Taras Voznyak

There are countless answers if one asks what the purpose of human artistic activities is and what art itself is. And all of them are correct in some way. They are as relevant within a certain range of what we call “reality” as the laws of Sir Isaac Newton (1643–1727), even though a new physics, described by Albert Einstein (1879–1955) in his theory of relativity, was formulated a hundred years ago. At the same time, it must be noted that all these answers address partial cases. Or they pertain not to a comprehensive understanding of artistic activities (and we will later see that this involves activities in their broadest, most all-encompassing sense) but to specific spheres of human activities that are distinguished as particular “artistic” domains, as if artistic acts are carried out only in relation to these specific domains and not concerning other spheres of human activities. This, of course, is a very artificial division. It was once believed that artistic acts could only relate to the “beautiful” or “beauty” and that the abhorrent and drastic were not part of artistic acts. Of course, this narrows the essence of creative acts, which indeed encompass artistic acts. Therefore, we must clarify that we are not discussing “fine arts” (French: Les beaux-arts, German: feine Künste or schöne Künste), nor mere craftsmanship or applied arts, but rather the creativity of a person in shaping the environment around them, an individual’s creativity in shaping the world. We will focus on creative practices that I would term “artistic”, as they require a particular skill, craftsmanship, and artistry but extend far beyond traditional notions of the “fine arts”. So, the definitions of conventional “artistic” subjects are irrelevant here; they are only partial aspects. And what interests us is exploring the broadest understanding of creative (or “artistic”, as I understand it) practices.

However, even by radically expanding the sphere to which human creative or artistic activities relate, we can see that we are dealing with three different definitions of the nature of “artistic” practices.

It appears that they are seemingly unrelated to each other. Moreover, they contradict each other.

The first, most simple definition within this already expanded interpretation of the artistic practices’ nature is that the artistic act should “reflect” the world (mimetic function – from the Greek μίμησις – imitation, μιμεῖσθαι “to imitate”). But to “reflect” the world, it must undergo a certain process because it doesn’t “reveal” things but phenomena. A person “gathers” and “constructs” “things” from them, and then, as their sum, the entire comprehensive “world” in which we live. And thus, this “artistic” practice, in a specific sense of the word, “presents” the person’s own “world” to them. However, in doing so, the person works with phenomena that are already present to them in this world through senses (such as things), feelings (such as states), and even through intellectual efforts (such as mathematical entities). One does not go beyond the present, beyond the continuum of what has appeared to them and, accordingly, became accessible. The sum of the world “gathered” and “reflected” in this way is limited, confined within its continuum, and only reduces to this present realm. Therefore, this interpretation of artistic practices reduces solely to “gathering the world” and “reflecting the world”. At the same time, the first definition of artistic practices’ nature does not complete or build the world further; it only “gathers” and “reflects” it. Despite their apparent “creative” nature, artistic practices of the first type operate within a limited continuum of the existing, already present phenomena. Their sole function is to “gather things and the world”, giving it the familiar appearance of a collection of things, a locked continuum of entities.

The second view within this already expanded interpretation of the artistic practices’ nature is that the artistic act is the tool or process that, unlike the first type of artistic practices, “discloses”, “completes”, and “develops” the world. Through artistic practices of the second type, the world breaks out from the continuum of presences into the non-present, into that which is beyond the world as a continuum of being. These second-type practices are much more elusive and mysterious than the first-type. Artistic practices of the second type “draw” new existences from the non-being, the non-apparent, the world-transcendent, and “place” them before us; that is, they “place” them into the world. They work with the non-present rather than the present, unlike artistic practices of the first type. Through artistic practices of the second type, the world as we know it is enlarged and expanded. What enables this transition from the non-apparent to the apparent, and hence into essence, is something mysterious and elusive that accompanies all that is present, namely the existence, which is delineated by the term “being”. However, it is not possible to fully delineate it. Yet, desperate efforts are made. But for our purposes in this discussion, this remark will suffice.

