As always, the absurdly strong coffee provided in this establishment soon has me trotting to relieve myself. Upon entering the cramped bathroom a cry from the far reaches of the studio stops me in my tracks.

- Steve, nie! Chodź tu!

I reverse out and follow the instructions to the studio. I am greeted with a bucket at the bottom of which lies an inch of rich yellow urine.

- Tutaj! Bo patynę potrzebuję

I scan my lexicon. Patina? No results. Got to be something to do with the sculptures. Hmmm.

The bucket is thrust a little closer. He’s clearly enjoying this. I take it, he leaves, almost discreetly, and after a bit of concentration I manage to increase the level of urine at the bottom.

On the balcony he curses the ‘odlewnik’ whose shoddy casts he is now wrestling with. The armory consists of urine, various acids and a hairdryer.

The inhabitants of the surrounding tenements stifle cries of joy in their throats and let loose bestial groans as the national team stumble about on a pitch in a neighbouring country.

He scrubs away, dripping sweat, and explains in his muscular, accented Polish that patina comes as result of a slow, natural process that can be accelerated with urine. Urine, when properly applied of course, can make a freshly cast bronze look as if it were thousands of years old.

Aha. File that away.