Category Archives: Exhibitions

Born into the shadows of political unrest in communist Poland, artist Kasia Muzyka’s earliest years were shaped by silence, resistance, and the emotional hush of survival. Yet from that silence emerged a powerful inner world—one that would later blossom into a deeply intuitive artistic practice. In this intimate interview, Muzyka reflects on her journey from early creative expression to profound inner collapse and, ultimately, to a sacred reawakening through painting.

Her work defies categorization, blending mysticism, quantum philosophy, and ancient wisdom into “living transmissions” — pieces that breathe, speak, and transform. As she prepares for her upcoming solo exhibition The Sacred Condition of Being, Muzyka opens a window into the forces that shaped her, the materials that move her, and the mystery she invites us all to feel.

Can you tell our readers about your childhood, family, and the environment you grew up in? Were you an artistic child? What inspired you to become an artist?

I was born in Poland during a time of martial law and political unrest — a country wrapped in grey silence, where freedom was a dangerous dream. My father was part of the opposition, striking against the system while the world around us held its breath. It was a time marked by unpredictability and emotional suppression — survival often meant silence.

It wasn’t the most nurturing environment for a sensitive, creative child. And yet — paradoxically — artistic expression became the one place I could truly breathe. From an early age, I explored every medium that allowed me to feel: theater, dance, professional singing, acting. I graduated from music school on the piano. Creativity became my lifeline — a quiet rebellion in itself. But just as my artistic wings began to open, the instability around me clipped them. The lack of support, the constant change, and deeper emotional wounds led to a profound shutdown. The artist within me was deeply hurt — silenced. And for a long time, I carried that silence like a wound.

It wasn’t until much later, through years of inner work and unlayering, that I found my way back. Painting didn’t arrive as a continuation of childhood dreams — it came as a resurrection. A reclamation. It wasn’t just an act of creation, but of healing something sacred that had been buried. In many ways, my art is a living response to what was once silenced. It gave me back the voice I thought I had lost. That early silencing shaped my purpose — to speak not only for myself, but for the unseen, the unheard, the parts of us that were buried but never stopped breathing.

You describe your paintings as portals and presences rather than static images. What does it mean for you when a painting becomes a “living transmission” — and how do you know when it’s complete?

For me, painting is not about decoration or illustration — it’s about listening. My works don’t come from concept or intellect, but from a surrendered state where something deeper moves through me. I don’t paint what I see — I paint what asks to be seen.

A painting becomes a living transmission when it starts speaking back — not in words, but in energy. It holds its own pulse. It feels less like an object and more like a being, carrying a message, a memory, or a frequency meant for someone — perhaps many — who are ready to receive it. At that point, it’s no longer just pigment on canvas. It becomes a bridge. A portal. A remembrance.

Completion doesn’t come through perfection — it comes through recognition. There’s a moment when the painting breathes. When I look at it and feel, “You’re here now.” It’s subtle, but undeniable. I often won’t even sign a painting until that moment arrives.

Many visitors feel compelled to speak to me after encountering a piece. They share how something in the work stirred a memory, a feeling — not through logic, but through resonance. I often offer small verses that come during the painting’s creation. These aren’t explanations, but echoes — part of the same transmission. People often share these lines later alongside the artwork, as if something in the painting found a home in them. That tells me the transmission continues, long after it leaves my hands.

In your solo exhibition “The Sacred Condition of Being,” you use materials like vibrational water, wine, and earth pigments. What role do these elements play beyond the aesthetic — do they carry a deeper meaning in your work?

Absolutely. These materials are not just aesthetic — they are collaborators. I treat them as living presences, each carrying a vibration, an essence that predates my hand. They hold memory, intention, and transformation. Take wine or coffee, for example. Someone cultivated them, harvested them with care, guided them through transformation. They are alchemical by nature — materials that have been transmuted by time, labor, and devotion. In that sense, they are already gold.

There’s also something sacred about how we experience them. When we pause with a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, we allow space. Stillness. Connection. That energy — of presence and reverence — is carried into the painting. By using these materials, I’m not just adding color. I’m inviting transformation, care, and memory into the work. Vibrational water, earth pigments — they remind me to listen, to surrender to nature’s intelligence. They speak in frequencies, not forms.

You’ve said that you don’t create the paintings — you uncover them. What does that process of “uncovering” look and feel like, both practically and intuitively?

It begins in silence. I wait. I don’t approach the canvas with a plan — I approach it with openness, as if placing my ear to something invisible beneath the surface. The first mark may come quickly, or not for weeks. But once the dialogue begins, I follow it. I layer, erase, scrape, stain, respond — letting the painting shift and reshape me in return. It’s not about control. It’s about listening. Often, I work with unpredictable materials — wine, coffee, earth — and allow them to lead. There’s chaos before clarity. But intuition is the thread. Not a linear “next step,” but a felt knowing: go here, pause, wait.

