Quite recently in 2018, at the urging of my friend, I bought a book entitled "Artist's Way". I have not looked at it until now. The purchase itself caused a lot of emotions in me. I left the bookstore and quickly went to the car, and when I got in it, I felt safe, like a man escaping with his treasure and reaching a shelter. That treasure was the aforementioned book. The book was lying in the passenger seat and I had tears on my eyes and I wanted to scream. Something felt tight in my throat. I was dumb. I didn't understand what was happening because I had never been interested in art. I also never painted anything.

I remember that I always dreamed of having such a language, such a vocabulary that would hit the spot. However, due to the fact that I read little or was not particularly interested in anything, my vocabulary did not allow me to provide satisfactory, fully self-expressing communication, especially writing. This dream of a sharp and blunt language probably resulted from the need to understand and express oneself. It was only at the age of 36 that I discovered that I was afraid to be myself, so I did not say what I felt. And so it persisted for years, it strengthened and froze my heart more and more. Some time ago, however, I started catching up and at some point I was already reading compulsively… books only about love.

Several months have passed since the purchase of “Artist’s way”, when a friend called me and said that she had painted her first painting. Since then, I dreamed of painting at night and fantasized about it right after waking up. I asked my friend (whom I am very grateful for accompanying me on this journey) to remind me every day to buy a canvas. When I got my first text the next day, I was on my way to the art shop and asked for the canvas and four paint colors. I didn’t buy the brush. I imagined that I would paint dynamically with my whole body, probably in order to get everything out of myself. I waited for the moment when I would be home alone and started painting my first painting ... It was so much fun! Moving. I gave myself to it immeasurably. I was focused on the here and now. Time did not exist. Full of shame, I showed the picture to my family and then to others via social media.

I felt terrible, I was very ashamed, I thought there was something wrong with me. After a few paintings, that is, after a few days, the fact that I’m painting has become completely obvious to me. When someone commented on my work, I was surprised that this someone did not paint ... As if it were something obvious. Art allowed me to express what was hidden in me for years. Thanks to painting, I was unconnecting with myself, I returned to my senses, I know what I felt or realized what I felt later, sometimes a few days after I did the painting. What I had not been able to do since I was a child, that is feel and show emotions, I began to communicate through art. The beginnings were tough, as I was suggested what I had painted, and I took it in disbelief. With time it turned out to be the case. Later, I could talk about my paintings and find out what was on them together, and they were always injuries, traumas and deficits from my childhood. The purpose of my art is to connect with myself and throw emotions - in order to understand them later, contain them and accept them. Feel. And also share them with others so that, like me, they can see themselves in them.

I also do not intend to improve and improve my paintings. I would like them to be as they are, to be an example that you can create without having an artistic education. This is what my point is to create something only mine and authentic, not only beautiful, decorative. Therefore, thanks to painting, I get rid of internal criticism and perfectionism. After all, it's impossible to judge your emotions. However, I must admit that positive comments make me a lot of fun and negative comments make me sad. Well, yes I do. Thanks to painting, I started to accept myself with all my flaws, such as those mentioned above. I started to accept myself completely. What is in me, in my head, in my heart. I started to accept my body. There are no narcissistic nudes in the paintings. It is a spark of self-acceptance, a oreturn to your own body, respect for it, the first rays of love and sympathy for yourself.

I operate symbols and symbols can be interpreted in many ways. The nude in my pictures is a symbol of standing in the truth. Women on them, it's me it self, with all sensitivity in this process, which are stereotypically assigned wo women. The golden circles are a symbol of spirituality, the evolution of the aureols which i paimt as the sign of important to myselfs.

At this point, I would like to thank Mrs. Joanna Kaczmarek for her presence during my return to my internal home.