Marcin Samlicki's article 'Olga Boznańska' in the journal 'Sztuki Piękne', 1925/1926, no. 3, pp. 97-118, presents a conversation with the artist illustrated with reproductions of her paintings. One of them is a portrait of a Polish opera singer, Jadwiga Lachowska, in a museum in Yokohama. This painting is now owned by the Ōhara Art Museum in Kurashiki, Japan.

A modernised reading of the text.

Olga Boznańska

A large, long studio lit at one end by an upper window and two side windows. The accumulation of equipment gives the impression of being cramped. The centre is occupied by a huge podium, which is filled with a fold-out sofa, covered with a multitude of old fabrics in indecisive colours. Particularly striking is an old shred of greenish silk, which plays a great role as a backdrop. On a tiny patch of the podium is a Louis XV chair, and on it the model, a 20-year-old beautiful young man of white race, with slightly Negro features, wearing a lady's mantilla (of old fashion) imitating a lawyer's toga. (The poser is a painter). Opposite, a canopy of faded, yellowed fabric, beneath it a large easel facing the window, from where the golden light of the backs of the townhouses of the rue de Rennes is reflected. In front of her, leaning against a high chair, equipment essential in studios for posing models and in "bars" - an artist of medium height, slim, full of distinguished finesse, with a pale face enlivened by large black eyes full of depth. Matte black hair, combed smoothly, wraps a high half-circle around her face, adding to its pallor; a narrow list clutches a clumsily twisted cigarette. In both hands brushes. In what condition? Some bristles completely worn away - others dishevelled like a broom. The palette, broken in two, lies in front of the painter on a tall tripod swamped with boxes of paint, cigarettes, matches, flasks of Harlem siccate and linseed oil. Where to glance: tables, tables, cupboards, cupboards, cupboards, sofas, trunks, suitcases, chest of drawers, piano, bed, easel, and everywhere piled with diaries, china, half-wilted flowers, books, letters, sketches, lamps, samovar. Between the painter's sanctuary and the piano stands a tall iron cooker, threatening to fall apart any moment. It stretches out its neck high towards the wall where it disappears in the semi-darkness.

On the walls, asymmetrically hung paintings by the artist's brush, a nice landscape by Henn Martin, a couple of half-destroyed, unframed watercolours by various authors, a couple of copies of Flemish masters and a plaster cast of Beethoven's death mask. Numerous paintings and canvases crowd the corners, and mostly cardboard framed or bare. The atmosphere of the studio is made up of two essential elements (apart from the artistic!), a slight chill and bluish cigarette smoke. This assemblage of useful things for everyday use and objects with no special purpose, preserved either by chance or by reminiscence, testifies to the owner's life rich in feeling. There is no glitz here, no parade or display. It is a bare life without any coverings, a plight that is hard but full of gravity. It is herself: Olga Boznańska and her studio!

Behind her, under a large mirror, a young, large, lean and shapely artist with Alsatian features, a prominent nose, on which large tortoiseshell glasses sit comfortably. Through them flies a gentle and admiring gaze from blue eyes. Forgetting his own painting, he holds a brush tinged with the purple of Mars in the air. He is so drawn to the painting and the painter's work.

Opposite, on a low chair, sits another young artist, small in stature, brunette, with well-sculpted features, kind, melancholic eyes, demarcated by a long dry nose, lowering abruptly towards the upper lip. This one grasps the artist's portrait in his sketchbook with reverence. The last person is me - but since the author should be modest and hide behind the work, I am therefore invisible. The squeak of a small dog comes from a sofa covered with colourful cushions. It is an old animal, 10 years old, out of shape, more like the legendary "Tarasek" than a dog.
- Mr Lestrille, would you be kind enough to cover 'Boby la beauté', because he's buried," says Miss Olga to the young man posing, "The poor little dog is suffering from sclerosis. What worries I have with him!

The model corrects the dog's quilt - it is a piece of tapestry.
- Mr Jourdain, you've stopped painting - perhaps you're feeling weary - play something. Nothing strengthens the painter's powers like music.
- I don't want to play, or I'll scare away all the lady mice!