Each painting feels like excavation. Like the image already exists, buried, and I’m brushing away what doesn’t belong. Sometimes I think of the Sphinx, partially buried in sand yet fully present. Even as parts are revealed, mystery remains — and that’s the point. Presence doesn’t require explanation.

The titles of your works — such as Zero, Before First Breath, and 100 — suggest a symbolic relationship with numbers. How do you view numbers as a sacred language, and how do they guide your process?

To me, numbers are sacred architecture — the invisible structure beneath all things. Even in chaos, numbers offer rhythm. Reassurance. After one comes two. We don’t need to understand math to feel the stability that offers. Nature speaks this language fluently — the spiral of a shell, the unfolding of a leaf, the branching of trees. The Fibonacci sequence lives in all of it. That same code, I believe, lives in us.

In my process, numbers are not calculated — they’re felt. Frequencies more than figures. Sacred Binary, for example, explores duality — the elemental pulse of creation. The Holy Pause, drawn from the sequence 01100, became a meditation on stillness. Zero, Before First Breath, and 100 are not points on a timeline — they are thresholds. Each a doorway into deeper awareness.

Numbers, for me, are portals. They whisper of a deeper order — one we are only beginning to remember.

Your art is informed by mysticism, quantum physics, and ancient wisdom traditions. Do you see yourself more as a painter, a mystic — or something in between?

I don’t see myself in fixed terms. I’m not just a painter, and I don’t claim the title of mystic. I feel more like an instrument — something moves through me that is older than language, deeper than thought. Mysticism, quantum theory, ancient traditions — they all point to the same truth: that reality is fluid, interconnected, and alive. These aren’t just ideas I explore — they are truths I feel inside the act of painting.

When I work, identity dissolves. There is no “me” making a painting — only presence unfolding. Sometimes I don’t even recognize myself afterward. Each painting changes me. It’s not an act I control — it’s one I surrender to. The work often carries a frequency I must grow into. In that way, each painting becomes a kind of initiation — one that transforms me as much as it transforms the canvas.

You often explore the tension between surrender and choice. How has your life shaped your understanding of that dynamic, and how does it emerge visually in this exhibition?

That tension — between surrender and choice — has shaped everything. For a long time, I believed in the power of choice: that through vision and will, I could shape my world. But life had other plans. It brought me to my knees — through grief, loss, and endings I didn’t choose. And it was there, in those spaces of no-control, that I learned what surrender truly meant.

I learned the hard way that when I tried to force life — when I resisted change, or clung to expired expectations — I suffered. At the time, it felt like life was punishing me. But in hindsight, I see those moments as gifts — redirections, protections, initiations. Letting go wasn’t the hardest part. Letting go of the story I had written about how things should be — that was the real grief. Over time, I came to understand: surrender is not weakness — it’s wisdom. And choice is not about force — it’s about alignment.

This dance is visible in every work in The Sacred Condition of Being. The layering, the erasure, the emergence — it all reflects the paradox of choice and surrender. In pieces like Quantum Timelines, viewers face branching paths — not as demands, but invitations. We are always co-creating, whether we realize it or not. These paintings are maps of my own journey — places where I pushed, and places where I finally let life speak through me.

If a viewer walks into your show with no background in spirituality or mysticism, what do you hope they feel or remember as they engage with your work?

You don’t need to understand the work to feel it. The mind may search for meaning, but the heart already knows. Even if someone has no spiritual context, they carry mystery — in their breath, in their longings, in the quiet spaces inside them. We all do. My hope is that the work bypasses explanation and touches something wordless. Something remembered.

These paintings are not fixed images — they are invitations. Portals. Living mirrors. If someone walks away feeling more connected to a quiet part of themselves — a breath, a pause, a shift — that’s enough.

That’s everything. Like wine or coffee, which transform over time and carry subtle frequencies, these paintings also continue to move. A single smudge of color, a single gesture, might hold the key to a hidden revolution within someone’s soul.

More than anything, I hope my work offers this reminder: you, too, are in the sacred process of becoming. And even in your unknowing, you are whole.

---

Also Read

Zdzisław Beksiński’s Artwork Fetches Nearly €100,000 at Surrealist Sale in Paris

---

Sponsored content. The World Art News (WAN) is not liable for the content of this publication. All statements and views expressed herein are opinions only. Act at your own risk. No part of this publication may be reproduced without written permission. © The World Art News

The post Painting the Unseen: Kasia Muzyka on Art as Portal, Presence, and Personal Resurrection | Exclusive Interview appeared first on World Art News.