Only the oldest residents of the town on the Bóbr remember when the young painter Mieczysław Żołądź settled here. A restless spirit, a dynamic creator bursting with energy. His first exhibition of paintings, in the autumn of 1962 beneath the arcades of the picturesque Market Square, came as a surprise: a talent of the highest order had unexpectedly appeared in the town, a young artist fascinated by the beauty of the world and surrendering completely to the passion of creation.
An unusual and exceptionally hard-working man, controversial, sensitive and ambitious, emotional and depressive, easily giving in to moods, yet also prone to passionate tirades and outbursts.
Years ago, much was written and said about him. Exhibitions, crazy ideas variously commented on by people with shrugs and contemptuous epithets (posing as a genius, a weirdo whose ambitions exceeded his abilities, a publicity seeker), outdoor classes, his own art studio in the town hall tower, where the dignified office of city executioner had once been held – all this aroused hostility and gratuitous envy. How typically familiar and Polish at the same time: this complete lack of tolerance for another person’s psychological individuality, for his achievements and the fame that grew with every month...
Frequent mentions in the press, 28 broadcasts on various Polish Radio programmes, 13 inserts and broadcasts on numerous TV programmes, and then—nothing. One day he simply left, without saying goodbye. Bolesławiec proved too confining, the spite impossible to swallow, the hostility impossible to accept. Another series of victories and defeats began, as in life. Time passed in an authentic hermitage. Did those years leave him with a festering resentment toward his surroundings, toward people?
All the muses of the fine arts sang for him when he felt himself to be the authentic castellan of Grodziec Castle near Iwiny. The mighty medieval structure, standing on high basalt rocks atop a volcanic cone, was crumbling into ruins. The traces of the former splendour of the knightly seat were vanishing before one’s eyes. He matched his strength to his ambitions, as in Mickiewicz’s era of Romanticism. And the dead castle came back to life. He devoted 10 long years of backbreaking labour beyond his strength to it. He repaired roofs, cloisters and towers; painted frescoes on the mouldering, mould-covered walls of the ballrooms and cellars; installed fireplaces; and painstakingly collected exhibits and military artefacts for the future museum. In summer he lived in a tent; in winter he struggled to heat a cramped room, but even a 30-degree frost could not drive him from the summit of the mountain, adorned with a forest and where he fashioned an eagle’s nest... A castle built in the past by hundreds of people, over many decades, was saved from certain destruction and restored by one man. Surely he was a passionate, extraordinary and unconventional man—perhaps the last in the circle of Judym and Siłaczka figures? He paid a high price for it: rheumatism, back pain and furrows on his face.
He was simply driven out of the castle he loved. He needed it like water needs the soil. In the new administrative division after 1975, officials could not accept this kind of creative work or... his existence. He became persona non grata. Fashion was turning toward a different kind of art. He was leaving.
The bitterness of defeat, another failure in life. Time passes, bringing more years, determination and stubbornness. Faith in justice, in his calling and in people of good will still smoulders. He meets few of them on his path; perhaps he can and must believe only in the skill of his own hands. Humiliated by everyone, he undertakes alone tasks that groups of artists refuse to accept. He fights for his place on earth, for the right to artistic expression, for a meagre piece of bread.
He sees the meaning of life in creative work. Through the toil of his hands and his heart, he adorned Bolesławiec, so hostile to him because of its petty and envious people. He finds recognition among some of the town’s leaders and passionately carries out successive works that can be encountered at every turn today. Exaggeration? Nothing of the sort. One can see the original gate pillars (in a sense, “heraldic shields”) at the entrances to the town, a unique copper relief plan of the town in the Market Square, and the interiors of the “Ratuszowa” and “Toscano” cafés. Here, history and modernity have been harmoniously combined. It is beautiful, original, unique, exploding with the creator’s talent.
But he probably put the most heart into decorating the Wedding Palace. Window stained-glass panels, wall frescoes, stylish furniture of his own design, and marble floor and wall coverings harmonise here. When a table large enough for the banquet hall could not be found, he built and decorated one himself, carving the wood, and similarly embellishing the doors and even the cloakroom furniture. He lavished care on every detail, leaving a piece of his heart everywhere—even in the series of portraits of the town’s historical rulers, and in the proud eagles adorning the ceiling, majestic in expression and faithful in every detail to their historical prototypes. A monument to historical truth, but also a monument to his own artistic craftsmanship, which here erupted in all its splendour and strength.
He devoted much time and talent to Lwówek Śląski, where he produced a portfolio of prints and a commemorative medal. In the parish church in Kowalów, he completely designed the interior; in Jelenia Góra, he created a monument in honour of Professor St. Kulczyński, and so on and so forth.
As a member of the Bolesławiec Enthusiasts’ Society, he selflessly prepared for publication his second portfolio of prints, containing nine of the most beautiful views of our town.
A record of his creative achievements would take up too much space, so let us be content with this brief selection and wish the Bolesławiec artist good health, so that he may continue to preserve beauty.