This article concerns an exhibition of works by Jacek Malczewski held in Krakow in 1925. One of the paintings reproduced here is a portrait of the artist's wife from 1905 now in the Moderne Galerie in Vienna (now the Österreichische Galerie Belvedere). The article was published in the journal "Sztuki Piękne" 1924/1925, pp. 197-215 (public domain, reprinted after Library of the University of Silesia, Katowice).

A modernised reading of the text

A group exhibition of works by Jacek Malczewski.

The seventieth anniversary of Jacek Malczewski and fifty years of his artistic activity were celebrated in Kraków primarily with an exhibition of his paintings, in an attempt to show, at least in part, how much we owe to this outstanding artist. Six rooms of the building of the Society of Fine Arts and one main wall of the great hall of the National Museum in the Sukiennice were filled with his paintings, but we, who have known and followed the production of our beloved artist for many years, know only too well that this is only a fraction, only a tiny fraction of what he created.

Standing vividly in our minds from earlier memories are countless other paintings, including numerous first-rate masterpieces, which unfortunately we do not see in the exhibition. Many of them could not be brought back, and it is impossible to find out about many others in whose possession they are today. The fruit of Malczewski's work amounts to thousands of paintings and not just one exhibition space, but perhaps twenty buildings of this size could easily fill them.

In a group exhibition, however, it is not so much the quantity as the quality that matters, and moreover the impression made by the whole. Any collection of numerous works by the same artist and their juxtaposition together entails a certain danger for the overall effect.

We often see this, for example, in museums, where, often with an exaggeration that in my opinion is misguided and misguided, they now excessively favour the idea of concentrating the works of the same artist next to each other. Even the great masters are usually done a disservice by this - what is striking in such a gathering is the monotony, the poverty of the artist's means more than their variety.

Malczewski, on the other hand, stands the test resolutely victorious. This is not because he is always new in his choice of subjects - after all we know that although he never makes "replicas", he has his favourite compositions in various phases of his art, fantasies that he repeats with liking, but also favourite models. However, he has at his disposal such an unbelievably rich pool of painterly means and ideological ideas that almost each of his paintings becomes a new separate problem, and is solved in a way which, although sometimes arousing some opposition, always evokes a lively interest, and often admiration so vivid that, in view of the power of the effect, it would be petty to raise some minor critical objections or charges.

I have recently had the opportunity ("Krakowski Przegląd Wspolczesny", November issue, 1924), albeit only in a sketchy way, to express my opinion on Malczewski's art in various stages of its development, so I will not return here to such remarks of more general content - I only want to mention, for the sake of illustration, some of the more important works seen at the Collective Exhibition, which, as they are in private possession, will unfortunately disappear again from the eyes of the master's admirers.

The first, still youthful epoch of our artist (dating roughly from after 1888) is relatively under-represented at the Exhibition. Of the "Siberian subjects" so extremely characteristic of that period, we see only a few, and of these only one of first-rate quality. On the contrary, this very painting, which at the time was a source of loud admiration, seems today, which is extremely exceptional in Malczewski's works, somewhat withered and outdated.

Although there is no denying that the faces are individually conceived and each of them deserves the name of a beautiful painting study, the whole is not satisfying, the colouring is monotonous and dead, the grouping of the figures schematic, the lighting primitively "workmanlike", in a word, a certain coldness blows from this painting and gives the impression that it was done "programmatically", but a bit "coldly".This is strange, because Malczewski is always impulsive and inspired. Apparently, in this case, the young artist held himself too much in check and probably felt a little intimidated and embarrassed about taking on such an extremely serious subject.

Nowadays, in this type of painting composition, it is not enough for us to have noble intentions, even if only with correctness - we require not only a more vivid vibration of life in the rendering of nature, but also details of a generic nature, based on observation, and thus giving us the impression of real events.

The second, smaller in size "Siberian" theme, entitled The Last Stage, is also completely in keeping with these conditions. Inside an almost dark room, exiles driven to Siberia are resting - one of them, a young boy, ends his poor, broken life there. The artist was able to portray his agony without any melodramatic effect, with heartbreaking realism. The boy's legs are already stretched out to indicate the corpse-like death of his limbs, and his wide-open mouth is a symptom that the dying man's last is evidently a snoring and laboured respiration.

The surroundings of the poor dying man betray little sympathy for him and almost no concern for his person. Only one old man gazes tenderly at him and holds a small cross before his fading eyes - of the other figures, only a few look on with some interest, in all cases dullness and complete indifference. One of those present - apparently a Russian soldier - sitting on the same bunk where the dying man lies, has turned away from him and is scratching his back with complete indifference - the others are asleep and pay absolutely no attention to the terrible drama of the dying, taking place right next to them.

