In the early 20th century, in the small Slovenian town of Ljutomer, there lived a strange man, a lawyer, attorney and notary, Karl Grossmann. He duly did his job, but also made a whole lot of photographs of his family and surroundings, set up amateur theater shows, took part in the work of the firehouse, exercised as a member of the Sokol Club, sculpted, made all kinds of collages by stuffing various small objects in special boxes, like Cornell half a century later. In a word, he was almost a madman, elated with numerous stagings in his everyday life, being incomparably more an “artist” than a lawyer or attorney. He left behind him (he lived from 1864 to 1929) innumerable pictures of his children and other family members, always shot with all kinds of artificial details, shells, sculptures, flowers and mirrors; he left his attempts at “sculpture”, mostly made of fragile and unstable materials; finally, he left a legend about one of our early conceptual artists, so to speak.