Painting Landscapes of Creation,

a phenomena of consciousness,

original Oil Paintings and Art Canvas Prints

created by Wieslaw 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.

My daughter was left with me alone in second year of her life, I was completely busy with her, having very limited time for painting. That's why painting technology was completely different from the previous ones.

Ha ha ha! The painter does not laze, he squeezes oil paints from the tubes directly onto the canvas, covers it with a second canvas, dances moment on it, what press the colors into canvas. The image space is shaped by an imprint.
Now, minimally, only where it is necessary - brush work is introduced - just a little bit of green and blue

Last Jugment ready in one hour work!
Ha ha ha! I hang painting on the wall, clean my hands and brushes - and prepare a bottle for my little one waking up from a midday sleep.


the brush
is soaring through colors
into the light of the beginning

to face an unknown
as yet non-existent

which comes so close
that I can touch it with brush

In 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, I open in April an exhibition of 100 oils, monotypes, and print-paintings.

I am selling the first painting in my life, oils still wet. I have a shocking insight into the functioning of 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 one of the Universe.

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 buys all the large paintings - and the last week in the gallery is joyful, debts paid off.


riding high on the waves of inspiration

I considered the matter as being crystallized
out of crisscrossing rays of light

saw time and space
as phenomena of consciousness