The Sculptor’s Path: A Chance Encounter with Blanka Kamińska’s Chokokukadō
A spontaneous stop in Gdańsk leads to a quiet encounter with Bushidō, sculpture, and the art of shaping the self
It was one of those rare, unscripted moments that only happen when you leave the map behind.
I had been wandering the streets of Gdańsk—no agenda, no museum checklist, no must-see Google pins—just letting the city show itself on its own terms. Somewhere between the cobbled streets and the faint hum of summer traffic, I passed by a building that caught my eye. It wasn’t imposing or overly ornate. In fact, it was open—welcoming, like a thought half-formed but worth finishing. I stepped inside.
The space was quiet, save for the subtle creaks of floorboards and the low murmur of others who, like me, had stumbled in. That’s how I found myself inside Zbrojownia Sztuki, home to the 16th edition of Najlepsze Dyplomy Artystyczne—a national exhibition showcasing the best diploma works from art academies across Poland.
What struck me wasn’t just the diversity of media or the range of ideas—though there was plenty of both—but how deeply personal so much of it felt. These weren’t just final projects. They were declarations. Farewells. Sometimes wounds. Sometimes manifestos.
But among the many works, one stopped me cold: Blanka Kamińska’s Chokokukadō – Droga rzeźbiarza. A title that didn’t just name the piece—it hinted at a way of life.
There’s a quiet gravity in the presence of sculpture. A stillness that demands something more than a glance. Blanka’s work, both in form and philosophy, invited exactly that kind of attention. Her project—structured around seven values inspired by Bushidō, the ancient Japanese warrior code—wasn’t just a collection of objects. It was a system of thought. A sculptor’s code.
The accompanying text paraphrased Robert Pirsig in a way that stayed with me long after I left:
“In reality, you never work on the sculpture, but on yourself.
The sculpture, which seems to be outside you, and the person, who seems to be inside you, are not separate entities.
Together, they either move away from or toward perfection.”
Standing before her work, it was impossible not to reflect on the truth of that idea, not just for artists, but for anyone trying to create something meaningful. Whether you’re chiselling marble, writing words, building a business, or shaping a life, it’s never just about the “thing.” It’s about the self who’s making it, and the distance you’re willing to travel toward refinement, failure, or clarity.
Blanka’s sculptures weren’t loud. They didn’t shout for attention. But they radiated discipline. Purpose. The kind of elegance that comes from deep thought and deeper practice. They seemed to stand still and breathe, as if they themselves were meditating. And maybe they were.
As I took a few photographs—nothing flashy, just mementoes—I didn’t feel like a tourist documenting a stop. I felt like a guest inside someone’s inner world. Someone who had taken the long way. The patient way. The way of the sculptor.
I walked back out into the Gdańsk afternoon, changed in that subtle way art sometimes changes you: not with grand epiphany, but with a nudge. A moment of alignment.
I hadn’t planned to be there. But Chokokukadō found me anyway.
And I’m grateful it did.