Not only does this way of presenting the subject matter not diminish, but on the contrary intensifies the impression of tragedy. For more than loud expressions of sympathy, we are emphasised by the horror of painful passages and death by the very detail that others, either as a result of moral dullness or helplessness and shooting themselves in the face with poverty, accept the horror of events like the everyday, commonplace accidents of life with dead indifference.

The final scene, although not lacking in some youthful deficiencies in execution (e.g. the colouring is too dirty grey, the neglect of the problem of lighting and the perspective of the depth of the chamber, which the artist only marks with an abbreviation, admittedly perfectly executed, of the figures lying on the benches) - is, after all, already a realistic masterpiece.

An even more splendid masterpiece from the "Siberian" era was a painting vividly still in my memory entitled Death of an Exile (the first to bear this name), in which poignant dramatic realism is combined with poetic sublimity. This painting could not appear in the Exhibition, as it is in the "Wigthman Art Gallery", belonging to the University of Notre Dame (Indiana, St. Univ.), from where it recently arrived with a tribute of appreciation.For the master, the news that this work there arouses lively admiration and admiration, helping to popularise our past martyrdoms in the struggle for independence and to win our sympathy.

In addition to Siberian subjects, the artist was also occupied in his first dozen or so years with subjects taken from the life of the rural people, and these almost always with a certain touch of the fantastic. This note is gradually intensified, so that the world and customs of the people are more and more frequently and strongly combined with the addition of the fabulous, a product of the artist's poetic imagination. This connexion is symptomatic of the fact that even the most fabulous world of the artist's fauns, chimeras and the like will always, to some extent, have our ethnographic character - it is a sign that these creatures grew on Polish soil, and that they live and move among our native surroundings: our country manors, cottages and farmsteads, our flowers and vegetables, our canopies, dams, wells with cranes and the like.

Before the artist embarked on this path, however, he willingly combined a kind of romantic fairy tale with the folk, realistically sketched rural life. This is the nature of, for example, the interesting series of six small paintings in which the artist presents the treacherous, dangerous fairy goddesses of folk tales in the form of vividly and quite naturalistically depicted ordinary country girls. It is difficult to guess whether we are dealing here with a "cycle" as far as content is concerned - in two of these paintings we can easily guess a certain epic connection.

The story could be called a tragic idyll: in one picture, a laughing and grinning wench lures a young fisherman into the currents of a river, while in the next, we see the boy lying dead surrounded by the girls, laughing and teasing the poor drowning man.

It is in these paintings that a rural landscape appears - perhaps for the first time - in our artist, a truly profound one, rendered with an understanding of the mood of nature and aerial perspective. Admittedly, the landscape is gloomy, bleak, without sunshine or more vibrant vegetation, and it smells of marshland vapours, but it is nature applied exquisitely to an amazing subject.

In the first room of the Exhibition, among the artist's youthful creations, it is generally somewhat 'dark', there is an eminently tenebroso colour scheme. A striking exception to this is the portrait of the artist's wife (supposedly painted during their engagement), which creates a strange contrast among these dark works, a sort of chalk-white stain. The portrait shows her dressed in the fashion of the time, consisting of elaborate, as was common at the time, coiffure details - everything is white, only here and there turning pearly, and rendered against a uniformly white background.

We see this portrait as a sophisticated tour de force of colour, as was the fashion in France at the time. It is hard not to acknowledge the virtuosity of the execution, but at the same time it is undeniable that we are hardly satisfied with portraits of this kind today. We always want to feel in a portrait that the model lives and breathes in the atmosphere in which the artist places him or her - and we lack that impression here.

When one moves from the room containing Malczewski's early works to the two main rooms containing paintings from his mature period, one is formally dazzled at first. What grabs you is the unheard-of exuberance and variety of colours, then the masterful characterisation of faces, the highlighting of heads, the vibrant pulse in every composition, not excluding those that are most fantastic and puzzling in their thematic content. Everything we see appears almost out of the frame and presses in on the viewer, as if magically 'vitalised' by the master.

Even the most bizarre fantasies and whims of the artist become the world of reality. I do not know any contemporary painter whose works could produce such an effect of movement and life swirling around us. At the same time, however, Malczewski took great care to ensure the harmony of colour in each and every painting, which is easily recognisable on closer inspection of the details.

There are pictures painted in extremely vivid tones, others in a haze - but each picture has its own proper colour and mood. There are no unpleasant dissonances or conflicting colours. The painter's palette is extremely rich and varied; only in his mature stage does he generally avoid the formerly favoured gloomy tone, as well as the "brown sauces" in which the Munich school was fond at one time, in order to imitate the "patina" of the old masters.