The third definition within this expanded interpretation of the artistic practices’ nature pertains specifically to relationships with the “being”. Therefore, the third definition entails that the artistic act does not merely aim to “reflect” things or the world or to “draw out” these things into the world to “place” them before us, thereby creating that world. Instead, it performs a truly mysterious function – it preserves the connection with the mysterious “being”, reaching the existential essence of the world, the very foundation of its existence. The third type of artistic practice imposes and maintains the world’s connection with its fundamental essence, the being. “If we say that entities ‘have meaning’, this signifies that they have become accessible in their Being; and this Being, as projected upon its ‘upon-which’, is what ‘really’ ‘has meaning’ first of all. Entities ‘have’ meaning only because, as Being which has been disclosed beforehand, they become intelligible in the projection of that Being…” [1; 373]. Artistic practices of the third type restore the primary and often unconscious or lost sense of the world, which lies in its connection with its existential foundation. Thus, the interpreted artistic practices restore the existential, meaning-giving essence of things and the world and restore and preserve the existential foundation within the human being itself. This third type of practice overcomes the alienation of human beings from the existential foundation of the world, and themselves embodied within it. Therefore, the third type of practice restores the “human authenticity” to the person, the authenticity of their dwelling, being-in-the-world, and being-with-the-world.

Which of these practices should we prefer? One that merely reflects the presence? The reflective one? One that “heals” the world into a certain, albeit closed, unity?

Or perhaps the practice that expands the world, probing the spaces of the non-apparent and “drawing” new phenomena into existence? Or maybe the one that returns to the world and, simultaneously, to a person, their connection to existence?

As we can see, all these definitions relate to the human being, the world, and how it relates to the human, as well as the relation of a human and the world to existence.

Therefore, all three definitions of artistic practices complement each other rather than contradict each other, and they make sense.

We will lose ourselves if we lose the profound connection with the existential foundation of the world, which artistic practices of the third type prevent, helping us to maintain or restore this connection.

We live not in a closed, limited-by-presence world that does not expand and remains frozen in its continuum but in a living and dynamic world (and here it is worth mentioning in passing the well-known physical, not philosophical, theory of “expanding universe” in a completely unexpected, philosophical sense of the word). Artistic practices of the second type, rightfully called creative, assist individuals in constructing their abode, the world in which they are embodied.

We would live in a world of illusions, fata morganas, where appearances are unbound to anything, if we did not “gather” them into wholeness, into things, into the world, and thus into ourselves within it. With the help of the first-typed practices, we gather these phenomena into a solid foundation called “the world”. Therefore, artistic practices of the first type delineate this process of “gathering” the world, giving it a “material” form, endowing it with “reality”, but not in the traditional, simplified sense of the word.

So, we have three separate definitions of the essence and tasks or functions of artistic acts. And it seems that these three types of acts are not connected in any way. Moreover, they lead to different definitions of the nature of art as a particular kind of human activity. Is it so? Perhaps these different types of artistic acts relate to different spheres of the emergence of what we simplistically call “the world”? In reality, it seems that the functioning of these three types of artistic activities relates to different levels of the functioning of the “world” itself.

Therefore, we cannot avoid combining these three practices, which, as we see, have profound meaning in the relationships between a person, the world, and existence.

Let us start with the first definition: like every act of observation and experience through distinct phenomena, the artistic act uniquely brings them together into “wholeness”. We then call it either “thing” (when referring to a limited circle of clearly related phenomena) or “world” (when referring to all accessible phenomena that have come together as “things”).

By “things” I mean not only “objects” in our usual everyday sense, such as stones or lamps. I also refer to entities that can be considered ideal: ideas, abstract concepts like numbers, relationships between ideas and numbers (objects of logic, thought, or mathematics), philosophical categories, and subjects of philosophical inquiry in general, and so on. They, too, are, in the broadest sense of the word, “things” that, in a specific manner (which we will discuss later), “enter into” essence, become “present”, and collectively “create” our world. When I expanded the concept of “things”, I referred to an attempt by the founder of phenomenology as a philosophical direction, Edmund Husserl (1859–1938), to rely precisely on these seemingly ideal essences in the quest for a solid foundation in the world of such uncertain and ephemeral phenomena – “<...> Moreover, this world is there for me not only as a world of mere things, but also with the same immediacy as a world of objects with values, a world of goods, a practical world. I simply find the physical things in front of me furnished not only with merely material determinations but also with value-characteristics, as beautiful and ugly, pleasant and unpleasant, agreeable and disagreeable, and the like. Immediately, physical things stand there as Objects of use, the ‘table’ with its ‘books’, the ‘drinking glass’, the ‘vase’, the ‘piano’, etc. These value-characteristics and practical characteristics also belong constitutively to the Objects ‘on hand’ as Objects, regardless of whether or not I turn to such characteristics and the Objects. Naturally this applies not only in the case of the ‘mere physical things’, but also in the case of humans and brute animals belonging to my surroundings. They are my ‘friends’ or ‘enemies’, my ‘servants’ or ‘superiors’, ‘strangers’ or ‘relatives’, etc.” [2; 53].

