After Grandma Masia’s death, it was not certain what to do with the tenement house in Celna Street. The three Stuhr brothers had already died. The only living descendants of the family were my father, his son – that is, myself – and my own son Maciek, born in June 1975.
My father refused to have anything to do with the house – he even ceased to go to Celna Street. He made me his plenipotentiary with regard to all inheritance issues. What it boiled down to was that I transferred to his account part of the income from maintaining the house. This house, which was the site of so many family passions, conflicts and attachments, suddenly became strange to us. It was now inhabited by strangers. It not only slipped away from our hands, but also from our thoughts and feelings.
No sooner had Piotr Łazarkiewicz invited me to join his project of shooting ten-minute films about Krakow by directors associated with this city than I realized how important the family property is for me. At once I hit upon an idea of making a film about a Krakow tenement house and a pensioner living there, inspired by Grandma Masia. I would show how the amiable elderly lady cuts a lacy collar out of a piece of paper and adorns her black blouse with it, just as Grandma Masia did when she run out of money for a new blouse. I would show how she puts up with the freezing cold house after the gas supply was turned off and she can’t afford to have the equipment repaired, yet she goes to a concert in the Krakow Cloth Hall anyway since music is something she lives and breathes. For me, my grandma was a symbol of fight for maintaining proper social level despite the poverty of those days. As regards the house where she lived, I considered it a symbol of putting down roots in this city.