There is not a single one. Besides, a bit of pasta or bread scattered on the floor, and they'll fly in from all over the house. Mr Collignon (to the young man with the bird's nose), be kind enough to scatter some pasta. Indeed, in a moment there is a rustle in all the corners, papers rustle, shapely mice fly out and brazenly dash by us to feed.
- Well, now that they have eaten, you can play.

Knowing how fond Miss Olga is of Chopin, the artist plays the 'Rain Prelude', then a waltz - the finale of which transitions into a magical folk tune from Wyspiański's 'Wedding'. We are swept up in a whirling wheel of memories: Krakow, Wyspianski, the Academy of Fine Arts, Matejko, Wawel, Munich, and slowly, out of the chaotic haze of images, a film is formed, where the content becomes the life of our artist!

Aged 9, she arouses the admiration of her parents and those around her with her drawing talent. She receives her first artistic tips from Józef Siedlecki at the Baraniecki Museum. She also works fleetingly under Lipiński and Piotrowski. A talented and diligent pupil, she attracts the attention of Krakow artists, and Matejko's praise probably tipped the scales of her father's hesitation regarding his daughter's further education. Slowly, Krakow is becoming a quiet young bird whose wings have grown so big that it would like to fly to the wide world. Abroad! Munich, Italy, Paris, that magic mill which transforms young pupils into skilled craftsmen.

In our country, this is the era of the omnipotent reign of Matejko and his school of historical painting. Although there are muted echoes of the artistic revolution known as impressionism, these are jokes about the 'green cow', blue grass and purple snow, which amused both the public and the artists. The unshakeable dogma of 'local colour' was more to the eye of the artists and the public than the wacky combinations of the young rascals, who, moreover, sought to be a deterrent both in art and in the theories they propounded.

At the time, two art foci in Europe attracted artists: Paris and Munich. Today, when we are separated from the German people by several decades of fierce Germanisation, it seems strange to us how this German city could exert its charm on Polish artists. At the time, it was the beginning of a struggle taking place in Prussia. The Bavarians were considered a separate type from the rest of the Germans - sympathetic - even hostile to the Prussians. For a Pole, Paris was too far away - Munich closer. France was recovering from its defeat in 71 - and victorious Germany was walking in prosperity with seven-mile boots. The Wittelsbachs had transformed their capital into modern Athens. The names of Lenbach, Kaulbach, Piloty, Stuck and others were spread widely across Europe - and especially with us - by Germanic publicity. Our artists found a very friendly reception in this stronghold, led by an example coming from the throne. The ease of establishing relations and earning a living, the possibility of long credit, the respect for national feelings - all these influenced the tightening of knots with the inhabitants. There, a Pole lived in a family, and therein lay all the attraction of the city. This is why some, such as Józef Brandt and Alfred Wierusz-Kowalski, settled permanently. Without prejudging the value of the Munich influence, it must be said that this school left a deep mark on a certain period of Polish painting, since almost all of our artists from Matejko to the most recent times - studied there.

This general current carried Miss Olga Boznañska to the banks of the emerald Jizera in 1887.
. - I came across the full bloom of Impressionism. I entered the studio of Karl Kriecheldorf, who is a pupil of the very brave painter Löfftz, and the latter a pupil of Leibl. In this way, I can safely say that all three taught me. Leibl - what a beautiful and strong painter, what a colourist, how he knows how to handle paint! How he grasps character! He can boldly stand alongside contemporary French painters. I spent two years in Kriecheldorf's studio, working in the sweat of my brow like the biblical mercenary who came at dawn to the Lord's vineyard. I lived in constant ecstasy because an atmosphere of uplifting enthusiasm surrounded me. The sight of my colleagues working and the great works of art in the museum excited my artistic ambition. When I look at you young people wasting the most beautiful period of your lives on frivolous entertainments, I experience a deep sadness. You think that you will live for centuries and that you will spread all the vastness of your education and creativity over them! How you deceive yourselves willingly!

