Death is just a part of life

07-08-2022

Life... A stroll through quicksand of fleeting moments... We live, as if we'd never die, We die, as if we'd never lived. And not unlike to a wild animal, one in a lifetime moment catches up to us. It is Death.

Life... A stroll through quicksand of fleeting moments... We live, as if we'd never die, We die, as if we'd never lived. And not unlike to a wild animal, one in a lifetime moment catches up to us. It is Death. There is no reason for us to love it. There is always hate or love, and they change in accordance with the immemorial order of the universe. Human Life, for those who experience it, is a momentary chaos. Chaos of thought, chaos of events, chaos of feelings... And chaos of an unexpected departure, a picture of tragic struggle and mourning which rips itself into the head of a companion and rends it apart with a flurry of colours - petrified thoughforms. Before everything regains its bearing and returns to its everyday, real form it freezes in a shapeless matter of stains, colours and meanings.
- Art. What is it to you?
- Art is artificial, from the name itself. Life is real and verdant, the life which we can see with our eyes, the one which we can feel with our fingers, with our nose. Why imitate it? Its archetype, its model is unsurpassed, impossible to copy by human hands or mind, a picture of beauty. We only need to contemplate it, admire it. Life is excellence in its purest form. It was already made. And as such art shouldn’t only imitate it, copying each fragment of our being. In a room there hangs a picture, a branch of a lush lilac, which doesn’t tremble in the wind, on which no bee sits, which doesn’t have any fragrance. It’s dead and artificial. For me art, painting is a mark, a tale about something which comes from the outside. It’s a reaction to it, or its a manifestation of emotions, an expression of incomprehension, of wandering, of searching.
- Your art doesn’t ilustrate life.
-I’d ask you what do you mean by „life”, but I think it would be a bit out of topic and our long discussion would face a roadblock. And as such I will keep it short, I know, I stress, I know, that death isn’t the end, it’s an entrance … into an area, which is still a mystery.
- You said that You know. Where from?
- I’m risking a lot, but I will say it - from Them, They don’t dissapear right away … Sometimes They want to say something, They want to help, They want to prompt us. That’s all.
- For example?
-A two-month old child dies. The youngest. The parents are bizzarely calm. I sit on the chair, near the window. I talk with the father about this, about that ... that it is hot, that the prices are going up. It’s summer, doors are open, wind’s getting in. On my hand, which rests upon the table and is holding my pen, stops a windblown, hastily folded and torn page from some newspaper. Something tempts me to look, and there is an article ... The cause of death of the child momentarily became obvious. You only needed to make the cops aware. And What? Accidentaly I sat there, and by accident my hand stopped this page in particular? There are no accidents, there are hints, signals … From there from under someones invisibility cap, who still in some degree feels like an participant of events playing out beside his corpse and wants to scream something out.
- You said that They go to some unknown to us, mysterious afterlife and that you know that they are somehow able to cummunicate with you. Why then is it still a mystery? They seem to be somewhat mutually exclusive.
- Absolutely not. To speak simply – I acknowledge that some of Them have a need of an interference into the matters of the world and They do so through any available means. But it is only momentarily, then they go into an another dimension, where They play out the next stage of their existence. And this stage is a mystery to me – the organization and means of their spiritual life. Somewhere out in the universe. I sought, I thought, I analized and I verified various doctrines, systems of belief, philosophical orientations. Like Kochanowski looked for his Urszulka in various worldview systems, so had I sailed in the company of Charon and flew with the Valkyries into the mythical lands of the dead: Fólkvangr, Valhalla, Helheim, Tartarus, Fields of Asphodel, Elysium and Yar. Where haven't I been?
- And what are your conclusions?
- That Death itself isn't important, but a humans approach to it. I seek, I wish that like Socrates, I would react with joy when it comes.
- React with joy?
- This is the affromentioned approach. The confident world encourages a cult of youth, a beautiful body and items, etc. And somehow we are not any happier for it. And what, if we lose our slim figure, firm body, hair and vigour? Is our life then bereft of values, which guarantee a satisfied existence? Someday it may be that widom and pursuit of truth will be of the same value at least.
- You're a "Once in a blue moon" artist.
- Indeed, I take my paintbrush when the inner furnace blazes, when inner pressure is unbearable and doesn't let me sleep. My paintings are a combination of shapes and feelings, of concrete matter and and a shape which is not a convention mark, but a embodiment of my imagination. The content of my paintings is in truth my mental being in its most fundamental form. Well, most often somber and bereft of its charms, even the illusory ones. Sometimes also calm, or even serene, but always pulsing with my mood and thought. I'm subservient to one rule: my imagination, my emotions and my experiences. They feel the affromentioned chaos - embodied in the darkness, in a dangerous clash of human urges, aggresion and cruelty. It's them who mix my paints and bend my arm. This chaos and screams which fill it become the conent of my paintings. By elimination and focus emerge shapes more subdued and orderly. They provide one function: they are the canvas and the discharge of my emotional experiences.
- This is peculiar surrealism, something like the Witkacy's Theory of Pure Form ...
- The recipients, if they feel a need, can label my painting. However this has no effect on the direction and character of my art. Neither I nor my works are gold coins, they don't have to appeal to and move everyone. It's like with a poem - If the method of the author is consistent and close to the recipients feelings - There is a communication. If the method differs - there is no communication.