I wasted my childhood and youth. I didn't listen to the Rolling Stones or Depeche Mode. Graphic designers were my rock stars.

At Piotr Wicha's house, slippers, pouffes and wall units are strictly prohibited. Export-rejected clogs make wooden noise with every step. Posters by Świerzy, Lego sets, father's drawing board and the recommendations column in a lifestyle magazine become carefully defended outposts in his war against the ugliness of Communist Poland. Then the architect's son becomes a designer. The political system changes. The chief enemy, however, is still the same, only clothed in more garish colours. 'Our logotypes are too small!', fret the clients. In the media emotions rank higher than facts, while discussions about colours give graphic designers heart attacks... 'Fall in love with design', entreat TV screens in Warsaw trams. Carefully planned space orders hotel guests around much more efficiently than security people. Whoever said that design was to make the world a better place?

This collection of short, flamboyant texts resembles images in a caleidoscope, reflecting the esthetic face of Poland in the last forty years. It combines humour and erudition with a good dollop of literary talent. Marcin Wicha proves that design is by no means innocent. But even though designers often experience truly grotesque situations, their job never ceases to amaze and delight.