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A little more

about the author

Mister Marcin went to school in the year his parents took part in the first free elections in Poland. One of the uncles grabbed the hand of a few-year-old boy, said "he has talent, he will play" and took him to an audition to a music school. Passed exam, assignment: violin.


Too bad words for frequent, long-lasting lessons, thousands of hours of practice and games. At the age of twelve, Mister Marcin changed the instrument to the double bass. After a well-known initiate, an outstanding university class at High School No. 4 in Toruń and a double matura exam (high school and music school), he began studies at the Academy of Music in Warsaw. Concerts, scholarships, composing, first-time job, chronic illness, recovery; after illness, changed forever, he graduated from the Fryderyk Chopin University of Music.

The art of the latter, much disliked by Mister Marcin as a child, ultimately contributed to the birth of a deep passion for music.

While training to be a concert artist in the musical corners of Europe, Mister Marcin from time to time crouched in the capital, where he also warmed up a bench in the halls of the Warsaw School of Economics. Despite the fact that he graduated from great schools, he would not exaggerate with the value of the knowledge obtained in them, because anything shapes them better than a rough, changeable and sometimes unbearable life in which we have to arrange our own nest and do nothing about the rest. If there is no time for such trifles, the author advises, speaking in English, "not to stick your head out of your box [of shoes]."

On April 2, 2008, with the first rehearsal in the history of the ensemble, in the rehearsal room of the Grand Theater of the National Opera, Mister Marcin made himself at home in the Polish Sinfonia Iuventus Orchestra. Long story short, remained her musician for over six years. For most of that time, he was also the team inspector.

It's hard to say what the inspector is for. In short - from everything: from checking the presence of musicians at desktops, checking working time and communication with the conductor, ending with serious lectures, checking technical preparation, keeping order, giving interviews for the press and television, writing reports, saving lives, or finding lost artists on tours in exotic countries; some say it is all collectively called "clinging." Usually it is said by those musicians who give the inspector the most unnecessary work and who need to be admonished and even supervised the most on behalf of their own band. Ahoy adventure! Every day of the inspector is different and new. You never know when the "first time" will happen to you.


In environments closer to SGH, they call it mister fix-it. Mr. "arrange it": he will check, repair, save, conjure up, arrange for items left in the previous hotel thousands of kilometers behind the orchestra. The inspector is supposed to whiten artists before the management and management before the artists, and above all, he is always guilty - also for the faults of his superiors.

People of business, action, "parties" and "state parties" often think that the orchestra is a creation from an alien galaxy. This is not true, here is an example. A well-known director and conductor in one person made a silly and very distasteful mistake rummaging through a well-organized project. While his orchestra's excellent office was preparing this beautiful project, the director spent many weeks on his own concert tours with other orchestras. After returning to the bosom of "his" orchestra, he struggled with a visible sense of guilt that in his absence so many things had been organized without him. He decided to add something from himself. It was a big mistake. Matters settled long ago with a group of international partners and organizers suddenly, at the whim of the Director, fell into chaos and disarray. Two instructions and one command were enough. It's called talent! The project was hung by a thread only because the gentleman wanted to heal self-guilt and ease the pain of being "left out". Anything to do.

The change had extremely unpleasant consequences for several organizations and dozens of people. Realizing the tasteless blunder and disarray he had caused, the conductor summoned the young inspector and instructed him to stand in front of the artists and announce that it was his inspector's fault. The faithful young man did the same: he gave the orchestra a reliable account of receiving these instructions.


When you are an inspector, a lot of people try to make their problems and shortcomings yours. Lifestyle not recommended, unless you want to learn to live. A job for the smart and tough guys.


In the meantime, Mister Marcin played tango with some great individualities, wrote music, participated in the educational programs of the National Philharmonic, and played philharmonic concerts. Above all, however, he watched the world and for seven years he carried out observation and research work on the effectiveness of the work process in artistic teams. A random, very inspiring meeting with business coaching environments resulted in the development of the Author's new profession, his later style of managing other international institutions, and caused the ideas to develop and become inquisitive into volumes. To sum it up in one sentence: the point was that "this was done in the time of Mozart, so it is good." Meanwhile, this noble maxim ignores the fact that nowadays we no longer ride horses.