However, the “world” is not a limited number of “things” and processes that eternally repeats its vast cycles, as in Nietzsche (Friedrich Nietzsche, 1844–1900). It is open-ended – new “things” emerge; thus, the world grows, accrues, expands, and diversifies. This “disclosure” is accomplished through the second of the activities we have delineated, which are artistic in their essence. These are acts of “drawing” new presences, new “things”, new “realities” from the non-present, from non-being, as we have come to call these presences.

An insightful reader will immediately recognise or suspect simple acts of cognition here. And they will be both right and not entirely right. They will be wrong because cognition, in our usual understanding, “comprehends” a priori existing “things” and “realities”, about which there is no doubt that they “exist” and are present. This is precisely what Husserl writes about, although he conditions the infinite spatial, temporal, and substantial variability of the thing, yet the same thing, which is unified in all its manifestations by one “idea” of the same thing. Then, this “cognition” is reduced to the first form of artistic activities, when the artistic act consolidates a group of existing phenomena into a specific “thing”, creating a “whole” from them, strictly following Husserl’s phenomenological approach.

In contrast, the second type of activities, which we can call “creative”, are artistic acts of “drawing into existence” the non-present absences, not “essences”, but “absences”, “non-presences”. The second-type acts probe the spaces or spheres of the absence to “pull from them into essence”, to make “existent”, in the simplest and most obvious sense of the word “present”, something that previously did not exist. These acts make something present from the absence of something (if such a phrase can be used), making the absent “something” present and existing. And thereby, they create the world from the sum of these existing “somethings”. Artistic acts of the second type “place” absences in the world of existence, drawing phenomena from their absence into presence, before-us-being, into before-presence.

After that, artistic acts of the first type weld these phenomena, drawn into confrontation, into certain “wholes”, which we call “things”, and the all-encompassing wholeness of things, which we, of course, call the “world”.

However, this “drawing in” of the un-present into the present occurs as an involvement, which makes this un-present “existent”. And what makes the non-present present as a phenomenon is the being. The imposition of a connection with the being constitutes the essence of the third-typed acts. In these acts, the artist addresses the fundamental basis of all that exists – the world. And with this appeal, the artist maintains the connection of the existent with its basis – the being. But “<...> for us Being is only an empty word with an evanescent meaning – then we deposed it and thus demoted it from its authentic rank. In contrast, for our Dasein, this – that we understand Being, if only in an indefinite way – has the highest rank, insofar as in this, a power announces itself in which the very possibility of the essence of our Dasein is grounded… Yet even in order for Dasein to remain an indifferent being for us, we must understand Being” [3; 90]. In this way, the world maintains its connection with its existential basis and, therefore, sustains its constancy, in the complete sense of the word, its solidity while simultaneously sustaining the grounds for development, unfolding, and expanding. Solidity is based on the inseparability of the being with its origin – the being. The existent flows from the being. The existence is sustained by the being as long as it maintains an inseparable connection with it. Therefore, I would even venture to propose such a formula – the existent exists in being around/under/behind the being. The existent cannot exist outside the connection with the being. Thus, the artistic acts of the third type provide this connection between the being and the present.

As we can see, all these seemingly different functions and definitions of forms of artistic activities/acts are not so unrelated to each other. In reality, they are parts of the same process of creating/becoming/emerging of the world, the emergence of the un-being into the being, followed by the healing of these disparate existences/phenomena into “wholes”, “things”, and ultimately, into the “world”. Although, if we do not delve into the deep mechanisms of this process, it can be interpreted as a simple “cognition” of the world, which we have discussed previously. In reality, we are dealing with a significant, multi-level process of making and creating the world, not a simple act of comprehending it. And that is why I call these activities precisely artistic activities.

Therefore, artistic acts are far from merely the creation of paintings or literary texts. Artistic activities, in the broadest sense of the word, are the creation of the world. And this is how the great predecessors saw them. If, by artistic activities, we only understand the creation of paintings, literary texts, or even interiors, then we are talking about craftsmanship and mastery of that craft. Instead, I would see in artistic acts their primordial basis, namely, creativity in the metaphysical, supra-essential sense of the word. And in this sense, art creates the world – no more or less. But then, all these three forms of artistic activity (and, accordingly, three definitions of the nature of artistic acts) are merely outlines of three stages of this world creation.

