Landscapes of Creation, phenomena of consciousness
original Oil Paintings and Art Canvas Prints created by Wiesław Sadurski.
Aura of the Sun above:
From the very beginning it was supposed to be just as simple: a spiral unwinding from the sun, creating and carrying in itself a landscape with a green stream.
Over the years I tapped in canvas with brush, translucent paints, finding color and movement, destroying it again, not giving up, seeking simplicity.
Painting the truth, because the stream and we all really live in the aura of the sun; finding a visualization of this simple truth was extremely difficult.
The paints layered, the structure sparkling with a golden glow, the gentleness itself, the healing touch of the untouchable.
Thousands hours of work.
Mistakes - overcome - turn into very special beauty impossible to obtain by other methods.
Golden shades that heal the soul.
Last Jugment above
was painted in a different way.
Here is the culture shock! My daughter was left with me alone in second year of her life, I was completely busy with her. Just imagine: dad rises at dawn, feeds, scrolls, dresses, walks, shop, cooks, feeds, sings, heaps, rinses, cleans, feathers, phew! How possible? paints a lot!
The child sleeps twice as long - here is one explanation. And the other? with very limited time for painting my painting technology was completely different from the previous ones.
Ha ha! The painter does not laze, he squeezes oil paints from the tubes directly onto the canvas, covers it with a second canvas, life so joyful, dances moment on it pressing the colors into canvas. The image space is shaped by an imprint.
Now, minimally, only where it is necessary - brushwork is introduced - just a bit of green and blue
Last Jugment finished in one hour work!
Ha ha ha! I hang the painting on a wall, clean my brushes and hands, prepare a bottle for my little one waking up from a midday sleep.
the paintbrush is soaring through colors into the light of the beginning
to face an unknown unpainted as yet non-existent
which comes so close sometimes that I can touch it with brush
March 1976. I live in Stockholm in a villa with a garden, with a group of young musicians who play with a ferocity equal to my painting; they have a free billiard room, I can paint the first large painting.
I visit the Polish Institute in Stockholm and open in April an exhibition of 100 oil paintingss, monotypes, print-paintings.
I am selling the first painting in my life, oils still wet. I have a shocking insight into the functioning of polish socialism in practical applications, with jinks and tracking, with a gray hierarchy from top to bottom. A drastic foreignness in this world, in this culture of vodka. Although I admit, among the great kindness of people.
I am subjected to terrible overloads, I wake up in the morning as a pile of gray ash and stare at images as if I wanted to die right away. A few hours later, the phoenix burns in a high flight, until it falls asleep, in a space of stunning freedom - when "I" disappear, when I exist as a brush in a larger hand.
The daily gulf - between the state of freedom - and the inevitable tiny self.
In May I have an exhibition in the Galerie Bleue.
The owner was extremely friendly to me when we met last autumn, but now he is far away; the secretary does not want to exhibit paintings, claiming that there was to be an exhibition of Print-Paintings only. The exhibition starts without announcements and vernissage, the invitation and catalog were hard to prepare and are useless in the face of female fags. In addition I have to be present during the exhibition. It has a nice side when I do it, I have a lively contact with people.
After all (I surely have high debts) - I do not sell anything three weeks long.
Finally, as in a fairy tale, an elderly gentleman with shaky hands comes in, looks at the paintings that hang in the gallery, asks if I have more. He wants to buy all my paintings. The royal family doctor inviting me home, I see his most wonderful collection of art.
He finally bought all the large paintings.
riding high on waves of inspiration
I saw matter crystallize out of the intersecting rays of light,
I saw time and space as phenomena of consciousness
Intensive years of creative work and everything fine, but came there december poverty; not a penny for canvas, frames, colors, brushes...
Getting angry I bought me fifty thick papers and wall paint colors, started to paint using my hand as a brush and mind as a vision.