Gift
Lithuanian Stories of Katarzyna Karpowicz
When I was considering what starting point to choose while writing this introductory text for the new—and first in Lithuania—exhibition of Katarzyna Karpowicz, I quickly decided that it would not be written from the perspective of a literary historian, let alone an art critic. I leave that field to my distinguished scholarly colleagues: Radosław Romaniuk and Piotr Oczko. I, on the other hand, will tell a story. And it seems that such a key fits best here. After all, the paintings of the Kraków artist always tell some kind of story and are, to a large extent, intimate. This also encourages me to adopt a more personal tone.
In fact, there will be two stories—both essential to the process of creating the exhibition. The first took place in Kraków, still in 2024, in the artist’s studio on the top floor of a house on Sobieskiego Street. Perhaps it was the extraordinary creative atmosphere of that place, perhaps an association with a similar Kraków tenement house where Czesław Miłosz spent the last decade of his life. The fact is that when the Nobel laureate’s name came up in conversation with Katarzyna, it turned out that we both read him, that we both like him, and when we began listing the titles of our favourite poems, we immediately agreed that they are very painterly. The idea for the future exhibition was therefore ready, and the accompanying proposal that I become its curator was both an honour and an intriguing professional challenge.
No, it was not that I prepared a list of poems expecting Katarzyna Karpowicz to illustrate them. Anyone who has encountered her work—and especially read interviews scattered across the many catalogues already published, revealing a glimpse of her creative process—knows that the artist always paints from a strong inner impulse, and that the starting point is often dreams, intuitions, or experiences (or imaginings of them). Miłosz’s poetry could therefore serve only and exclusively as inspiration for telling (or rather painting) the stories created by the artist.
Yes, I suggested a few poems—those that were somehow more important or more beautiful to me than others. Fortunately, they turned out to be meaningful for the artist as well. From the beginning, the cheerful Gift was part of this set, giving its title to the entire exhibition. I was almost certain that the author would like my suggestion to look at the poem On Angels. The metaphysical mood present there, also perceptible in Karpowicz’s painting, can be found, for example, in the famous Clouds. Everything fits: the admiration for the beauty of the world, the bright side of life intertwined with the dark one, tinged with anxiety and fear.
Enough about the poems—these few examples will suffice, because I must also tell the second story, this time Lithuanian, of our meetings. It is May 2025; Kasia arrives at my invitation in Vilnius to see the gallery of the National Library—the venue of the future exhibition. But we also plan a trip to Miłosz’s family region, to the Nevėžis River, the fictional Issa. It is the artist’s first visit to Vilnius. But is it really? After the first walk through the picturesque streets of the Old Town, Katarzyna tells me that the city seems familiar to her, that she has already been here. But how? When? In dreams, of course. And if in dreams, then these houses and alleys must be in her paintings. So I browse through the catalogues of previous exhibitions once again, and indeed—if one looks closely at the urban motifs in her work, the atmosphere is surprisingly close to that of Vilnius: very intimate, not at all metropolitan, with a certain nostalgia and patina, where many places may deceive us: is this a city or a small town? Vilnius or Szczebrzeszyn? Reality or dream? The living or the dead?
The trip to the Nevėžis brings even more surprises. Passing historical Kėdainiai, we approach Šeteiniai, Miłosz’s birthplace. Kasia looks out the car window, absorbing the landscapes, while I leaf through the volume of poems once more, searching for descriptions of the poet’s childhood land. When we arrive and descend from the high escarpment to the riverbank, everything matches. The water even has a slightly reddish colour, just as in the poems. There are hazel bushes. It is beautiful and peaceful; we take many photos. I already know that The Issa Valley will be another inspiration for the artist—not only because of the descriptions of nature in these surroundings, but also because of the stories told there. This narrative quality and the vivid characters of the book fit perfectly with Karpowicz’s painting. Knowing her fondness for portraits of children, it is easy for me to imagine the image of little Tomasz from the novel, that is, the young Miłosz. And a few months later, when I see the finished exhibition, it will turn out that my intuition did not fail me.
But the most interesting moment awaits us a few kilometres further, in Šventybrastis, at the church where, in 1911, the future Nobel Prize laureate was baptised. The small village church is closed, so we look around the area and… Katarzyna is again in a place she has already been many times, and which I immediately associate with her paintings. Oh yes, this will be a wonderful portrait. I position her against the backdrop of old, majestic oaks—trees that today can probably be found only in Lithuania—and take a photo that I will later, with some pride, find on the artist’s social media. It is May, late spring, still quite cool, so the leaves are only beginning to unfold. They are delightfully bright and vivid in colour, but the branches come to the foreground—dark, strong, magnificent. These trees will, of course, appear in the paintings that Katarzyna will create over the next several months with the April 2026 opening in Vilnius in mind.
The story of preparing the Polish-Lithuanian exhibition of Katarzyna Karpowicz is a sequence of fortunate coincidences, surprising encounters, and discoveries—not without a touch of magic (or perhaps destiny?) in the background. The word gift, used in the title, also gained additional meanings in the context of this exhibition. For me personally, a gift of fate turned out to be the fact that diplomatic paths led me to Vilnius, where, having the tools to promote Polish culture, I could organise the first Lithuanian presentation of the work of my favourite painter, so highly valued among art enthusiasts. This would not have been possible without the kindness of Aušrinė Žilinskienė, director of the Martynas Mažvydas National Library of Lithuania, who provided the best and most prestigious exhibition space in the Lithuanian capital. I also thank Wojciech Tuleya from the Art Gallery in Warsaw, the Polish venue of the exhibition, for his involvement, including in preparing this catalogue. And these thanks would probably end here, due to limited space, were it not for the latest gift from Kėdainiai, the Lithuanian Capital of Culture 2026—the opportunity to present the exhibition at the local Regional Museum, for which I thank director Rimantas Žirgulis. One could not imagine a better way to honour the 115th anniversary of Miłosz’s birth in his homeland.
When I came up with the idea for the exhibition, after Katarzyna Karpowicz quickly and without hesitation agreed to it, and the distinguished partners from Lithuania and Poland mentioned above began confirming their cooperation, I already knew that it would be a major artistic event bringing the two nations closer together. I am glad that it takes place in the year of the 30th anniversary of the Polish Institute in Vilnius and enhances this jubilee.
