“Since childhood, I felt drawn to creating” - it’s a phrase that appears in many artists’ stories, and although it may sound like a cliché, it is usually true. In my case, it was no different.
I drew everywhere - in notebooks, in margins, on random pieces of paper. Instead of notes, there were sketches of figures and places that seemed more interesting than what was happening around me.

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Surrealism came naturally - reality never felt entirely convincing to me.
I chose it not only as an aesthetic, but as a way of thinking and perceiving the world. Over time, I began exploring the space of magical realism as well - transforming what is real into something that escapes logic, yet still feels strangely familiar.

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Surrealists are often seen as madmen, dreamers.
But in such a chaotic reality as the one we live in, isn’t relying solely on rationality and logic a form of madness in itself?
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I did not graduate from an art academy.
My path developed outside of that structure - through years of learning from experienced artists, personal exploration, work, experimentation, and the consistent building of a visual language that is truly my own.
The need for freedom was always stronger than the need to fit into predefined frameworks.
Instead of academic rules - intuition, experimentation, music, and constant reflection.
This leads me to paintings that exist somewhere between dream, intuition, and emotional dissection.

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There was a moment when I tried to stop.
Fatigue, frustration, burnout - a point where something that was meant to feel natural begins to weigh you down and lose meaning. Something many artists walking their own path eventually face.
I stepped away from painting for a few months. In theory, it was supposed to feel lighter. In reality - it only made things worse.
I missed that space where I can disconnect, yet at the same time truly exist.
Looking back, it feels more like a test than an ending.
The return wasn’t a decision to “continue a career,” but a necessity - the same one that had been there from the beginning.

Today, my work is largely centered around the “Time” series, which has become a space for developing my visual and symbolic language.
It is within this series that I most fully combine themes of time, decision, chance, and structures that appear logical and stable, yet can shift entirely with a single move.
As the series evolved, I began completing each piece with a short manifesto, often placed on the back of the painting. In this approach, a work is no longer a single frame - it becomes part of a larger, cohesive narrative.
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These are not closed stories, however.
In my work, I leave space - not as emptiness, but as a place where something can happen on the viewer’s side. Sometimes it is an immediate association, sometimes something that emerges later, at the right moment.
What interests me most is the moment when the viewer stops simply looking, and begins to “read” the painting in their own way.

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I create at my own pace - sometimes intensely, sometimes in silence. Music often accompanies me.
I do not treat art as production, but as a process that requires time, focus, and moments of pause.
My paintings can be seen as personal maps of psychological states and symbolic landscapes - sometimes melancholic, sometimes absurd, always suspended somewhere between meaning and intuition.
I am inspired by psychology, by observing people and their relationships - both with others and with themselves - as well as by what lies beneath the surface of everyday life.

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I work under the pseudonym “Asensir,” which has been an integral part of my practice from the beginning.
Today, I function both under my real name and the pseudonym - not as a division, but as a coherent whole that still keeps the work in the foreground.
“Asensir” is not a mask.
It is a consciously constructed space in which the image can exist without competing with the person who created it.
In a world where the artist often becomes more visible than the work itself, I am interested in reversing that proportion.
I do not show my image not because I want to disappear or hide something, but because I prefer to leave more space for the work itself.
When everything around says “Look at me!”, I take a different direction: “Stop. Look. But not at me.”
 

My works are held in private collections across Poland and internationally.
My presence on the art market is developed, among others, through regular collaboration with DESA Unicum - the largest auction house in Poland and one of the leading institutions in Central and Eastern Europe - as part of the Young Art Auctions.
 

I do not treat art as an answer.
More as a set of questions that, over time, begin to make more sense.
Does art still change anything today?
Will my art change anything?
I don’t know.
But I know that if even one painting stays in someone’s mind for longer - not as decoration, but as a thought that returns - then all of this has meaning