If we ever wanted to score a multiplication or enlargement of our individual beings in the
world known to us, we are left with nothing but making a mark. For some, it would be
begetting offspring; for others, producing an object, a wooden spoon, for instance; for yet
others, creating some abstract forms such as writing or a graphic line (recently, I and MLB
discussed the way a non-literate person regards a painting with words, simply, as simply as
possible put, but is it off-putting or not, I know not), while some others have nothing but their
own skeleton, jawbone, two teeth to leave behind (I beg your pardon, dear Lucy…).
Maciek Pęcak leaves us with very many, with plenty of tropes among techniques, rare
techniques, rarely found among art creators. The author gives us access to a space literally
cut out from several contexts at once, from the experience of the body to that of the planet,
creating an impression of somebody connecting a commonplace reality with a video game
‘space-time’, one slightly ‘zoomed-out’; of course, when one hangs sculpture-paintings on
the walls and lays them down on the floors, in several rooms, a greater number of
dimensions is being triggered, including those from the land of child wonders, even as
Pęcak’s works have a whiff of engineerial mentality!
A stabiliser and, ot once, an engine of ‘space-time’ in Pęcak’s artworks is not so much the
world of colours, but the world of texture (his technique of their creation is the stuff of
legends), the world of texture that is closer to tectonics, structures of ocean beds, as if a
subduction occurred (I’ve run out of common language),
…however, their planar structure, that of the canvas, related to painting, has a firm hold on
our thinking on Pęcak’s stuff in terms of painting while, simultaneously, their FUNture, their
relief sculpturality (?) diverts us towards the non-imagined, but rather an experienced space,
which in the case of the UFO gallery is multidimensional. Those Peregrinations are situating
us, the viewers, in the perspective of a polygon replete with indentations, appendages, ruts
and carvings combined with unexpected colours and if I hadn’t noticed turquoise, indigo,
umber, browns and greys, I would have had to discern a classic rotting, a multidimensional
entropy, to the ends of the black hole, the other side of the imagined, like some interiority of
the void.
Robert Ryba Rybicki