The guilt-ridden audience bows their heads and does not protest.
- One day Joseph Brandt visited me, and, having reviewed my work, ruled that I no longer needed a professor. According to him, I was sufficiently aware of the creative conditions.
- However, I wanted to get to know the methods of other artists, and with still a few months to go before I left for Krakow, I decided to make the most of this time. I had a great desire to join the excellent Swedish artist Fritiuff Smith or the no less valuable Nauen. It happened, however, that they both closed their schools almost simultaneously, so I had nothing left but the studio of Wilhelm Riedl, a good impressionist, although a little too cold and cerebral. I was persuaded to do so by my warm friend Miss Weiss from Berlin, a simply brilliant painter. This watercolour on the wall is her brush. It's a pity it got so damaged. - My professor usually praised my work, but he also did not spare any pruning because of the purple tone I introduced into my face. This worried and angered me at the same time. After a few months, I left my master, attracting his dislike, especially when I exhibited a study painted in his studio. By a malicious coincidence, my painting was hung in front of his. I must admit, however, that he was a righteous character. When he later saw my portrait of Nauen, he himself came to me, shook my hand and, congratulating me, said: "I was not right, I was wrong". In 1892, after the death of my mother, I came with my sister Isia to Munich. As luck would have it, I was immediately given a studio for free by an American who had left and paid for a few months. After them - I kept it, paying for it myself.

I set to work with enthusiasm. Although there are muted echoes of the artistic revolution called impressionism, these are jokes about "green cow", "blue grass" and "purple snow", which amused both the audience and the artists. The unshakeable dogma of 'local colour' was more to the eye of artists and the public than the wacky combinations of the young rascals, who, by the way, sought to be a deterrent both in art and in the theories they propounded.
At the time, two art foci in Europe attracted artists: Paris and Munich. Today, when we are separated from the German people by several decades of fierce Germanisation, it seems strange to us how this German city could exert its charm on Polish artists. At the time, it was the beginning of a struggle taking place in Prussia. The Bavarians were considered a separate type from the rest of the Germans - sympathetic - even hostile to the Prussians. For a Pole, Paris was too far away - Munich closer. France was recovering from its defeat in 71 - and victorious Germany was walking in prosperity with seven-mile boots. The Wittelsbachs had transformed their capital into modern Athens. The names of Lenbach, Kaulbach, Piloty, Stuck and others were spread widely across Europe - and especially with us - by Germanic publicity. Our artists found a very friendly reception in this stronghold, led by an example coming from the throne. The ease of establishing relations and earning a living, the possibility of long credit, the respect for national feelings - all these influenced the tightening of knots with the inhabitants. There, a Pole lived in a family, and therein lay all the attraction of the city. This is why some, such as Józef Brandt and Alfred Wierusz-Kowalski, settled permanently. Without prejudging the value of the Munich influence, it must be said that this school left a deep mark on a certain period of Polish painting, as almost all of our artists from Matejko to the most recent times studied there.
This general current carried Miss Olga Boznañska to the banks of the emerald Jizera in 1887.
. - I came across the full bloom of Impressionism. I entered the studio of Karl Kriecheldorf, who is a pupil of the very brave painter Löfftz, and the latter a pupil of Leibl. So I can safely say that all three taught me. Leibl, what a beautiful and strong painter, what a colourist, how he knows how to handle paint! How he grasps character! He can boldly stand next to contemporary French painters. I spent two years in Kriecheldorf's studio, working in the sweat of my brow like the biblical mercenary who came at dawn to the Lord's vineyard. I was in a constant state of ecstasy because I was surrounded by an atmosphere of exalted enthusiasm. The sight of working colleagues and the great works of art in the museum excited my artistic ambition. When I look at you young people wasting the most beautiful period of your lives on frivolous amusements, I am deeply saddened; you think that you will live for centuries and that you will devote all your education and creativity to it! How you deceive yourselves willingly!
The guilt-ridden audience bows their heads and does not protest.
- One day Josef Brandt visited me and, looking through my works, decided that I no longer needed a professor. According to him, I was sufficiently aware of the creative conditions.
- However, I wanted to get to know the methods of other artists, and with a few months to go before I left for Krakow, I decided to make the most of this time. I had a great desire to join the excellent Swedish artist Fritjoff Smith or the no less valuable Nauen. It happened, however, that they both closed their schools at almost the same time, so I had nothing left but the studio of Wilhelm Riide, a good impressionist, although a little too cold and cerebral. I was persuaded to do so by my warm friend Miss Weiss from Berlin, a simply brilliant painter. This watercolour on the wall is from her brush. It's a shame it got so damaged.
- My professor usually praised my work, but he also did not spare any criticism because of the purple tone which I introduced into my face. This worried and angered me at the same time. After a few months, I left my master, attracting his dislike, especially when I exhibited a study painted in his studio. By a malicious coincidence, my painting was hung in front of his. I must admit, however, that he was a righteous character. When he later saw my portrait of Nauen, he himself came to me, shook my hand and, congratulating me, said: "I was not right, I was wrong".
In 1892, after the death of my mother, I came with my sister Isia to Munich. As luck would have it, I was immediately given a studio for free by an American who had left and paid for a few months. After they had passed, I kept it, paying for it myself.
I set to work with enthusiasm.
- Oh, it was possible to work better there than here in Paris, where life is so hectic, where everything interferes with concentration! I made my own life-size portrait in mourning clothes and with flowers. I gave it to my friend Miss Weiss. Nauen found out about it and declared to my friend Kosobudzka that he would like to see it and paint me. I agreed to this. Unfortunately, after 21 séances, one day he scrapped everything because I seemed to him not natural enough, in too affected a pose - which did not suit my character. A great pity, because the painting was very beautiful.
You can see, gentlemen, what a true artist he was, who could not bear a work that was bad according to his conviction. I then asked him to pose for me, to which he readily agreed. I remember, it was on a Wednesday morning. The rain was drizzling, a kind of Munich drip. The door opens and an exquisite Nauen enters with his collar up. That was my image! "Keep it that way!" I seated him on the floral sofa, put a cup in his hand and began to paint. He liked the portrait, as indeed everyone did. A lot was written about him. He even became notorious in Germany for his malicious criticism of the 'blasé' artist. The case went to court. The critic was convicted and from then on it was forbidden in Germany to criticise living models - on pain of judicial liability. I unknowingly portrayed the character of a man whose life of merriment I only learned about through the trial. This portrait is now in the National Museum in Krakow.