And then, obviously, we should begin describing this creation of the existent or the world in reverse order, starting from the being and ending with the existent, which artistic acts “place” before us as the “world”.

Thus, an artistic act of the third type appeals to the being and maintains an inseparable connection with the being. Based on this appeal and connection with the being, an artistic act of the second type “draws into existence” the things which did not exist before and “draws” non-presences into presence. And in the world of the present, these non-presences become manifested phenomena. However, at that moment, they are not being “entities” in the specific sense of the word. The next creative act makes them “entities” – an artistic act of the first type, which makes a whole of the already manifested phenomena we designate as “things”. And then the same artistic activity of the first type “unites” these disparate “things” into what we then call the “world”.

Thus, all these three definitions of the nature of the artistic act describe, at different stages, the same, indeed indivisible process, not so much of cognition, as it seems, but of the creation of the world.

The only question that remains is – who is the protagonist of this creation of the world – because we are dealing both with the artist, more precisely the human in the broadest sense of the word, and with the being. So, what is the source of the world – the artist, that is, the human or the being?

Hence, we face the following puzzle. We described this creation process in such a way that it may seem that the main promoter of it is the artist, that is, the human. However, as we can see, the being does not depend on the human, so this is not entirely true. The being, the manifestation of phenomena (that has manifested itself), the very self-evidence, and the essence (that which already “is”) are not entirely dependent on the will of the subject, the artist, or the person, although they require their presence. Although without the human, the artist, this process of world creation, its becoming, is impossible without just the human in the broadest sense of the word. And in this sense, we are all artists. However, the human, the artist, only has the chance to send a request towards the being – or nothingness, if viewed from the side of the existent world. And the human, the artist, receives an answer from the being in the form of scattered phenomena. Then more depends on the human. They unite part of these scatterings into a specific “thing”. Then, they mount this “thing” into a combination of all the known things humans have made a whole. This combination is called the “world”. Thus, the person, the artist, constructs their world.

However, what we define as either the being or nothingness remains a mystery, from which phenomena emerge, and then things, and ultimately, the world. Therefore, there is no basis for human or artistic pride because we become “creators” thanks to the mystery of our connection with the being. But the great calling and function of the person, the artist, is to maintain this essential connection – for both humanity and the world – with the being or nothingness, for it is thanks to this connection that the human exists and the world emerges.

My interpretation of art goes far beyond the traditional interpretation of its nature by art history disciplines. They narrowly interpret it as the skill of representation – whether of things or the world as a whole. So, most canonical interpretations of art focus mainly on its mimetic function. They don't even notice that they are talking about craftsmanship, about skill.

In contrast, I see art as an inventive, world-creating act that encompasses not only the representation of the existent in certain secondary images but also the very act of contemplation and gathering of phenomena into wholes, binding these wholes into an all-encompassing whole, which we call the “world”, and most importantly, the primary function of art is to protect the connection of both humanity and the world with the being – its fundamental essence.

Nonetheless, art in the narrow sense of the word, as understood by art history disciplines, also falls under my expanded interpretation.

Therefore, it might be interesting to illustrate all these three types of artistic activities with concrete examples.

Artistic activity of the first type I would illustrate with the work of artists who “gather” things and the world. Foremost among them are artists from Ancient Greece. The preserved sculptures of Phidias (Φειδίας, c. 490–430 BC), Praxiteles (Πραξιτέλης, c. 400 – after 340–320 BC), Polykleitos (Πολύκλειτος, 489–419 BC), Myron (Μύρων, 5th century BC), Scopas (Σκόπας, 395–350 BC), Lysippos (Λύσιππος, 390–300 BC). They “gathered” the known world of classical Ancient Greece for us, laying the foundations of our European world. The world of the ancient Greeks emerged as a wholeness, as a whole world.

