Poles apart?

Justyna Cwika is angry, very angry, on behalf of India. She says, “People in my country (Poland, or Europe for that matter) don’t know the real India. They imagine a poor and starving India. They have no idea about the explosion of colours here — in her skies, foliage, art, craft and temples; in the dazzling, spectacularly hued saris and the fragrant flowers that women wear in their hair. And they have absolutely no perception of the abundance here — the abundance of glorious sunshine, the food that is easily grown here; the smiles that are ready to appear and the doors that are easily opened...”

So when she visits Poland next, Justyna plans to do something different. Not a show of her paintings, but a show of photographs. “Of beautiful and abundant India — of women in gorgeous silk saris, overflowing fruit and vegetable carts, pulsating greenery...” says Justyna. Well, this Polish artist moved to Chennai with her husband and kids three years back.

She now sees Chennai as a home away from home, and is glad to be back in the city after a short vacation in her country — never mind the heat, the noise, the crowded streets, and the other vagaries of life here. No matter that she is unable to lay hands on the paint brushes she prefers to work with. “I had been to Poland this summer, and I couldn’t help thinking that the people, the streets, the cities and the countryside looked sad and colourless,” she says. 

Perceptions
The fact that the ordinary folk in Poland seem to live just for career rises and vacations in exotic destinations worry her. “Young Polish people don’t want to have children. They don’t want to get married. Nobody bothers to speak with their neighbours. Even when a family visits a playground, they don’t bother to get the child to play with the other children. They are isolated worlds unto themselves. I dread to contemplate on the future of Polish society,” she rues. In contrast, there is warm, friendly and colourful India, her expression seems to say.

Lidzbark, the small village where Justyna lived as a child with her parents, is tucked away in the north of Poland. The nearest big city to Lidzbark is Gdansk, famous for its German influence. Lidzbark is about 150 km from Warsaw, whose Nordic architecture mesmerised Justyna. “Poland was Communist until 2001. So, our towns and villages felt the Russian impact as well,” she adds. That makes for an eclectic political and cultural backdrop, and Justyna got to learn Polish, German, Russian, English and later, French too, when she took to living in France with her husband. Now, she is all set on learning an Indian language, perhaps Sanskrit.

Though a teacher in high school noticed her talent for the arts and taught her to paint with oils and acrylic, Justyna didn’t plan on being an artist. “I meant to study architecture. But when I entered the university, a degree in architecture wasn’t one of the available options. But I liked science too, so I settled for chemical engineering,” she shares. Of course, over time, fine arts ensnared her. Incidentally, Justyna plays the accordion and writes poetry in Polish. “My poetry is emotional. So it comes out in my own tongue,” she says.

At a glance, Justyna’s paintings appear abstracted, but this impression is deceptive. In fact, the signature charm of Justyna’s paintings lies in the materialisation of distinct forms in these images, the further you move away from them. “I try to play with my paintings like with my camera — zoom in and out of the image,” she says. Sometimes, she likes to picture microscopic things as larger than life, like her recent blood-chromosome painting, or her paintings on molecular chemistry.

Alternatively, she also likes to imagine how huge things like the cosmos appear in small perspective, and paint the same. She also likes to paint the structure and dimension of ordinary things, but from a different perspective. In terms of technique, her paintings include cubism, dripping and geometrical elements. Justyna generally paints with acrylic and oil paints, in large formats. She has taken to breaking them up into panels lately. 

Art across genres and nationalities catches her attention. It began many years ago, as a young girl, when Justyna happened to see one of Polish artist Tamara Lempicka’s paintings and fell in love with the confluence of cubism and feminine elements in Tamara’s paintings, such as in her iconic work Auto-Portrait (Tamara in the Green Bugatti). Another artist who inspires her is Wassily Kandinsky, the Russian painter whose portrayal of forms and colours result not from simple, arbitrary idea-associations but from the painter’s inner experience.

“Kandinsky analysed the geometrical elements, which make up every painting — the point and the line,” says Justyna. Jackson Pollock, the American abstract expressionist, fascinates her the most. “Pollock’s works trigger  emotions in me. Some people look at art and ask, ‘What is it?’ But I think that when we see art, we cannot inflict this question. We don’t have permission to translate the arts to our ordinary language.”

Contemporary Polish art hovers on the borderline of symbolism and surrealism as seen from the works of modern Polish artists like Zdzisław Beksiński, Jaroslaw Kukowski, Tomek Setowski, Rafał Olbiński, Jacek Yerka and Piotr Naliwajko. Justyna’s favourite modern Polish artist happens to be Rafał Olbiński, who typifies the Polish School of Poster and describes his own art works as ‘poetic surrealism’. Justyna shares, “Another trend in contemporary Polish painting is a style called ‘magical realism’ or ‘fantastic surrealism’. One of the most popular artists who favours this style is Tomek Setowski, who paints underwater worlds, sky cities, beautiful women, manifestations of his dreams, etc.”

Oriental catch
“I like Indian art, especially when it sticks to Indian idioms,” Justyna says. Bharatanatyam mudras fascinate her, as do works of artists Jamini Roy and Senathipathi — paintings wherein the Indian ethos is explicit.

As for Polish art, she muses that it tends to carry a sad aura. Perhaps because of the impact of those long years of communism, or maybe because Poland receives good sunshine for only around two months a year.

“Polish aesthetics was always a little different than that of other European countries. Polish cinematography, poetry, painting and sculpture connect with sad Polish history. We are not emotionally effusive people. I think traumatic events are more close to us than cheerful moments. When you asked an American, ‘How are you?’ he would answer; ‘Great’. When you posed the same question to Polish people, they would say, ‘Nothing new, old poverty’.”

She feels this type of thinking reflects in their  arts. “And despite our Christian roots, there is no relation between Polish art and religion, unlike in India, where there is a ‘sacred’ motive in the arts. Our art is more atheistic and cosmopolitan,” she explains, adding, “Before moving to India, my painting was sad — it tended to be black and white, I did not notice colours. After coming here, I started noticing colours. In the beginning, colours irritated me. But after a while, I started using colour in my art. And every day, India gives me inspiration to create art work. But my poetry is Polish-touched, as my heart belongs to my cold country.”