I exhibited frequently in Munich, in the Glaspalast salon, where I was given a permanent place. I founded my own painting school, which was attended by an increasing number of female students. Among them, the most talented was Miss Moraczewska, who later moved on to the studio of Käthe Kollwitz. I taught willingly, with dedication, but as time went on I felt the need for more movement, more light, new experiences.
It was then that I decided to go to Paris.
It was a bold step, because I had already established myself as an artist, and here I was faced with the difficulty of starting all over again. But I am never calculating in life. I always act on instinct, which, so far, has never let me down. When I arrived in Paris, I had a very difficult time at the beginning. Nobody knew me here. A stranger, alone, without friends - I started life from scratch. But this did not discourage me. I painted every day, without rest, regardless of the lack of recognition.
With time, I began to be noticed. First the critics, then the public. I started exhibiting at the Salon Champ-de-Mars, then at the Druet gallery, which opened the door wide for me to the artistic world.
I had many commissions from this gallery, including a portrait of Wladyslaw Mickiewicz, which is now in the Polish Library.
Trips to exhibitions abroad also began: Venice, Brussels, London.
In 1900, I received a medal at the Paris Universal Exhibition for a portrait of Miss Dygat, which caused great interest at the time.
From then on, my name began to become increasingly well-known.
Nevertheless, I never sought publicity. My work was enough for me.
- You don't look like an artist," a journalist once told me. - You are so calm, so modest.
- Because I am not an artist,' I replied, 'I only paint.

(At this point the artist muses for a moment and then adds:)
- My work gives me everything I need to live. Joy, pain, emotion - I find it all in art. It is my world.

