Colours of time
Colours of Time
There are things that the modern world no longer notices.
Old machines, worn tools, cracked wood, objects shaped by human hands and work.
Once needed and important, today they are often condemned to oblivion or destruction.
I have a special attachment to them.
Perhaps because I have worked with my hands all my life — first learning drawing and painting, later designing footwear and building my own studio.
In the former sheepfold of my ancestors near Kraków, old shoemaking machines still stand today, machines that for many years helped me create Gucio shoes.
Some of them date back to the pre-war years.
Several of them I restored myself, and for years I worked with them every day.
Today I increasingly feel that objects are often similar to people.
They serve, they work, they are needed — and then the world decides they are old and unnecessary.
Perhaps that is why it is so difficult for me to throw anything away.
I look at these machines differently.
I see in them not only iron and mechanisms, but also recorded time, the patience of work, and traces of human life.
I look at painting in a similar way.
I am less and less interested in perfection and the haste of the modern world.
What interests me more is:
the silence of the studio, light falling onto an old table, traces of use, the passing of matter, and the attempt to save something from being forgotten.
Perhaps that is why, after many years, I returned to painting.
Not to prove anything.
Rather to look more calmly.
Between Art and Craft
For many years my life unfolded somewhere between art and everyday work.
First came the Secondary School of Fine Arts in Kraków, later the Academy of Fine Arts and the study of painting under professors who taught not only technique, but above all how to see the world.
At the same time, craftsmanship entered my life.
Footwear design, construction, technology, and manual work became both a necessity of daily life and an important experience.
After graduating from Ars Sutoria in Milan, I worked for many years as a footwear designer, collaborating with manufacturing workshops and developing my own construction solutions.
That is how Gucio shoes were born.
Over time, however, I understood more and more clearly that art and craftsmanship are not opposites.
Both require patience, attentiveness, and respect for the material.
The hand remembers similar movements whether it is guiding a paintbrush or working with leather and old machines.
Today, after many years, I return to painting more calmly.
I do not see it as the beginning of a new path.
Rather as a return to a place that I had carried within myself all along.
Return
There was a time when I could not devote myself to painting in the way I truly wanted.
I had to work, support my family, and find my place in everyday life.
Art moved somewhere deeper inside me, but it never completely disappeared.
I designed footwear, built my own workshop, constructed machines, and for many years lived mainly through craftsmanship.
Today I believe that period was also necessary.
It taught me patience, respect for manual work, and humility toward materials.
It also allowed me to better understand ordinary life — its weight and its simple everyday reality.
After many years, I returned to painting more calmly and without the need to prove anything.
I am less and less interested in the haste of the modern world.
What interests me more is the silence of the studio, light, traces of time, and simply looking.
Perhaps that is why I paint differently today than I once did.
I am no longer trying to conquer anything.
Rather, I am recovering something that had been present within me all my life.