His black box brought a shiver of death to the Tate Turbine Hall. Now the Polish sculptor has created some vast barriers – and cranked up the heat to protein-killing levels
On a sunny seafront just south of Valencia, a tall, angular figure rounds the corner and walks towards me. It takes me a moment to recognise him: Mirosław Balka. He guides us towards an outdoor restaurant packed with Lycra-clad German retirees and Spanish families licking ice creams. Clad top to toe in black, hesitant and somewhat shy, he seems entirely out of place.
“We just arrived,” he says by way of explanation, trying to find a spot for his chair that exposes him to the minimum of sun. “It is still a little strange.”
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