Then she goes on to talk about her latest success - the French state's purchase of a portrait of a young girl for the Louvre collection. She speaks of this without a shadow of vanity - rather with tenderness, as if she were recalling a beloved child.
- So many years of work,' she says quietly, 'so many years of loneliness... And now? Now I can die peacefully.

But she smiles immediately.
- No, not yet. I have so many things to paint.

She gets up, walks through the room that is also her studio.
On the easel, a new portrait - barely started.
Ms Boznańska leans over the canvas, picks up her brush as if she wants to finish what she has just interrupted.

Silence.
Only the steady tapping of rain against the windows.

A second Polish critic, whose name I cannot recall, mentions Wistler as my professor. It is undeniable that one can see similarities in content, technique or composition, but this should not be immediately explained by correlation. The one and only time a French artist gave me advice, the memory of which still brings a smile to my face today: "Be careful that the light in your eye is not the same as the light at the end of your nose". - It was Carolus Duran. A remark, by the way, that is very correct, but made comical by the unique meaning the painter gave to it - having found no more serious error in my work.

You know my way of life. Living here in Paris, I do not know what is going on in it, because I have no time either for visiting exhibitions or for establishing relations. I paint in summer or winter until dusk and only then do I go out for a walk with my sister and my little dog. I usually find out about exhibitions and artists from my visitors - or from the diaries. At last year's salon, I didn't even pick up an entry card. It is undeniable that Impressionism originated in France, but it is nevertheless true that I had no French professor nor did I succumb to French influence. The conception of painting and technique is my own....

At this moment, 'Boby la beauté' announces with a loud bark the arrival of someone in the dark atrium. When no one shows up after a while, Miss Olga comes out - after a short, indistinct conversation, she returns, goes to the dresser, takes a couple of notes and leaves again. We all understand this action without words, because we witness it very often. It is poverty and misfortune that have knocked on the painter's door. Artists, non-artists, Poles, non-Poles, honest and fraudsters all benefit from her material help. When she cannot give money, she will give a painting. To paint beautifully, to do good, is Olga Boznanska's life motto.

We watch her return with adoration, which makes her hilarious. She wriggles comically at us and says: "And now it's time for tea - please, gentlemen, something to do".

We start looking through the paintings, accumulated disorderly in various corners and walls. There are dozens of them, a tiny fraction of the prolific output over the artist's lifetime.

Here before us is a portrait of an old lady dressed in an ermine coat. Her face is ugly, pouty, her eyes bulging with violet, her hands thick. What a type! So much character! Some cousin of some dwarf or jester Velasquez.
- And oh, my old housekeeper from before the war. Perhaps for banal tastes she will seem ugly - never for the refined. Type or race contains character, and that is beauty proper. In this sits a thinking, working, suffering, weary or tormented soul. One must not change anything from such features. Besides, I cannot correct nature - I paint what I see. Likewise with colour: I don't make anything up, I just follow faithfully the colour mosaic of which each surface is composed. When approaching a portrait, the artist must be aware of the model's colour assumption, dress him or her in such a way, give him or her the right background and lighting - so that everything together constitutes a certain harmony. Sometimes, during the course of painting, I find that the harmony has not been achieved sufficiently and I need to change it, as, for example, in this portrait of Miss Thomasson. You will remember that I painted her in a grey coat, which did not give me satisfaction. I changed it, and how much better in that white dress with the big black checkered coat comes out this lion's head with white hair and moustache. You have a similar colour premise in the portraits of Miss Podstolska and Fisler.

Elsewhere I like the juxtaposition of black colours, such as in the portrait of this Miss P. in mourning. This is a very difficult problem, so that the head and hands do not give the impression of being cut out and tacked on. I have painted Mrs Chełmońska in a similar harmony.

At other times I look for a harmony of brown colours - it all depends on the complexion of the model, but often has to do with the clothes the model is wearing.

