
This is my trade, to show phenomena in a clever or at least interesting way that will be recognisable to the viewer and that can be depicted with just this one frame, which is the graphic print. I try to use associations or artistic smells not only in the case of objects or figures placed in my compositions, but also through connotations of colours, shapes, gestures and abstract forms. Believe me, it is possible to convey nervousness/peace/enchantment/lightness/fatigue with the mere running of the chisel over the matrix, even though these are largely highly subjective and artistically abstract concepts. Dwurnik has repeatedly stressed that every artist dreams of dealing with abstraction, but not everyone can afford it. And I agree with this. My artistic needs over the years have been directed in this direction, and in my personal beautiful dream of 'real' art I paint things that are important to everyone. I create matter with impressions alone and everyone understands and appreciates this. However, life is not conducive to such fantasies and reality demands something more down-to-earth. At least my reality. I like to listen to people. The wise ones, but also the not so wise, the old and the young, the successful and the embittered. I like to listen to them not only to learn something new, but also to understand other points of view. This is essential to my work and often gives me the right impetus to create. I am far from creating museum-salon art. I do not like it to have a purely decorative function. Constantly searching for the golden mean, I find myself somewhere between two poles. Sometimes the pole leans one way, sometimes the other. I find myself empty, mixed in with a colourful, faceless crowd, among a mass of harassing billboards - a customer in a very long checkout queue. My only and ultimate salvation is my art work, and my biggest dream - to calm down. When I'm working on my next print, sitting up all night with my chisels threaded into my holster, everything becomes simple and clear. A bit like monks arranging a mandala out of sand or enthusiasts raking their mini-trees pretending to be large trees with their mini-chisels. Apart from the purely technical sphere and the methodology of my work, somewhere in the back of my mind I have a need for dialogue with the world. I don't want to treat my work purely as a form of self-therapy or in terms of a brief curiosity or a bizarre combination of flavours. Instead, I prefer to think of it as an active vehicle for experience - a beautiful and different kind of giving it form.
Artist Doctor of Arts Lecturer at the Academy of Fine Arts in Gdansk Merito University 15 years of creative work 10 years of teaching
I am using phrases I know very well, but it should be explained that all the works in the album are prints made on paper using the linocut technique, an activity which is quite masochistic and time-consuming. Why bother with the complexity of the layers, the presses and the painstaking chiselling of the matrix? After all, you could just pick up a brush and paint it. And yet, no. It takes about two months to create one large-format print. Two months is quite a large chunk of time, during which a lot can happen and change. Apart from the relatively fixed initial assumptions, it is this conglomeration of various moods and events affecting the artist over a given period that produces a certain end result. In this sapphic technique, there is no room for corrections. That is why very often starting with a landscape ended with a nude, and starting with a nude ended with an equestrian competition. In my opinion, it is this unknown that is most fascinating. The possibility of surprising yourself. A comparison to adventure comes to mind here. Each of these works is a kind of small expedition into the unknown. If I knew the final result of a print in advance, I would be nothing more than a craftsman. Through the not inconsiderable gamble of searching for the one, best version, it often turns out that something doesn't work out, but even failure can be rewarding. Often when asked about my interests and inspirations, I reply that I can't remember. There were and are so many. It is this coincidence and the attempt to tame it that gives me the most fun in the act of creation itself, leaving aside the aspect of the final product. In today's world of computers, Instagram and happenings in digital clouds, is there still a place for barbaric traditional graphic techniques? Must they pass into oblivion or rest under the carpet of an old museum and stand right next to a wax scene depicting cavemen throwing spears at a mammoth? Surely not! It turns out that great and interesting things can be created in the collision of tradition and modernity. Today, the artist cannot stand by and wait for better times. Without wanting to drown, one has to make some moves. From a distance it might seem chaotic or even desperate, but always some. I dare say that in time, globally speaking, there will be a beautiful new style of graphic design (and perhaps a swimming one too), born out of the various benefits of a rich culture, many years of toil by mystical graphic masters and the benefits of the latest technology. The classic methods of reflecting art are captivating in their authenticity and contain a kind of poetics. I collect all that is most precious in them, add new forms of expression and then transfer my own interpretation of the whole onto the print.
I look at my prints today and recall the periods in which they were created. It is not an exceptionally long period of time, but from my current perspective, it is nonetheless significant. It is, after all, more than 13 years since the first print. When I try to remember what guided me in a given work, I can - horror of horrors, I will contradict myself - see a considerable influence of the events that took place in my life at the time. Despite being completely unaware at the time of creation, I recognise past fears, hopes or desires. Whether it's the birth of a child, or the illness of my wife, or my first professional successes, or perhaps just the desire for uninhibited fun. It makes me wonder whether I'm trying to bend my memories and over-interpret my past intentions, or whether we should accept that it's the subconscious that guides us. And no matter how hard we deny it, as someone has already written somewhere on the wall... all in all, I've forgotten what it was.

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It is not difficult to find at least a dozen things that many people sanctimoniously believe in, even though these things do not actually exist. The same is true of colours, which - what a surprise - simply do not exist. What the human mind perceives as colour is nothing more than a band of the right length, to which the brain, at later stages of processing, gives one or another meaning. White light (depending on the surface structure of the object encountered) is reflected towards the observer in the form of waves of different lengths. That is to say, everything is an illusion.

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Exhibitions
[03 / 06]
List of exhibitions
