Jerzy Łuczak - Reviews

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Whispers in the fog (Barbara Gałężewska)

The words of these prayers are not spoken in a sanctuary, by a kneeling monk, modest, silent and resistant to the world’s noise. Nor are they ostentatious yells of crowded demonstrations. Jerzy Łuczak creates his drawings with modesty, aware of his – and their – deficiencies and imperfection. These drawings emanate with mysterious strength, perhaps arising from revealing one"s own weakness, lack of ultimate resolve or certainty of the meaning of life before other people. But when this first impression fades, we come to realize the truth that it is not the screamer to speak most audibly. In the time of competition at any cost, of noise, form overwhelming content - whisper suddenly becomes a moving sound, which stops us halfway. Our minds and bodies, gradually desensitized, resistant to noise, crowd and scream, seem to suddenly become overpowered and defenseless facing silence. Łuczak’s works, although unremarkable in terms of size, make a monumental impression. Their force lies in spirituality and obscurity. Bright and full of light, resembling a calendar page, they depict individual days, incarnating thoughts, worries, joys and doubts. They are like tiny attic windows, letting in the freezing silver of a cold moonlit night. This tender light, trembling with uncertainty like a white bird’s wings, slowly drawing their traces against the canvas of the sky, uncovers human secrets from the darkness. Some of these drawings present focused, static, somehow pensive human silhouettes. They seem to always have existed, woven of translucent, soft and ephemerid line as though of spider’s web. They resemble spirits of prayers or experiences, woken up to life in human form, instructed to give evidence of intimate truths. At times they strike with anger, otherwise with revenge and punishment in the struggle between fiery angels resembling low reliefs of a Green tympanum, full of emption and strength. Or take judgement and penance. Rulers and serfs, judges and defendants, winners and those defeated. There is an image of God, or perhaps a hero, standing in a cloud of glory, with a vast land extending at his feet, with towns, mountains and oceans. Sometimes this ungraspable space is empty, as though lethargic in expectation for something’s or someone’s occurrence. This is a childhood memory. A children’s playground, cold and empty, rises from oblivion. As Jerzy Łuczak creates these small works following enormous realizations, he gives an exciting impression of not being able to determine the scale of space. We do not know whether this is the boundless distance of the sea or a piece of an empty and cramped interior of the studio. Or whether these figures made up of moonlight are gods of superhuman size, powerful and overwhelming anything we ordinary people are used to compare ourselves with, or just toys in a child’s hands. The only certain impression is the feeling of absence to us and communicating with each other. These figures, called from the beyond, fixed on their interiors, seem to be like spirits, echoes of resounding conversations, thoughts and emotions. They are focused, they only exist in their own world we cannot enter. We feel like intruders in the company of these works, but we can still migrate to that other reality as soon as we silence our egos and open our hearing to a whisper.