I am delighted to see three of the master's works, which I know very well from earlier times and which must unquestionably be considered masterpieces even today, at the Exhibition. The date of their creation is between 1893 and 1898. Two of these powerful paintings, namely: The Enchanted Wheel and the so-called Melancholia, are closely related - both in their painterly conception and ideological symbolism.

In no other composition by the artist do we find such a large number of different figures together, and all of them in both paintings have the character of a vision flying through the air. The meaning of the momentary apparition is emphasised by the artist above all by means of drawing, which superbly - with regard to each individual figure - conveys the illusion of floating in the air, so that we readily believe that they are either whirling (as in Enchanted Circle) or swirling (in Melancholia), driven by some mysterious, irresistible force.

In terms of capturing and rendering this illusion of a certain "aerial static" - which, as we all know, is not an easy task, our artist could compete with the most brilliant masters in this respect, such as Tintoretto in particular from the older painters and José Benlliure from the new ones (in his famous, enormous painting, The Vision of the Colosseum). It should be noted, however, that Malczewski's ghosts do not enjoy the privilege generally enjoyed by all ghosts - and thus also painted ghosts - of being allowed to partially dissolve in mist or darkness and may be content with a less correct, less precise drawing. On the contrary, the ghosts of our artist are all drawn very concretely and tangibly, and, what is particularly difficult, are placed in positions in which a living model would not be able to hold itself for a few seconds.

The symbol, so frequent in Malczewski's works in general, imposes itself exceptionally strongly in both compositions and forces us to create an answer to the problem of its meaning. In accordance with the author's thought, the answer here and there is gloomy and pessimistic. In The Enchanted Circle, the vision is of a boy, a painter's assistant, sitting on a high ladder in a room, and its content is a whirl of various characters, personifying feelings and life transitions of people: from pleasures and delights to misfortunes, slavery, persecutions and old age.

The artist also highlights the contrast between the two parts of the painting in extremely brilliant colours. For the whole painting radiates as if stylised in rainbow colours; the left-hand corner, symbolising joy and pleasure, has warm, vivid golden and red tones, while the side of suffering falls into violet-grey gloom. The latter, dark and gloomy side of the painting is decidedly predominant: 'happiness' fills only a tiny corner of the Circle, and is depicted, moreover, not as the serene joy of life, but as a half-crazed sensual intoxication - while 'suffering' occupies most of the composition, depicting symptoms of struggle, despondency and despair - the impression of pain, sadness and horror dominates the whole. Are we to interpret the 'symbol' merely as the painterly vision of a boy painter in whom an artistic vocation awakens, or should it be extended more widely and understood as an allegory of human life in general? As far as I am concerned, I declare myself firmly in favour of the latter, more general interpretation, which, moreover, does not exclude the former, but rather deepens it.

In the painting called Melancholia, we see a similar, but even richer in figures (even slightly overloaded with them) phantom flying through the air. In a corner of a deep chamber, turned away from us, sits the painter at his easel, from whose canvas springs a swarm of boyish children; closer to us, it is an armed youth flying towards the battle. Further on, in the centre of the painting, the "age of manhood, the age of defeat" looms large - figures which, by their movement and expression, indicate a battle with some invisible enemy, with many of the combatants falling under the blow and, as spectres, vanquished or fallen, they float towards the front of the painting. At the end of the right-hand side, only a slim group of old men have reached the window, offering a view of a sunny and greening landscape - but these old men lack the strength to get out.

Finally, outside the chamber, at a slightly ajar window, stands a female figure (we can barely see her outlined profile), all in black, turned away from the interior. What does this strange composition mean? Some features of the swirling figures (e.g. scythes mounted on spars and other weapons, also some details of clothing reminiscent of the clothes of our insurgents) allow us to guess a symbol of our national struggles and unsuccessful efforts to gain freedom, and therefore an artistic vision on the subject.

But here, too, a broader, general interpretation is possible: we can see in this composition a symbol of human struggle - unsuccessful, directed towards achieving some ideal, dreamed-of goal. It is an exceptionally beautiful idea, both ideologically and from the point of view of the painterly impression, that the barrier preventing one from escaping the prison-like atmosphere of the interior into the sunlight is not a menacing titan, a demon or a skeleton with a scythe, but a frail female figure in black, standing behind an ajar window. This detail clearly marks for us how easy it seems for mankind to achieve the desired goal, and yet life breaks down in futile struggle - the struggle undertaken is in vain!