Similarly, almost all Renaissance artists can be included, who, after centuries of decline, “constructed” the visualisation of our world. Not only that, but in addition to visual art, there is also architecture, which “furnishes” our inhabited world. Among the Renaissance artists are Leonardo da Vinci (Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci, 1452–1519), Michelangelo Buonarroti (Michelangelo di Lodovico di Leonardo di Buonarroti Simoni, 1475–1564), Raphael Santi (Raffaello Santi, Raffaello Sanzio, 1483–1520), Donatello (Donatello, Donato di Niccolò di Betto Bardi, 1386–1466), Sandro Botticelli (Alessandro di Mariano di Vanni Filipepi, 1445–1510), and others. Their creative method consisted precisely of “gathering” things and the world – an incredible act that shaped our European world and was “constructed” as a harmonious whole.

Surprisingly, artists classified as the first type of actors can be named traditionalists. However, they are traditionalists in creating great world-building traditions since the ancient Greek world and the world of Renaissance creators, in a certain sense, exist to this day. They made these worlds and traditions, and thanks to their artistic acts, the world they created retains the same general outlines. In this sense, they could even be called the conservatives of our world.

In the same way, Paul Cézanne (1839–1906) was a “collector” of things and the world after the destruction by the Impressionists. He returned the world’s “materiality”, “grounded” it, “pulled” it from the Impressionist mirages, and essentially, returned it to humanity. In this sense, he is not only the father of Post-Impressionism but also a neoconservative and neotraditionalist, albeit on a different level than the naive “realists” of previous eras.

Surprisingly, another such “collector” of the world was Pablo Picasso (1881–1973) during his Synthetic Cubist period. Then, he was “collecting” the mirror of the world that he “shattered” during his Analytical (or rather, destructive) Cubist period. He continued the trajectory of artistic activities proposed by Paul Cézanne (referring to Picasso’s first “Cézannean” period of Cubist explorations).

Henri Matisse (1869–1954) can also be included among these “collectors” of the world. He “collected” this world after the tumultuous period of its destruction by the Impressionists in their ultimate intentions, such as the luxurious but dangerous destructor Claude Monet (1840–1926), who hid in the lush gardens of Giverny.

In literature, we have an excellent example of such traditionalists – our Neoclassicists – Mykola Zerov (1890–1937), Maksym Rylskyi (1895–1964), Oswald Burghardt (1891–1947), and Mykhailo Drai-Khmara (1889–1939).

In Ukrainian visual art, Mykhailo Boichuk (1882–1937) and the school of “Boichukists” desperately tried to return our Ukrainian world to its East European Neo-Byzantine classics and Proto-Renaissance. Not only in iconography, as some might think today, but in life – he painted frescoes in barracks, theatres, sanatoriums, and institutes. Thus, he collected the Ukrainian world as he understood it. Centuries have passed, and Boichuk attempted to repeat in contemporary realities the act carried out by the artists of the Renaissance era.

In modern Ukraine, among young artists, I would include Olena Pryduvalova (1960) in this constructive artistic movement. I mention her because I am somewhat familiar with her oeuvre. From the fragments and debris of the world, Pryduvalova repeatedly gathers it together, giving us a chance and an opportunity again and again.

The second type of artistic activity, I would illustrate with the works of artists who “pull” entirely new things into the world and existence. These are “revolutionaries” and “avant-gardists” in the proper sense of the word. It is impossible to list all these avant-garde movements and trends. But again, we must first mention Pablo Picasso because he was not just one artist but a good dozen different artists. His Analytical Cubist period did not deconstruct things so much as it pulled the elements and phenomena from which they were composed into the world.

Most spectacularly, if not scandalously, Salvador Dalí (1904–1989) tried to “draw” new realities from the non-present into the present. Surrealism was perhaps the most desperate attempt to “draw” things into the world that were not there before. And here, it is difficult not to mention René Magritte (1898–1967) and Giorgio de Chirico (1888–1978). In literature, André Breton (1896–1966) and Antonin Artaud (1896–1948).

James Joyce (1882–1941) with his “Ulysses” (1922) and finally “Finnegans Wake” (1939), and Samuel Beckett (1906–1989) with his novels “Molloy” (1951), “Malone Dies” (1951), and “The Unnamable” (1953) also “explored” regions of the non-existent and built upon our European worlds.

Of course, in this list of artists, one cannot ignore Francis Bacon (1909–1992), who visualised the probes into the non-existent of his Irish companions and eternal exiles, Joyce and Beckett.

