Bruno Schulz was a Polish Jewish writer. Despite being born with a humble background in the small town of Drohobycz (formerly Poland) Ukraine and has chosen to stay there almost his whole life, Schulz's extraordinary imagination has exceeded the limit of his hometown. In his literary work, the most prosaic events of daily life turn intriguing, alluring and full of mystery: those events become demanding, demanding of attention, demanding of time that time has to grow out the 13th month to prevent those events from being left "in the cold, unregistered, hanging in the air, homeless and errant."

​In Schulz's universe, dead things are never simple dead, they shiver underneath the hard, matted shell, transform into another substance, they tremble and germinate... Those matters, like his prose, each finds themselves crossing the infinite time and space, boundless, unrestrained...