First, I’d like to apologise — my English is not perfect. I’m currently at a B1 level and have been learning the language for several years. But it often feels like ploughing a fallow field: whatever I learn, I remember only briefly, and then I have to relearn it almost from scratch. There are reasons for this that I understand, but I prefer to keep them private.
AI helps me translate from Polish to English. Still, sometimes the reverse translation changes the meaning I originally intended. So you may find some awkward phrases or funny mistakes — I hope they bring a smile rather than confusion.
I do my best to correct language errors wherever I can, and I appreciate your patience.
I received my Master of Fine Arts degree in 1997. I live and work in Kraków, Poland — the city where I was born. Since 2004, I’ve been running my own business, and since 2009, I’ve been painting primarily with gouache.
Solo Exhibition of My Paintings – Warsaw, 2002
During this time, I was searching for the ideal artistic method to express planned content. My exploration involved not only colour, composition, and subject matter, but also a deeper question: What motivates the creation of such paintings? And why is it worth presenting them in an exhibition?
I chose greasy pastel on coloured paper as my primary technique. It was a luminous chapter in my painting journey — one that has since passed, but left behind a lasting passion for paper as the foundation for my compositions.
On the Process of Creating My Gouaches
I follow certain principles that I once observed, appreciated, and later carefully considered. One of them relates to painting from photographs. I don’t paint directly from photos — although I do use them.
I was inspired by Edgar Degas, the French painter associated with the Art Nouveau period. He was fascinated by photography, yet he never painted directly from photographs, even though he used them in his process.
For Degas, photography revealed a new way to capture the movement of dancers. For me, it became a tool to frame a composition — to preserve a moment that caught my attention during a photo session.
Working with the Photograph
This stage deserves occasional emphasis. After returning from a photo session, I typically review and process my collection of compositions using photo editing software. Only once a photo has been thoughtfully refined does it become a meaningful aid in creating a new image.
The photo below is lightly edited. In this context, the technical aspects — such as photographic equipment or image resolution — are of secondary importance to me.
Instead, I focus on the creative conditions I’ve set for myself:
- I occasionally take part in plein air photo sessions.
- I personally process the photos I’ve taken, using computer software.
- I then genuinely incorporate these images into my painting process.
This sequence is essential to my creative rhythm:
original photo → image → painting
The Price of Time
Years ago, while studying painting conservation, I became deeply inspired by the patina of time on old easel paintings. That quiet aging — the subtle wear, the softened tones — left a lasting impression on me.
I’ve since woven this discovery into my own creative practice. Occasionally, traces of this influence appear in my gouaches, especially when I revisit an old, “worn-out” photograph from a past outdoor session. Time lends its own texture, its own voice — and I welcome it into the work.
My greatest painting fascinations over the years
It all began, one might say, with the “Little Dutchmen” in the mid-1980s — a time when I was still deeply fascinated by architecture. Artists like Jan Vermeer van Delft, Frans Hals, Pieter de Hooch, and Adriaen van Ostade drew me into the world of painting. Their works sparked my earliest interest in the medium.
Even before my formal studies, I had discovered Picasso. But after my first year at the academy, all my previous admiration was quite literally swept away by the paintings of Titian — a revelation that reshaped my artistic perspective.
In the years that followed, Paul Cézanne entered the picture. Then came Gustav Klimt, with his ornamental richness and symbolic depth.
My more recent discoveries, from just a few years ago, include Sano di Pietro, Fra Angelico, and Raphael (Raffaello Santi) — artists whose spiritual and compositional clarity continue to inspire me.
The Right Place for Visual Arts in the Life of a Painter Who Does Not Seek a Dazzling Career
If talent is a gift — and it certainly is — then it deserves to be treated with respect. This is a matter of honesty, both in life and in art. Otherwise, talent risks being wasted.
There is no obligation to pursue a dazzling career simply because one possesses talent. My approach is straightforward: a painter should be able to earn a modest living through their art if they truly wish to. Pricing should reflect this reality — acknowledging the objective value of educated talent.
In contrast, talent developed at an amateur level may bring occasional financial gain, but not necessarily sustained income. In both cases, if the market does not respond favourably, it is better to give away a painting than to sell it for a humiliatingly low price. There’s truth in the saying that true art rarely brings profit during the artist’s lifetime. One need only recall the struggles of Rembrandt himself, even after painting The Night Watch.
Personally, I never aspired to a grand career or a long list of exhibitions. Since my youth, I’ve simply wanted to paint — to grow in my craft, and to see my works find homes. I’ve always hoped my paintings would be sold to private collectors or individuals who value them quietly, without the need for public display.
My paintings are not meant to remain tucked away in drawers. They belong on walls, in living spaces, or in the cabinets of those who appreciate them. Ideally, they would be resold over time, with their value increasing with each new owner.
For several years, I’ve been sharing insights from my professional experience — especially regarding the nature of artistic talent. It’s worth emphasizing that art patronage, when done with dignity, is as valuable as the talent it supports.
When a person uses their talent with personal freedom, that freedom becomes visible in their work. But when a talented individual is deprived of that freedom, their gift begins to regress. If such conditions persist, the talent may eventually fade — leaving only technical skills and manual ability behind.
More information about me, if anyone wishes, can be found on my website in Polish:
Malarstwo i Ty Renata Kucharska
Close-up art, or painting and you: a short history of my education
Private Reflections
In my childhood, I was often ill — mostly with angina, and in second grade, with scarlet fever. Looking back, I believe the persistent and merciless smog in Kraków at the time played a role in my health. In third grade, I received injections of Debecylin for nearly a year. Then, quite suddenly, I experienced a growth spurt — something clearly visible in the photographs below.
I’ve always loved hiking, exploring, and taking photographs. Before 1989, I had the chance to visit Great Britain, West Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, France, and Italy. After 1989, I traveled to Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, France, Italy, the Vatican, Sweden, Finland, Norway (all the way to Nordkapp), and Malta. In 2001, I spent a few hours in Lviv, Ukraine. The echo of these journeys sometimes appears not only in my photos, but also in my paintings.
From 2009 to 2021, I had a small dog — an Australian Silky Terrier. I mention this because I think it’s a truly lovely breed. Since then, I haven’t had another dog.
Finally, I should explain two photographs of my breeding park with edible snails. This was one of my better ideas for relieving stress — a quiet, curious project that brought me joy.
I was born in May, I was baptised at the same font as St. John Paul II in July, and in December, I moved my right hand, which was affected by a brachial plexus injury (in an Erb’s splint for almost 8 months), for the first time.
This photo was taken by Servant of God Archbishop Antoni Baraniak in my grandmother’s apartment. The Metropolitan of Poznań, as well as the personal secretary of the Primate of Poland, Blessed Cardinal Stefan Wyszyński.
Day of the First Holy Communion.
I was sketching something on the roof of the Cathedral.
In 1986 or 1987, I participated in an art olympiad. I kept the text of the free topic that I chose. The text is in Polish, but maybe someone knows it, so they will be able to understand.
The beginning of work on the pigeon.
The pigeon I.
I focus, as time allows, on affirming human life and human dignity from conception to natural death (for now only in Polish). I live in a new, yet unacknowledged form of consecrated life in the Roman Catholic Church. It is a usually lonely life, in a world with the obligation to support oneself. The ministry (charism) is basically entirely about the Church itself, not the world. Therefore, I usually form relationships with the world like all people of goodwill.