk Jan Kanapariusz, the name urbs Gydannyzc marks its first written trace. From the beginning, Gdańsk existed in circulation: of people, beliefs, and goods.

This limited edition series unfolds at the threshold between the built world and its afterimage. Originating from photographs of real urban structures, the images have been gently expanded into a quieter, more speculative territory—where architecture sheds its certainty and becomes atmosphere. Familiar forms stretch, repeat, and dissolve into pale fields of light, as if memory itself were doing the reconstruction.