Among the classics of Ukrainian art, one cannot fail to mention such explorers of the regions of the non-existent as the avant-gardist, suprematist, and later founder of non-objective art (which is another story) Kazymyr Malevych (1879–1935), the world's first abstractionist Vasyl Kandynskyi (1866–1944), futurist Davyd Burliuk (1882–1967), avant-gardist Vasyl Yermylov (1894–1968), cubo-futurist and later spectralist Oleksandr Bohomazov (1880–1930), cubist and futurist Oleksandra Ekster (1882–1949), founder of Constructivism Volodymyr Tatlin (1885–1953), avant-gardist Klyment Redko (1897–1956) and many others.

And the idol of Cubist sculpture Oleksandr Arkhypenko (1887–1964), who, from absent forms, voids, “extracted” their presence, their materiality.

Returning to contemporary Ukrainian contexts, the most spectacular artist who, with incredible courage, “probes” the regions of the non-existent is Vlada Ralko (1969). Not only does she show the suffering from the war that has been ongoing for two decades, but she also, in her way, points to the metaphysical causes of this existential war. And they are beyond the obvious.

As for the artists who establish and maintain our connection with the being, that is the third type of artists, some incredible flamboyance does not distinguish them; they are rather “quiet” and “focused” but immensely deep. Being “shines” from their canvases, as in the works of Rembrandt (1606/1607–1669) or Velázquez (1599–1660). Similarly, it streams from the canvases of Caravaggio (1571–1610). Do they “depict” this elusive and mysterious being on their canvases? Not at all. They point to its presence in an unobvious way. They do not “show” the being, as this is impossible, but they “indicate” it in their artistic way. Looking at the mysterious “Las Meninas” by Velázquez, or the eyes of older people in Rembrandt’s portraits, or genuinely human, not divine bodies in Caravaggio’s paintings, we can feel and think about something. They “point” to something.

So, what are the portraits of royal dwarfs about? About the whims of the royal court? About the perverse collecting of unfortunate cripples? Or about something that lies beyond them... What about the portraits of degenerate kings? About the majesty of the kings above kings, the Habsburgs? Or about something that lies beyond them... And “Las Meninas”, what is it, a secular scene? A self-portrait? A reflection in a reflection? Or is it about us and the world as a reflection of the being? What does Velázquez “indicate”?

Even the inner light coming from the naked body of Rembrandt's young wife, Saskia, is about the same. It's not about the beauty of a young woman. Not about the somewhat posing, but we are not fooled – sad, questioning – bravado of her still young husband, Rembrandt, but about something more essential that streams from beyond her body, which for a brief moment of her youth allowed her to be so radiant. In the portraits of older people, only fragments of this radiance of the being and the fading sparks in their eyes remain. Everything else has already lost its connection with this being and is again returning to nothingness…

With incredible efforts of his talent, Caravaggio tore himself away from the idealising refinement of Da Vinci or Raphael. He broke through to the foundations of the existence of human bodies not through their Platonic idealisation, depicting not the body as a body but its perfect idea (let’s recall the desperate efforts in this direction of the modern “Platonist” Husserl), the flesh of the existing body. He would not have succeeded without the supportive and enabling being that makes it possible. And we intuitively “understand” this or “see” it (here, let’s recall his apprentice, but also opponent, Heidegger).

Again, Picasso, in his late philosophical graphic works, depicted the world of classical Greece, full of philosopher-artists (and this is none other than the maestro himself), goat-footed fauns, satyrs, and naked nymphs. There, he ascended to the heights of direct connection with the being. At least he seemed to ponder it. He indicated the elusive. So, as we see, in one artist, Picasso, there were at least several completely different artists. But this required his vital and artistic power.

Therefore, this rather conditional division cannot be absolutised. All these three artistic activities intertwine and complement each other. Similarly, artists, to the extent of their talent, resort to all three techniques simultaneously, both “collecting” the world, “building” it, and “preserving” our connection with the being.

1. Heidegger, M. (1962). Being and Time. Translated by J. Macquarrie and E. Robinson. Blackwell Publishers

2. Husserl, E. (1983). Ideas pertaining to a pure phenomenology and to a phenomenological philosophy. First Book: General introduction to a pure phenomenology. Translated by F. Kersten. Husserliana Collected Works Vol. II. Den Haag: Nijhoff

3. Heidegger, M. (2014). Introduction to metaphysics. Second edition. Translated by Gregory Fried and Richard Polt. Yale University Press

12–20 June, 2024, Lviv-Krakow