We have the happy opportunity to juxtapose two eras, Munich and Paris, in two of the artist's own portraits. The Munich one, painted on a small board, depicts a young person against a pale, yellowish wall. She is standing in front of an easel - holding brushes in her hand, her head turned towards the viewer. Impressionist in texture, but less differentiated, the colours more blended together. The second portrait, recently executed on small cardboard, painted for Mr Foureau, an art historian, shows the artist up to her shoulders, head raised. The whole is kept in a very distinguished grey. Looking at this vibration of colours, I recalled the advice she once gave to Mr Jourdain: "Don't rub the paint in, take it lightly on the brush, as if on a spatula, and put it on the painting". - This portrait has more colour energy, of form, than the previously mentioned one, which instead has the grace of youth and shyness. The Munich portrait is a 'fetish', irresistible to the artist. She would not get rid of it for any money.

The main feature of Miss Olga Boznanska's painting is the use of qualities. She places so much emphasis on this that she considers any painting lacking this element to be weak. She came out of an era when "solidity" was one of the main commandments of good painting, when "flat" painting of a form was considered a mistake, or rather an inadequate painting solution, when contour was not yet overused, when one did not try to make a decoration out of an easel painting. The execution of values in the artist's paintings is characterised by a gentle and gradual transition from subdued light to bright shade. This lack of violent contrasts, the avoidance of contour and the vibratory technique create an airy atmosphere both between viewer and model and between model and background. This hesitant definition of form, resulting from the painterly premise, has given some Polish critics the opportunity to doubt the accuracy of the artist's drawing. It is difficult to argue with a statement testifying to an ignorance of the fundamental laws of painting. It is only fair to quote the opinion of such a great master of drawing as Ingres: "There is no drawing correct or incorrect - there is only the beautiful and the ugly".

We look at portraits of the artist's father, Sawa Pusłowski, Jourdain in a couple of editions, the banker Goudon, the artist-painter Darasse, Tryczek, the Smogorzewskis, the Wichlinskis, Mrs Voogue, the painter's wife and many others whose names I cannot remember. During this busy career, thousands of people of various nationalities, states, ages and professions passed through her studio. Cataloguing all the artist's works will someday present great difficulty due to their scattering in both hemispheres of the earth.

Among the personalities who posed for the painter, we should mention: Sienkiewicz, poets: Verhaeren, Remy de Gourmont, Segarde, Pierre Fourmier, Franguetti, the painter Desgranges, the collector Libaud, the art historian Fourreau, the musicians Padwan, Rubinstein and the writer Vauxelles.

But it is not portraiture alone that occupies our artist. In her moments away from the model, she paints the interiors of her own studio, or that of her neighbour Miss Harrisson, still lifes and landscape from the window. She was awarded the Karczewski Prize for the interior of her Krakow studio. Undeniably, it is a very subtle study with a harmony of greenish colours, but as an effort of work and talent it cannot go in comparison with her portraits.

Her favourite still life subject is flowers. She paints them most readily when they begin to wither, when the colour intensity is lost. We are just admiring the numerous bouquets of marigolds, anemones and pale pink roses. These are the only stronger accents of colour among the plethora of paintings. Grey still lifes arranged with porcelain and figurines reflect them. But what an exquisite and vast scale of tones there! Some poem won by Chopin. The tiniest object that the painter's hand touches - it receives a soul full of sensitivity.

The only kind of painting little practised by the artist is landscape. This is due to her way of life and her excessive preoccupation with portraiture. Occasionally she only happens to paint a view. We are currently looking at two beautiful small studies from Dieppe and Weimar. Sometimes in spring or autumn - when the 'model' fails, she paints from her window a neighbouring courtyard, decorated with dewy, leafless trees. This is not a cheerful look at nature.

Melancholia has prepared a palette for it. In general, cheerfulness is a foreign element in Olga Boznanska's work. Her art, inaccessible to the grey crowd through the subtle refinement of colour and form, is characterised by the deep seriousness of a sensitive soul.

Of all Polish artists, she was the best known abroad and the most respected, and at a time when Poland stood for nothing but "talents" in the world, she fulfilled her mission admirably.

And no one among the living Polish painters (except Malczewski) is more rightly decorated with the "Polonia Restituta" than Olga Boznañska, who won the recognition of her Homeland with her talent, work and lofty character.
- Gentlemen, tea is ready.