Are we to relate the title of the painting Melancholia precisely to this mysterious female figure in black? This is what people usually assume - but, I think, wrongly. Melancholia is rather the sad thought of the futility of human struggles and endeavours, which the painting symbolises, while the black figure at the window itself is more of an allegory of finality and reverie, from which emanates a kind of silent plea for understanding or care. This whole world of painterly enigmas, born of the artist's imagination, does not always lend itself to logical analysis, nor does it always require rational interpretation - it is enough that it appeals to us through its atmosphere, facial expression, compositional rhythm and colour tonality. For the essence of Malczewski's art, even in its most puzzling manifestations, is not a cool illustration of concepts, but a creative vision of the world filtered through the sensitivity of poet and painter in one person.

It is also significant how this artist, sometimes using a motif from mythology, a biblical symbol or a theme taken from the life of a people, always gives it an individual expression - transforming, simplifying, stylising and at the same time imbuing it with his own feeling and reflection. Thus, works are created in which even the simplest gestures and arrangements of figures have psychological depth, while realistic details - such as a cloud in the sky, a dry leaf on a path or the outline of a hill in the background - acquire symbolic significance. Malczewski never speaks directly - his language is the language of visions, dreams and understatement, i.e. a language that confronts the viewer with the task of co-creating the meaning of the work, of adding its hidden content themselves.

This is also the uniqueness of his art: it combines national and universal, historical and timeless, realistic and fantastic elements, all wrapped up in a deeply personal tone, full of lyricism, melancholy and metaphysical anxiety. This painting - although often marked by sadness, drama, sometimes even the grotesque - is never sterile; on the contrary, it stimulates thought, makes one stop and listen to the silent voice of the painting.

The expression of a child's face can be seen in the painting belonging to the 'Enchanted Well'. It depicts a girl who, although looking at us with hopeful eyes, has a thoughtful and serious face. A deep reverie is visible in it, as if she is contemplating something intangible, unreal. In the background of this painting there are elements that enliven its expression - the luscious green of the trees, the flowers in the meadows, and the silvery glistening surface of the water.

Such an atmosphere can also be found in Jacek Malczewski's other works. In his paintings, nature is alive, vibrant with energy and colour. The paintings depict the Polish countryside, nature seems to be the epitome of magic. Everything closely associated with the native landscape runs through the paintings, from the grain in the ear, to the gilding fields, to the spaces lit by the misty sun.

Words are too poor to describe the richness of these landscape moods, which, although "poor" in essence, fully reflect the power of the Polish landscape.

Presented with the eye of a true poet full of the riches of the soul.
Sometimes these mysterious "duets" and "tercets" are at the same time portraits of acquaintances, but more often still, in these scenes, we come across the likeness of the artist himself, who often assigns himself a strange and unexpected role in these lush fantasies. This is the case, for example, in this richly coloured triptych, where Master Jacek has taken on the role of a faun with horns on his head and, resting his herculean (this time) arms on a barrel, looks at the viewer with defiant humour.

On each wing of the triptych we see a female figure. One of them, a full-figured girl, pours into her hand a drink taken from the barrel of a faun and wants to taste it, - the other, much younger, a girl with a pleasantly playful look, holds an empty jug in her lap. Does she, too, think that the time for tasting the drink will come, and smiles at the thought? Or has she perhaps cleverly foreseen the faun's evil intentions and is determined never to allow herself, like the other one, to be "taken for a joke"? What name to give to this interesting and suggestive composition? Perhaps: Even sensuality? I have thus already moved on to the self-portrait section of the exhibition; these are in abundance, but it is the variety of their expression and surroundings that makes the admiration all the more vivid.

Some of them are without fancy additions, but always in a certain, deliberately marked, separate mood. One of the most pleasant to me is a small-sized portrait of the artist in a fur coat thrown over his shoulders, against the background of
a somewhat stylised view of VGsła near Krakow. The sky is grey and misty, the ribbon of the Vistula River appears to float as if it were a boundless widow and the hill of Babia Góra, dusted with snow, seems to be at a great distance and imitates, allegedly, the sacred mountain of Fudji, so well known from Japanese woodcuts. The artist's face is vividly coloured with a bold expression, as if full of confidence in his own strength, without the grimace of exaggerated arrogance not uncommon in other self-portraits.

Perhaps that is partly why this portrait of an artist "friend" is so dear to me, because I normally have the opportunity to see it every day in my flat. The two profile self-portraits, dark in colour, as if seen in the twilight, as triptych wings to the painting Grosz czynszowy (Rent Penny), also deserve a separate mention. The right one in particular is a magnificent masterpiece, both in terms of the incomparably bold modelling of the skull and in conveying the expression of solemn admiration and inspiration under the influence of a supernatural phantom, marked in the depths of the painting.

