This essay could begin like a fairy tale: once upon a time, a modest little girl studied at school, and over the years she transformed into a beautiful woman and a renowned painter bringing credit to her hometown.
Who today, however, believes in fairy tales in a world ruled by money? Secondly, it really was not so long ago that I taught Ela drawing; today she is still a very young and attractive woman, and she owes the development of her great talent above all to herself, her creative passions and her innate abilities. Add to that exceptional subtlety, a sensitivity to color, and the gift of observing and transforming so-called objectively existing reality into the language of art—and a fuller portrait emerges. Subtle, delicate, romantic, impeccable in her conduct, she surely represents a beautiful Slavic contrast beneath the sunny sky of hot Spain, where she settled permanently in a surge of the heart. But that is her private life, and it would be tactless to delve into it.
It may sound paradoxical and improbable, but to recall the warm memories of Ela’s youth I will draw on the opinion of an outstanding specialist, the late Hungarian painter, Professor Tibor Csorba. When we were at a painting plein-air workshop in Vác near Budapest, he was looking at the girl’s studio work, pointed out a couple of details to me and, as always, said warmly:
“Dear Pawełek (he did not accept the letter ‘ł’; it does not exist in Hungarian, and although the dear professor lived beside the Vistula for several decades, in certain details he always remained a Hungarian, even though he spoke, wrote and even... thought in Polish!), this is great talent, I’m telling you—she has the makings of a great painter, perhaps like Boznańska. You’ll see, she has not only an eye and a hand, she also has a heart, and that is the most important thing. She is so delicate, subtle, sensitive to color...
The Professor was not mistaken: he was an outstanding artist, a specialist of the highest caliber, perhaps the greatest contemporary European watercolorist...
It was there, on the hospitable and beautiful Hungarian land, that I followed the development of Ela’s talent. At the time she was a very young girl, captivating in her modesty, delicacy, tact and culture. Beside her were another artistically gifted boy and girl, but she stood out decisively in the scale of her talent. Old architecture, open landscapes, still lifes, atmospheric compositions, people in motion and static studies of the human figure—all this astonished with its originality, freshness of vision and painterly treatment; it simply attracted attention, was different and original, delicate, subtle, lovingly detailed or very general, but always interesting, compelling, and radiating talent. No wonder the old Professor narrowed his eyes, removed his glasses and murmured warmly, rather to himself:
“Good, very good, delicate, painted with sensitivity, with heart, very good. And what color, what flavor you have, girl, oh, you certainly do... Paint, paint a lot; it is worthwhile, it is necessary, you must—people will be talking about you again
In the picturesque cafés, of which there are plenty in Vác, he liked to sum up the creative achievements of young artists over a glass of Málaga or Tokaji. He usually spoke about Ela’s work as follows:
“You are making progress, you are learning quickly, but you have a talent and sensitivity that no academy can give you: paint in your own way, as you know how, spontaneously and freshly, even if you break the canons. You will learn composition, but either you have sensitivity to beauty within you or you are only pretending... Do not part with your brush; you have a future ahead of you, girl...”
The old Professor was not mistaken. He knew how to foresee the future. He made no error in his assessment.
ELŻBIETA WOŹNIEWSKA, a young painter born in Bolesławiec, today enjoys widely recognized status, standing and achievements. She has shaped her life in an interesting and colorful way: studies, creative work in West Berlin, opening receptions, exhibitions in respected galleries, works purchased by connoisseurs for various collections and holdings. Finally, Spain—a period of modest stability and a true passion for creating. In the sun-drenched, sharply defined landscape of Salvador Dalí’s homeland, does the painter’s Slavic soul not yearn for the tranquil landscape along the Vistula, for quiet willows like those in Chopin’s music? I will ask the artist about this when she is next in Bolesławiec. I have only one of her studio works—a nude of a teenage girl. It is subtle and beautiful. Like the painter’s increasingly broad and rich body of work.