Mister Marcin found ways to accelerate and significantly improve work processes, but the calcified skeleton of the artistic and academic world is most afraid of new devices and blows to his osteoporosis. Nudity. The artistic community likes old tidying up; did not seem to be particularly interested, or perhaps even concerned, with the trial; and after receiving refusals from several European universities ("sir, it is long overdue when someone should have done it, but we do not know where to put your idea in the scientific grid") ...


... Mister Marcin, as if out of the ground, received a job offer in Cambodia.


He became the director of the oldest music school in Cambodia. He still remembers selling his belongings from a house in one of the quiet streets of Warsaw's Wola three weeks earlier. He stuffed the rest of the basements and attics of kind people, gave the family the car keys, kissed the Warsaw Mermaid on the forehead, and landed in Phnom Penh less than a day later.


It was a change. Mister Marcin had no idea what to do, because it all turned out to be completely different than it seemed to be. No wonder. When a man has only a feeling and no idea what to expect, he is full of illusions. But in those days, he thought to himself, "If there's anyone in this world crazy enough to go to the end of the world into the unknown and the unknown, it's probably me." Friends confirmed, the family did not deny it.


The author learned many solid lessons, suffered disgraceful failures and achieved spectacular successes. In Cambodia, things are not going as in Europe, where the concrete order is maintained by regulations, law, organizations and organizations controlling other organizations. There is a jungle out there.


In Europe, we are quite comprehensively (although ... well?) Educated, aware, encouraged to cooperate and not to remain alone. We have friends who are open to listening and willing to support. We are taught responses to various attitudes, symptoms, we disagree, and we react when we experience sadness, violence or justified fear. It is completely different in Asia. Man is there alone, about which a few words will appear on this Blog.

As one of the foreign conductors living in Poland said: “Europe is already buttoned up with the penultimate button, concreted in its finitude. On the grounds of science, philosophy and art, a slow evolution is taking place, keeping pace with what is present. There are still worlds where development and change are rapid, unpredictable, exciting, powerful! "


Welcome to Cambodia! When you start a day, you never know how you will end it. Six of the seven meetings you are having today will happen without prior notice or appointment; visitors will let you know that they are "on their way". Most of them can be sneaked out. Some of them you cannot refuse, because they are respected units of local authorities and communities. Employees sitting around a failed project entrusted to them may not understand that it was because of them that the world ended and collapsed. They'll be surprised that you scream. If you raise your voice, they will likely quit their jobs without notice. When you ask the staff to do something simple in two hours ... In three hours they will still gossip nibbling over sour mangoes with salt and dried chili sprinkles. They will give you. It would be a great tactic not to be served.


On many mornings, when you open your eyes, you will look around and think, "What have I ... done to myself ..." You miss the West, where each day is roughly predictable and similar to everyone else. After all, it is in Asia that these other days come when you are like an icebreaker. You feel that you are the right person at the right time and place, surrounded by the right people, doing the right thing, and acting for the right purpose. Each day can take you into the unknown and not much depends on us. Are you sure?...

The content of Mister Marcin's work in Cambodia was to repair small fragments of a difficult world and often extinguish hell under this worldly heaven. Training and experience in Asian cultures, global finance, arts, communication, and much more, it all started through the Kingdom of Cambodia ...

If it weren't for the absurd, abstractly beautiful and wild, civilized-primeval Cambodia, huge fruit dripping with sugar juices falling from the trees, denting the metal sheets of Bentleys and Rolls-Royce standing beneath them, the emotions of negotiations at stuffy fairs and air-conditioned VIP rooms during general meetings meetings, the magic of making everything out of nothing, the dangers and the unbelievable twists and turns of this journey, it would not be as it is today.

Sometimes a bitter doctorate of patience has a sweet aftertaste on the tip of the tongue, and sweetness, like an appetite, grows with time.

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