Finally, among the self-portraits, I do not want to pass over in silence one which is significantly in tune'. Well, Malczewski did not follow the path of classical depictions - his Christ is neither a pathetic type nor conventionally beautiful. He often portrays Him as a very human figure: tired, full of suffering, but also quiet and resigned. Sometimes the Saviour from Malczewski's paintings sits thoughtfully by the side of simple people, sometimes He appears only as a phantom present in the background of everyday life, barely discernible, but nevertheless giving spiritual depth to the whole. The artist does not dazzle with the sacrum, but rather subtly weaves it in, leading the viewer into a contemplation that is unobvious, personal and very intimate.

To sum up: the text under discussion is a multi-faceted critical sketch that shows Jacek Malczewski as an artist who is deeply symbolic and at the same time eminently realistic in form. The author of the essay emphasises the extraordinary poetic power of his works - the ability to convey states of mind, moods and ideas in an original and evocative way. Even if some works are characterised by sketchiness or certain errors, overall Malczewski's oeuvre is presented as unique, innovative and strongly rooted in the Polish spiritual and cultural landscape".

First and foremost it must be acknowledged that in his conception the artist does not imitate anyone from the earlier masters, he strives to be self-contained and original. This face, extremely continuous, with a beautiful, distant gaze, surrounded by tangles of thick reddish hair, is not only unusually "thinking", but also so unusually individual that it becomes unforgettable once you have seen it. And that's a lot! Let us add to this that sometimes a momentary gesture and expression caused by the depicted event, but also the mood of the surroundings, emphasise even more the spiritual greatness of this lofty character.

This is the case, for example, in the painting: "Unbelieving Thomas". There, the apostle is portrayed as naïve, frightened, and in movement and expression as a simple, uncouth, even brutal worker of the people, while Christ, shrouded in glory, allows a poor mortal to touch his wound, but evidently not without a noble, almost contemptuous look, expressing, as it were, that not a physical touch, not even sight, but the eye of the spirit should have shown him the solution to the great mystery.

In a strange, highly original and at the same time disturbingly gloomy composition, "The Temptation of Christ", the artist again presents us with a kind of struggle, an ideological conflict vividly defined, between the powers of Evil and Good, with the titanic representative of the idea of Evil and Perversity seeming to have the upper hand. In the face of Christ we see a kind of painful depression - although we feel that the tempted one will not yield to persuasions or threats and is superior to them, we sense in him a certain fear and anxiety that others will not be able to resist this power of Evil. - Certain criticisms may be raised against the two above-mentioned artistic creations, and one may even fundamentally transfer ideologically over them a certain different way of approaching these themes, but it is difficult not to admit that something akin to the power of Michelangelo's style blows from them.

In the artist's other religious paintings, the figure of Jesus is calmer, free of agitation and affectation, as for example in 'The Rent Penny' or 'The Sworn Sinner'. Here, Jesus presents himself to us as a profound thinker, a judge who gives an infallible verdict, but at the same time as an apodictic arbiter, shrouded in majesty, who, having stated his opinion, does not allow a reply, does not enter into discussion with those around him.

The noble but somewhat contemptuous haughtiness we are also familiar with from Malczewski's other creations is fully revealed in the type of Christ. It is therefore difficult for us to imagine him as a promoter of the ideas of humility, resignation and self-denial, and even more difficult to imagine him as a comforter of the afflicted or a lover of naive children. It is not easy to suppose that the words of the "Sermon on the Mount" or the exhortation, "Let the little ones come to me!" could have come from the lips of this lofty figure. - could have come out of the mouth of this haughty, "unapproachable" figure. But who knows? The master's range in rendering the diversity of the psyche is so rich that, if he had chosen a different, suitable theme from the life of Christ, he would have been able to manage this task satisfactorily. It is certain that based on what Malczewski created in the field of religious art, the regret that he did not work on it much more intensively is justified.

Perhaps I should also mention the works of our artist exhibited in the National Museum in Sukiennice. I shall refrain from doing so, not wishing to unduly prolong an article that has already gone well beyond its stated limits. Malczewski's paintings in the Sukiennice, either owned by the Museum or deposited there, are generally better known to our public - some of which I have already mentioned on another occasion.

The final conclusion, impressed by the collection of a greater number of the master's works, may be put in the following words: what the artist has given us is extremely rich and awe-inspiring, what he could give in addition is simply infinite - in fact, his creative power is so titanic that it is difficult to imagine a painting task which, if he undertook it, he would not manage to accomplish.